SPACE. Where no one can hear you scream… that you wish you had more of it
During this post, I want you to imagine the soundtrack from 2001 A Space Odyssey in your mind. Here, this should help (music starts around the :20 mark).
As the music starts to build, I’m walking up the stairs in our self-catering holiday home in Canada…
As it continues to swell, I’m opening the door to our bedroom…
As it reaches it’s climax, I’m OPENING THE DOOR TO OUR WALK IN CLOSET!
I swear, I almost fall to my knees – the joy is so pure and true.
SPACE. LOTS of it. It’s everywhere.
Two living rooms, a dining room, a kitchen you could ball room dance in, three bedrooms, three bathrooms – FOUR DECKS. FOUR. Even I know that might be a bit excessive…
After living in England for almost 6 years, I forget how amazing it is to have space – until I have it again. To have places to put things, to have more than one closet, to have a shower cubicle that doesn’t keep cold-tile-goose-ing you because it’s too small.
Don’t get me wrong, I love England (which you must know by now). But when it comes to space, I only make do with what it has to offer. As soon as I set foot back in North America, I feel like flippin’ Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. I find myself flinging my arms out and spinning around in the middle of kitchen just because I can.
I can tell that Mr. Nice Guy is thinking it, too. Even though he’s the most English man I’ve ever met, I can tell he’s soaking up the wide-open spaces like a gold fish growing to fill his bowl. ”One day”, we beam to each other silently, “When we make our millions – we’ll have a house in America, too. A BIG ONE.”
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