I’ve been squirreled away at home in Buffalo in total nesting mode cleaning and organizing every surface and cavity in site. After a summer of non-stop travel, or was it six months of travel, it’s divine to be in one space.
The pause won’t be long, I’m off to London soon to celebrate Thanksgiving in an Airbnb with third and fourth daughters, the third finishing up her semester abroad, the fourth simply wanting to be with her sister after not seeing her for way too long. We might roast a bird, we might not, perhaps we’ll simply treat ourselves and go out for Indian food.
The cleaning binge is fueled by both need and desire. Need because it just has to be done and desire because I’m always a better human when my space feels good. Also, once December hits it will be non-stop shenanigans, so November is my month to get prepped.
In early December husband and I will be hosting a ‘Holiday Salon’ for local theatre company Irish Classical Theatre, and the invite has this charming excerpt from its upcoming production A Child’s Christmas in Wales – Poem by Dylan Thomas:
‘I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.’
I feel this, today as I write the snow is falling down and I’ve barely left the house in the last week and one day is leading into the next and I’m really not sure exactly what day it is.
The original parcel of land where the hotel sits was purchased in 1617 by Samuel Coster. Coster was interested in plays, dramas, and poetry, and he built a wooden theatre which was later replaced by the first stone theatre in Amsterdam, and in The Netherlands. In 1772 there was a horrific fire, destroying many lives and the theatre itself, leaving only the doorway that still stands and serves as the main entrance gate today.
Everything about the place could serve as my inspiration board, and it’s visiting places like this that make me want to clean, refine, and constantly edit the home spaces I inhabit.
It’s also never ending, the keeping of a house, six days, twelve days, six months, thirty-two years, whatever. For now, I’m just tucking in, knowing I’ll resurface. We have things to do, places to go, people to host.