Perched on the corner of ‘The Cross’ a pink house hidden by foliage. An oasis which the King Parrots are also clued onto. As soon as I walk under the canopy of the crepe myrtle I’m embraced by the feeling of being settled. Comfort. Love.
It’s not my house.
I’ve got my own key gifted to me complete with keyring with a random dog’s face and her name, but most of the time I’m met at the door. Sometimes there’s a key left in the door. Either way I’m welcomed home.
The ritual of dumping my keys and my sunnies on the small table that sits mirroring the door. I’ve tried to get in the habit of leaving my phone there too so I can be fully present. I’m always offered tea or wine.
The walls are covered with art. Prints, paintings, photos from time and places near and far. Their love of art influenced and educated inspired me. There’s hardly any space left on the wall. Kondo would lose her shit, but the collection of visual stories soothes me.
The bookshelf a homage to knowledge takes up a whole wall. They had it especially built. Often during conversation a book is withdrawn to advise or confirm.
Two single recliners are parted by a small, bronze table. The table holds glasses and dental floss. A family that flosses together, stays together. That family also keep their teeth (I hope). There’s crosswords with thesaurus on his side, sometimes knitting on hers.
One green leather couch below my favourite window that looks out into the foliage and the street- I can pick my view depending on how I place myself on the couch. Usually prostrate I prefer the view of the trees, sky, birds- this helps with healing and dreaming. The couch draped with a crochet blanket, the kind from my childhood that nanna made that I used to think was daggy. Nostalgic. Both couch and blanket have held me in times of pain both physical and emotional.
Out comes the standard fair of cheese and family-made salami and olives – usually a couple of different varieties and recipes of olives. Usually Nonna’s recipe but there’s been some variations. The salami and olives have wrecked me- in the best way. I can’t buy these from the supermarket anymore they don’t have the stories, the love and element of surprise that homemade, family-made ones do.
Around the bounty I am included. They show interest and care for the daily goings on, the heartbreaks, the disappointments but also the small wins and the triumphs.
We’ve walked and explored and expressed wonder at the natural world, through forests across beaches absorbed in rivers, lost in dreams of starry skies and when my body couldn’t walk, they cared for me until I could walk again.
We don’t share any genes but often call each other familial names but our bond and love is special because we chose it- it’s not out of obligation.
Generous with time, compassion, love, food, adventures, wine, tea- it’s not the pink house hidden by the foliage that is home.
For Viv & John.
