But rather than pictures of flaws in my apartment (I mostly can live with them), here is a list of thoroughly domestic perks:
* Two sinks in the kitchen, so I can dry dishes without taking up counter space. It occurs to me now that I had two sinks before, but the need for counter space was less urgent, and my drying rack, I believe, did not actually fit in the sink anyway.
* Laundry in the basement, rather than a place I have to drive to and read a book at. The dryer is broken, but we have a drying line and plenty of warm days left before fixing it becomes a matter of urgency. I can put a load in and resume cooking dinner or whatever other chore I like. Or read a book, but with a cat in my lap.
* I can walk for groceries, hardware, or liquor or several types of dinner and breakfast. I can walk to my friend's house. The bus system loves my neighborhood, so getting to work in the winter will be easy.
Neighborhood is important to me. Where I lived before, though I liked the quiet and the nearby arboretum and the owl hoots in winter and the occasional coyote eyes across the street at 2 a.m., my building felt like a refrigerator, and aside from garage sales, we didn't voluntarily talk to each other. My downstairs neighbor was the exception, and I'm sending her a postcard so she has my new address. We'd chat in the mornings as she gardened and I got my bike ready for the work day.
So far, I am optimistic about the Willy Street neighbors. There are hippies in the back apartment (they have names, but it's easy shorthand) and a slew of cohabitating bike mechanics upstairs. The hippies sell produce on the lawn on weekends--whatever's leftover from the CSA they help grow. They are ambivalent about being paid. The basement is full of home-canned vegetables and large bottles of dark liquids.
|Amelia came to visit and she took a picture of me. I think you can see her reflection.|