Skip to main content

house hunted

I know a lot of people who have spent many long weeks house hunting. They pick the general area they want, consider things like nearby shops, a uni or schools, how close it is to the beach, whether it's a good investment. They ruthlessly stalk through their chosen suburbs, camera and notebook in hand, taking pictures and writing down numbers, hunting for the perfect house.

This is not how it is with me. I am not destined to be the hunter; I am the hunted.

Today I meandered down along the coast to Freo with a couple of books and a vague sense of wanting some coffee. I swung a left on Burke St and innocently glanced out of my window, and WHAM! A house got me! It had a little verandah that was patterned with sunlight through the shelter of a small tree. Its windows were like the cute little smiling eyes of Japanese anime girls and cheekily, it showed me a glimpse of its backyard. Adorable. I'm in love.

Sighing at the thought of how many years it will yet be before I can afford such a home, I pressed resolutely down on the accelerator and took another left headed for George Street. Coffee, magazines, I found myself looking over my shoulder half expecting a house to be peeking at me from around the corner, but I was safe for now.

On the way home I forgot about a no-right-turn and was forced into the wrong backstreet. Driving along, minding my own business, suddenly I was whacked between the eyes by a bold burst of colour boasting a big "for sale" sign. Yet another house was hunting me! It advertised with a promise to "bring my life to colour" and sure enough, it was indeed painted as brightly as a peacock with his tail spread wide. There were glimpses of the wonders held within, a dazzling dungeon, a luscious loft, a vibrant verandah. It was just gorgeous. Also kind of hideous, actually, but I loved it for being so different.

Then, there was Harvest. I always find it hard to pass that restaurant. First, the food is interesting, healthy and amazing. Second, the house it's in is practically my dream home. Dark floor boards, a nice big fireplace surrounded by seats that probably have some name they use in interior design. Comfy, cosy, sunlight streaming in from the bright, cold day outside. Long rooms and endless possibilities for places to hang art. I want to take it home with me - I want to make it my home.

Last but not least, there is my old place. I lived there for a few years and its beauty is hidden in corners of my mind; the wallpaper I would put around the entrance to the kitchen. The new tiles I'd install in the bathroom. The various purposes I would put to the little bedrooms - a studio, a study, a place to sleep. The rug I don't own yet but would buy for the long, wide, open floor. The balcony that looks out across rooftops and channels the far-off sounds of summer afternoons from the river.

I am terrified to step out of my door in case another beautiful house, representative of a beautiful, colourful, life, drops out of the sky and squishes me!

It's hard work being house hunted.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Kidogo & The Life Drawing Class

Floorboards: old, dusty, the white gravel/sand from outside has trodden its way in. Nobody in here speaks and the silence is meditative, broken only by the scritch-scratch of pencils, crayons, charcoal scampering across the textured pages of people’s sketch pads. The walls are adorned with black and white drawings and Ella, our model, lies in repose in the room's centre. She is beautiful. The has long golden hair that catches the light, fanning from her crown in disarray. Her eyebrows are dark and expressive, framing her long dark lashes and arching towards each other above her delicate little snub nose. Her lips are a deep rose that is echoed in her areolae. The light rests on her skin, allowing the encroachment of soft shadows over her stomach, onto her thighs, between her fingers and around the flare of her nostrils. An orange ring sparks with a bright point of brilliance, as though it is the true light source of the room. She is delicate, quiet, relaxed, and her childish ...
Post a Comment
Read more

the internet - it's not just porn anymore

Mum taught me to sew when I was young. I don't remember a great deal of what I learned, but the most important lessons stuck with me: - 1) how to read a pattern - 2) the basics of using a sewing machine - 3) don't cut paper with sewing scissors (maybe that should be 1) - 4) I can do it! For years, a combination of bad/expensive local fashion, lack of good fabric sources, and ugly sewing patterns, has stayed my hand when it comes to putting my sewing knowledge to use. But finally, FINALLY, the internet has come into its potential and connected people for purposes other than arguing about politics or looking at naughty pictures. Now, thanks to Mr Internet, I can get the energy, inspiration and confidence I need to start sewing my own clothes, properly. There's Tasia in Canada, whose  Sewaholic blog started me on my path. She made it sound fun and she explained so many tips and tricks in detail that I actually got excited to try things like "bias binding"! ...
Post a Comment
Read more

the next adventure

One of my resolutions this year was to write a blog post a week. I haven't quite been meeting that mark, but given the turmoil my life has been in for the past couple of months I think it's ok. So, now I have a contract position on a mine - the money plus the lifestyle situation that I've missed ever since I last flew away from the red dirt. Coming home from Bali and flying over the northern soil put an urgency into me to head back to my other "home". In 12 days time, after inductions and driving courses and lessons in procedures, I'll be there. La via è in corso.
Post a Comment
Read more