I had such high hopes for this week, you guys. With my law exams finished last Friday and my second bout of pneumonia all but dried up, I was planning to cook, bake, braise and blog while sipping on pinot noir in the late afternoon sun.
We decided to buy a house. We saw it on Saturday and made an offer on Sunday, which was accepted on Monday. Today we signed away our lives and the day after tomorrow? We leave the country for three weeks. During which time agents/handymen/potential buyers will roam the halls (and by halls I mean 4 rooms) of our adorable little house, our first home, where Stella was conceived, our first point of landing in our new country, the house where we became a family.
I’m one part weepy and nostalgic, one part way too excited to finally have enough space for an L-shaped couch. I also know it’s time to move on. We’re only moving two blocks up the street, but it feels huge – this time around buying a house feels real. Maybe at 23 I didn’t understand the weight of a 30 year mortgage? Or maybe now I just feel (am) so much more responsible: now there is someone who depends on us – who, in not such a long time, will notice when I swear or lie or sulk. Now there’s someone to pay the mortgage for.
While the new house has lots more space and light, the kitchen, from what I can make out, leaves something to be desired. But that’s OK, we have time. Kitchens aren’t permanent, and things are just starting. It’s a new beginning. A new life in Australia. Just two blocks up the street.
All this is to apologize for my silence as of late and to warn that cobwebs might start to form around here for a little while. I have a ton of recipes – pasta with cabbage and speck, chocolate thumbprint cookies, farro soup – that I’ve made and photographed and – with luck – will be able to tell you about from our Italian/Israeli holiday, while sipping pinot noir in the late afternoon sun.