It belongs

There is so much work involved on moving… packing, labeling, scheduling the truck and the elevator… and then even more work when unpacking and organizing everything! Made me miss my old days as a gypsy – life was certainly easier when all I had was myself, my lit car and a suitcase… A few years later, with the addition of my dog, tons of books and a collection of vintage furniture things got a bit more… heavy.

I seriously promised myself to stop moving so often and forbid myself from buying a new piece of furniture or book ever again (ok, the book part was a lie!). It has been a long journey trying to find that one place where I belong and trying to build a sense of home, but I never felt so close to it.

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I envy the table its scars, the scorch marks caused by the hot bread tins. I envy its calm sense of time, and I wish I could say: I did this five years ago. I made this mark, this ring caused by a wet coffee cup, this cigarette burn, this ladder of cuts against the wood’s coarse grain. This is where Anouk carved her initials, the year she was six years old, this secret place behind the table leg. I did this on a warm day seven summers ago with the carving knife. Do you remember? Do you remember the summer the river ran dry? Do you remember? I envy the table’s calm sense of place. It has been here a long time. It belongs. ― Joanne Harris, Chocolat

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