Back in 1983, when my family moved from this house, the tenancy still had almost 3 weeks to run. We moved out early because the house we were moving to was new-built, so it was lying empty waiting for us. We left the odd piece of furniture at our old address, to be collected at our leisure before our tenancy officially ended. During that period, although we were living in our new home, I'd now and then pop into our old one and sit on a wicker chair and gaze out of my old bedroom window at the sun going down on the horizon.
I knew I'd miss my old view, and never quite felt that I'd ever get used to the 'new' one. Well, as regular readers know, just over four years later, we returned to our former domicile and I was reunited with that view, and for the next 20 years, I seldom thought about the house we'd vacated, or the view from its bedroom window. Now, however, another 10 years down the line, I find myself recalling it with almost the same kind of fondness I had for the one I returned to. I find it strange that I immediately fell into the familiarity of my old view and never gave the 'new' one much thought - until relatively recently that is.
I just accepted being back in my old home to the extent that it almost felt as if I'd never been away. However, I looked out of my window tonight, and I think it was the first time since being back that I realised I'd taken it pretty much for granted. Tonight was the first time it'd struck me that the view I'm again so familiar with was once part of my past life, and not (for just over 4 years) my then-present one. I sometimes feel as if I only dreamt about living in another house, but now and again I'm reminded that, no - it was for real.
You know what? I reckon that if for some reason, I had to live in that house again, then I'd probably feel as if my 30 years back here were a dream, not the other way around. No real point to this by the way, I just thought I'd share with you the strange thoughts that can occur to a fella from glancing out his bedroom window.
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