For years those who know me laugh at my imaginary farm house. I have furnished and refurnished it. The farm house that was my prototype was outside of Pontalier near a cliff and a gurgling river even during the hottest summer, but deep down I know that I don’t want a place where I can’t walk to everything I need, food, restaurants, movies, exhibitions, library, dry cleaners, etc. (even in Geneva it is possible and if I don’t want to walk, the bus gets me to these places quickly). But then, if it is imaginary, the morning bread can appear freshly baked without having to go to the village to get it. In fact, the bread will still be warm from the boulanger’s oven.
One of my writer friends blogged about her house envy, and I have to admit that I have looked at certain houses over the years and imagined them as mine. Envy might be too strong, but again, I imagine what I would do with them: form a writers’ centre, decorate, entertain, have a small garden, etc.
This is one on those houses. The area over the smaller door is a terrace larger than my current studio, and there is a small yard where a Japanese chin would play. (Since I will never own it, I never have to worry about cleaning up the pup’s poop.)
I also picture how I would set up the house with the kitchen on the other side of the big door, the living room and bedroom/study above where the two large windows. The living room would be peach, green and aubergine.
As for the terrace, I imagine sitting there on summer nights eating my dinner, some kind of fresh veggies with the dessert of fresh in season peaches. And I’d read until the sun set.
In the morning I could walk a block for my fresh bread…
In winter it would be cozy, and like where I am now I would have a fireplace, that I would set up my laptop in front of and course of all my first drafts would be perfect—we are talking fantasy here.
I took the photo and went home to my own flat, still happy with it. I decided I wouldn’t sell it, ever, for my nest has buried itself into my heart.
One of my writer friends blogged about her house envy, and I have to admit that I have looked at certain houses over the years and imagined them as mine. Envy might be too strong, but again, I imagine what I would do with them: form a writers’ centre, decorate, entertain, have a small garden, etc.
This is one on those houses. The area over the smaller door is a terrace larger than my current studio, and there is a small yard where a Japanese chin would play. (Since I will never own it, I never have to worry about cleaning up the pup’s poop.)
I also picture how I would set up the house with the kitchen on the other side of the big door, the living room and bedroom/study above where the two large windows. The living room would be peach, green and aubergine.
As for the terrace, I imagine sitting there on summer nights eating my dinner, some kind of fresh veggies with the dessert of fresh in season peaches. And I’d read until the sun set.
In the morning I could walk a block for my fresh bread…
In winter it would be cozy, and like where I am now I would have a fireplace, that I would set up my laptop in front of and course of all my first drafts would be perfect—we are talking fantasy here.
I took the photo and went home to my own flat, still happy with it. I decided I wouldn’t sell it, ever, for my nest has buried itself into my heart.
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1 comment:
I love when you blog about my blog! Glad to know I'm in good company.
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