When I was four years old, we moved from a cold, moist and unhealthy basement on a farm, to this house. The change was immense. Of course, for the first 20 years we couldn't afford to live in all of it, it had been designed for two families, and we rented half of it to students and tourists, depending on seasons. And so I had moved out before it was all "ours." Still, it's been the family house for almost 44 years, my father drew and built it for us, and the light of that house is part of my earlier memories. Nothing like falling asleep on the living-room floor, in the patch of sunlight from the large windows, when you're 6 years old and cold from a long morning of exploring what was at that time still open land between our house and the ocean. I was like a cat, soaking up the warmth, or perhaps a plant, embracing the light.
Now we are selling it. None of us have plans of moving back to Ålesund, even if we grieve as we let it go. I'll never live in a house like that again, the view, the light, the space... my parents had very few luxuries in their life, but they had Vindheim, and loved it with fierce passion.
Oh well. I can afford the luxury of nostalgia now, as we are selling, but I am not so well off that I can afford to indulge it. Good bye, Vindheim, and may some other little girl find out how warm and wonderful that spot on the floor really is. Mom and dad - don't make her go somewhere else with her toys, even if it is inconvenient. It's really the warmest, nicest place in the whole house.