Grayn

It's very different being here in winter. It's miserable today. The last two day have been sunny and quite lovely, and though today it's actually not as cold, it feels much colder. The clouds hang low, gray, with short sprinkles of  rain. Gray + rain = grayn. It's a grayny day. It doesn't help me getting over the glum mood I seem to wake up with these days. I slept better. I went to bed early, woke at 5 but got back to sleep for another hour or two. I wake up feeling desperate and desolate and I hate it. Life is meant to feel better in the morning!

But it's becoming clear to me that as much as I don't want my mother to have to leave this house, I myself don't want to have to say goodbye to it. This house holds nothing but happy memories, summer after summer of happy returns. I leave cold Melbourne to arrive in late spring in Holland, it's glorious being driven from the airport through the lush green landscape, to see the summer's approach in every leaf, to see fluffy seeds drifting on the spring breeze. Holland is truly cheerful at that time of year - nobody appreciates the sun as much as the Dutch and perhaps the Brits, and she is worshiped and celebrated like a goddess. Terraces are full the moment the weather gets mild, beer is appreciated more when the sun shines through it. I love the optimism of spring. The air is full of promise.

And Mum's garden looks beautiful that time of year too. We often sit on the small deck Ashley, his Mum and I built two years ago, for our coffee or even morning tea, shrouded by the lovely greenery that hides us from view from the street. It's a good strategic spot to see who's passing by (not that I would know who's who here, though everyone knows I am 'the daughter from Australia'). I pull the wooden chairs out of the garage, in which I have installed hooks specifically for storing those chairs, put on the cushions, grab a book and read for an hour or two in the sun, church tower chiming up above, birds chirping all around, a glass of juice by my side, and perhaps the cat on my lap if she's in the mood.

We eat lunch there - we get the tray and fill it with Dutch foods that I shouldn't eat so much of, or leftovers from France (duck, more duck, and some duck) and a glass of grape juice. Depending on who's around, we might play a game of Carcassonne or Settlers of Catan. My dearest friend Emily comes and stays sometimes, and we spend the night up in my room chatting like we have since we were small children, drifting off to sleep.  Then in the morning it's croissants with Nutella. And off to the Efteling, blasting Wham! through the stereo like old times and singing along at the top of our lungs, windows down, not caring who hears and laughing when we get noticed.

So many nights we spend sitting out on the deck or terrace, wine on the table, dinner in our tummies, watching the night approach, stars appear. The hedgehogs announce their arrival with their rustles and snuffles, and we wait in silence, almost holding our breath, trying not to move so as not to scare them off. And they come through the berry patch, snorting and sniffling and quick to the food we put out for them. They drink from one of the large bowls in which Mum grows water plants, with their gorgeous little paws on the edge, on their back legs. It's a show that never fails to entertain, night after night.

I love Mum's berry patch, for which I built a netting system last year to keep the birds out. The raspberries! So many and so sweet! I would pick them, one in the bowl, one in my mouth, one in the bowl, one in my mouth. And there were lygonberries too, long and tangy. In a bowl with creme fraiche, and some meringues. Yum.

I love the comfort of this place. It's my home. It is accepting, it is warm, it is always the same, reliably so. I know where everything is, I have stuff here, I have a room. I call it my room when really, originally, it was decorated as my sister's room and now it's the guest room. But when I'm here, its my room. The new apartment will not have a guest room. I will not have the pleasure of closing the door at night, crawling into a comfortable bed, having my clothes in the cupboards, my toothbrush by the sink, my toiletries on the shelf, my toy crocodile on the pillow, my ipod on the night stand. I am going to have to sleep on a fold out couch in the lounge room or study. I will have to go to sleep when Mum's ready to go to sleep, and get up when she gets up. I will have to find a place to put my clothes and my stuff. And my husband will have to, too. And Emily won't be able to come and stay like she used to! I will have less privacy and I will be in the way. These thoughts really makes me sad. I don't want to be a guest at my mum's house. I want to be home.