How I live now

The hedgehog has been displaced again. This time abruptly, unexpectedly and involuntarily. I am not going to explain the reasons because it doesn't matter for what I want to share. I want to share the experience of a sudden major change in life when almost everything you once took for granted needs to be reconsidered. But it is not a disaster, it is a slow and painful process that hopefully leads to healing. I believe many people out there have gone through something similar and will recognise themselves, and those who haven't yet maybe will at some point. If any of my survival strategies are helpful for anyone, I am not wasting my time.

How I Live Now is the title of a novel by Meg Rosoff. I often think about it as a piece of wisdom. I haven't been through the horrors that Meg's character went through, but the difference is in degree, not in nature. This is how I live now, and there is nothing I can do other than make the most of it.

If you have followed my blog for a while (and if not, you probably need to go back and read some random posts), the last few posts were about my imminent retirement and all my grand plans for post-retirement life. Now my retirement is just ten months and twenty-five days away (yes, I do cross them out, like a prisoner waiting for release), but a few plans will have to be modified.

Again, if you have followed my blog you know that I live in Cambridge, in a nice, large house with a beautiful garden. This past summer, prolonged drought notwithstanding, my garden finally started looking the way I wanted. I paid a fortune to have my ditch cleared. I was going to engage a garden architect to plan for autumn planting so that after retirement I could start gardening on a more systematic basis. 

What I haven't shared here is that our dear Miranda left us last February, and soon after we were adopted by celestial twins, the Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux, a source of endless joy. It's terribly unfair toward Miranda, but two kittens playing are so much fun to watch. 

Mid-August, I went to Sweden for the annual family crayfish party, because why not. The why not bit felt liberating. I thought: “I must do this more often. Soon I will also have time to do this more often”. 

Back to how I live now. I live in a tiny flat in my college. Well, it's not that tiny. When I told my children, they thought it was a bedsitter with a pantry, but it has a bedroom, a living room and a kitchen. When I was young I would consider this flat a luxury beyond imagination. Yet moving from a very large house with a large garden to a small flat, even though it has a bedroom, a living room and a kitchen, makes a huge difference. Your brain and your body need to adjust to scale. 

The flat is on the ground floor of a two-storey Victorian servant quarter, which used to belong to a pretty mansion, now hidden behind the Faculty of Education main building. I have often walked past it, always thinking: "I wonder who lives in this tiny house". Now I know. I do. These bay windows are my bedroom and my living room.

The house does not have a garden, just a very small walled yard, but then I have college gardens ten steps away. I have put some potted plants in the corner of the yard. I have weeded evil vegetation between stone tiles. 

I rent this place from the college, and they had horrendous student-flat furniture in it. They wouldn't remove it so I put it into storage and brought some of my own stuff, measuring carefully what could be squeezed in. I am glad I took a broad margin because it got quite crammed, and my much-loved dressing table would not have fit in. I brought my very special, expensive ergonomic bed. I brought a chest of drawers and two nightstands, a chair and an antique bench that I don't really need, but like very much. For the living room, I brought a sofa and two armchairs, the latter hardly necessary; a coffee table and two small side tables. I kept the desk that was in the flat. I brought two standard lamps and a desk lamp and a small Tiffany lamp. I brought some pictures, after counting very carefully how many hooks there were on the walls. One hook fell off on my first attempt to hang a picture. I am not going a drill a better hole. I brought two rugs to cover the horrible, worn-out red carpet. I brought curtains to replace the horrible, worn-out red curtains, but they didn't fit, so I just got used to these lovely, cosy red curtains.

With some cushions and throws and ornaments and orchids, the flat immediately felt like home. And believe me or not, this is the first time in all my long life that I have a place of my own. 

To be continued.