The First Home of My Own

I am 79 years old.  I have lived in many houses, apartments and hotel rooms in America, Europe and on other continents.  I was thinking about all those significant places where I have lived, and the place that came to mind was the first home of my own, our little apartment in Oslo, Norway.  After living with his family for 6 months, my husband, Christian Bay, and I finally got a chance to have our own place. There was a severe housing shortage after WWII. We were very lucky to have a place of our own. It was designed by one of his cousins, built by another one, and paid for by his father.  Some families had to live apart because of the shortage. 

Our first little home was very small by American standards.  A few tiny rooms above a grocery store, looking out on a wide expanse of fields and sky.  A few houses nearby across the field, a few kitchen gardens, and the church tower of Roa, with the low, blue rolling hills.  Our dining table stood by the window, looking out on that expansive view, and our bedroom window, too.  We had French doors and a tiny balcony. I loved that view.  I loved that little apartment, the very first home of my own. 

I didn’t like the heavy, brown leather sofa and armchairs that my mother-in-law gave us, since we had no money to furnish the place.  The last thing in the world that I would have chosen!  I didn’t like her much either, although she was very beautiful and imposing; tall, statuesque, with her thick strawberry-blonde hair touched with grey, piled up in curls on top of her head. When she and I first arrived at her house, by taxi, coming from the pier, she grabbed one of my big, heavy bags and started carrying it up the driveway to the front door.  I said, “Oh, leave it! The men will bring up my bags.”  But she just ignored me.  I wasn’t used to women carrying heavy bags.  She wasn’t very friendly nor motherly toward me.  Jealous of anyone who took her darling, “Batti” away from her.  (Batti was his baby name.)  Nevertheless she learned to respect and love me.  I flew up to Oslo from Madrid for her 90th birthday.