Nesting

Nesting. A complete foreign concept to me, something I’m heard about from expectant mothers. Preparing their warm little homes for new arrivals. From what I can figure out since my illness, I’ve been nesting with the best of them! My house used to be a place I came home from after long working hours, always. My entire adult life. I always tried to keep some semblance of order in my abode, to allow it to reflect who I was. Sometimes thanks to the help of a wonderful, Trinidadian cleaning lady in Montréal who allowed my place to sparkle and smell like pine trees, to here in Wildervank, by my Wilfried, who loves order and the smell of a warm meal cooking on the stove. Although I managed to live 9 long years of my life in another town in the Netherlands, with another man, I had never felt nested, it never felt like home. Something was missing, always. I suppose one can still manage to work long hours, be in a relationship and feel nested in their houses, but I always felt like a boarder in that dark, little, dusty corner of Assen, sometimes an unwanted one at that. I have memories there, some good, mostly ones I prefer to forget. It has been quite the revelation moving out of that situation and into my own little paradise, regardless of the illness which has accompanied me. It does seem rather ironic and cruel, but dear readers, please do not fret about me and my present situation, for I have been given many other opportunities and blessings. Now, I feel different in my skin. I have found peace. I am home.

We are now almost a year here in Wildervank, but initially I saw so little of my new little, white cottage on the water, it has only been recently, since my illness, that I have learned to respect and settle here properly.I surround myself now in gezelligheid, spend my time wisely, feel pride here. It has given me purpose to take care of my little family and home. Do I wish things were different? Do I wish this cancer had never crept into my life?  Of course. Who chooses to be ill? Who wants to live in fear, who wants to die?  However, without this pause, I would have missed out on so much. I always felt as though I was rushing, top speed, through life. Even living in the country, I was always in high gear…running to work, running home…time just to relax for a few minutes, then once again. Every…single…week.  Work also ceased to be a place I could relax at, it became something I would lie awake worrying about, conjuring up ways I could make peace with a few broken work-relationships.  Now that ceases to be a problem…I am home-bound. I must say with all certainty and abandonment, I am happy. I am the queen of my little castle. I busy myself looking for new, taste-bud tingling recipes which could break-through the chemo fog, slowly developing a folder where they all nestle, happily waiting to be lovingly baked and cooked by me. I joy in the harvest of our very own vegetables, handfuls of delicate courgettes making their way into my salads or being baked up in deep, cinnamony, cocoa muffins. I enjoy this…I am taking back control. I will not succumb to this medically induced stupor. I focus on contentment, peace, feeling balanced, a happy tummy!

Life-changing it is. How strange how things alter. Worries, fears, happiness, contentment. We are at the mercy of our health, our environment, of others. However, our nests are sacred. I wrap my lovely cottage and my small family around me like a prized quilt. I allow wonderful, loving friends in my little nest. I love sharing these feelings, my home, my cooking. Attempts at blocking the negative energies thus far is working well. The necessary journeys to the hospital and to chemo are steadies in my life. It won’t be forever. There is always the very welcome ride back home…down the long canal to Wildervank. My tiny corner of Groningen, my warm kitchen with the big green stove, my furry little animals, my man…my Wilfried, the protector. My nest. 

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