Telling the story of a family, especially an expat family that is getting ready for the “next big move”, becomes a story of relationships to people and almost as importantly to place and the things that we hold dear. It is in a child’s room, those mementos that have been organized just so. A family of deer with big eyes – watchful of all that happens in a swirling torrent around them. It is in the precision that a child can hop into their bed from across the room and it is in that delicate balance on the edge of everything. It is the perfection of organization of cards with powers and potions that an adult is so far removed from that we cannot even bear witness to the fantasy that they inspire.
The story is in those things that we surround ourselves with that remind us of what we value. That cookbook – from that restaurant. The one that was so perfectly situated and had the most amazing poached pears. That place where the kids were relaxed and not begging for ice cream, and yes actually ate that sauce surrounding the home made noodles. Yes that book that you can look at and instantly memory wells up and fills your soul with the place and the light of your time there.
And it is in that place that we have called home. The place that calls to mind the dinners with friends and wine around a fire pit. Certainly the neighbors might have gotten a bit tired of this…and the swans that paddle by and hiss demanding their fair share of crusts that are being thrown into the water. Those impossible stairs that were so frightening on day one but now – with mastery – will be one of those things that we carry with us as yet another memento.
So home, and moving, all flow together and we await that next moment where the place feels a part of our story.