I am currently living in my childhood home – the house I was moved into by my parents only weeks after being born. This is my Home with a big H, and nothing will really surpass it.
However there is one more house in my life I cherish just as much – my Mormors house. I could probably go on forever about the memories I have of that house. Of the nights spent sleeping in on of the many bedrooms. Playing outside, running around the side of the house chasing each other. Sitting on the bottom of the steps with my late grandfather, having him make us wooden figurines. Spending weekends and holidays there, evenings spent aggressively playing monopoly, or the local version, which I have never seen in anyone else’s house. Chinese checkers. Hearing the old tales of the monster under the jetty. Eating waffles or sweet buns or pizza or cake lovingly and abundantly prepared by mu granny. Walking down to the slightly eerie basement to fetch something – anything – from the freezer. The freezer which always had strawberry jam and ice blocks. Picking berries and cherries from the garden and eating them before we made it inside. The time I brought a whole heap of my friends there for a weekend of organizational fun. The shed with all sorts of fun things to explore. Looking for crabs on the rocky shore. Jumping off the quay and go swimming. Catching crabs and eating them for dinner. The old, musky smell from the bedrooms upstairs. Playing with old-fashion toys and reading old books. Rummaging around the very top loft looking for lost treasure. The pictures on the walls. The stairs. The radio. Mormor – in her kitchen or in her chair ❤ Always.