Her House

After reading an entry about 'cooking' or more the attributes used in the kitchen I thought about how pathetic my kitchen must look in the eyes of others. There's no kitchen table to gather around, no cooking island not even a window it's more like a small hallway, the passthrough 'road' from the front door to what we call a living today. A living room where I mainly spend time alone because everyone has his room. So have I but since my bedroom is too cold there's no fun in spending more time than necessary in it. Once it's summer I am outside which means the room is mainly for sleeping and ... storage (try to hide that).

While baking cakes in 'the dark' I thought what a difference my present lifestyle is with the villa my grandparents lived in. They were the last with an old majestic place a house (built in 1890) my grandfather rebuilt after it was bombed during the Second World War. I would have loved living there but I assume it was sold after my grandmother passed away. I still feel kind of sad about the idea her house is gone and with that all those hiding spots of my childhood, the places that made me feel safe like the attic and the cellar. Once or twice I went back to the street where this house still stands and I hope the new owners are happy with it and appreciate all those beautiful parts my grandfather rebuilt it with.