Our new old Polaroid is working, not bad for eight dollars. The film is from here, and the picture shows what we are leaving: These buildings.
The decision to sell this flat has not been easy, but sometimes you just have to move on.
There are a lot of emotions attached to these walls. I moved in as a teenager with my mother, but she died fifteen years ago. Then it was mine.
Me and Arctid Dad have fixed it up for the last ten years. It looks pretty nice, don't you think? (even though all the clutter is shushed into the laundry room for the occasion)
There are two entries from the kitchen, which makes a perfect roundabout for small feet.
Walking out of that door for the last time will be very strange. But I'm a big girl now, I'll be 38 in September.
OK, so that is a bit turqouise styling overload. Just couldn't stop.
We're desperate for one more bedroom so that our families can come visit. A small garden won't be rejected, and Arctic Dad especially looks forward to not being squeezed between the kitchen table and the window when eating anymore. But we still haven't found a house.
The small pink bunk bed was a second hand bargain. I love bunk beds, it's practical and cozy.
The thing I was doing I'm not doing anymore (to quote Julia Roberts in Notting Hill). The ashes stopped my trip to Svalbard, but what can you do. The tulips are coming, I've heard.
The photographer behind these images Karl K from K2 Foto is worried that buyers will be put off by the big (but decreasing!) pile of snow in the main view. I'm not that worried, it will soon go away..