2023 Grateful 9: The spirit of my space

A few years back, a journey to the village to visit friends who had left the city in favour of a more bucolic setting resulted in our buying a house there too. It was to be a weekend place and not every weekend at that. We had busy lives in the city.

Places to go.

People to see.

Things to do.

Pretty soon though, it went from one weekend out of four to almost every weekend. And then the weekends that had initially started on Friday and ended on Sunday started on Thursday, then on Wednesday, and finished on Monday and then Tuesday. Soon we were spending most of our time in the village. And happily so.

The house was a move-in as-is job. The day we got the keys we slept there. Cutlery in the drawer. Delph in the press. Milk in the fridge. All we needed were sheets for the bed.

We had it for six years.

We loved it for that long, too.

But then life changed.

On a whim a few years later, we bought a second house. A doer-upper. A major doer-upper.

No – there was no lotto win. Relax. We’re talking rural Hungary here where back then you could buy a house back then for as little as €/$10,000. If you knew where to look. Of course, you’d need to have some money to do it up. We hadn’t realised how much.

Then Covid happened. And things dragged to a halt. And prices spiralled. We had to sell one to reroof the other.

We handed over the keys last week. On a Friday. It seemed fitting as we’d gotten the keys on a Friday all those years ago, too.

I went to dig up the statue of St Joseph that I’d buried in the garden and to say my goodbyes and my thank yous.

Room by room.

I’m a fan of andromorphism. I assign human attributes to inanimate objects. I know that a house is an inanimate object in that it’s made of brick and mortar. I also know that in its own way, it’s a living entity.

Energy flows through the bricks. Houses can be happy or sad. They smile and frown. They get old and tired.

They need to be loved.

And cared for.

And talked to.

I have regular conversations with mine.

I’m very conscious of the energy in a house. Of how it flows. I prefer long houses to square ones. I like the energy to flow through rather than go around in circles. I like things to fit.

Visitors bring energy with them, too. Friends. Family. Neighbours. Tradespeople. They all leave their mark.

Old furniture does as well. There’s a memory there that sometimes needs to be cleared as not all energy is good energy.

I pay attention.

I’m a great woman for the holy water.

The spirit of my space needs looking after.

As we close that chapter of our lives, I’m grateful for the initial invitation that brought us to the village, for the friends who saw the house and thought of us, and for the many happy times we’ve had there.

It’ll be strange walking by it each day and seeing someone else in what was my space. I’m surprised at how difficult it was to let go. But I’m also relieved that I’ve one less thing to worry about.

I’m not cut out to be a property magnate.

But then, were I that rich, I’d have people to do the worrying for me.

2 Responses

  1. And I thought I was the only one to say ‘hello’ to my house when arrive, and ‘goodbye and thankyou’ when I leave…

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