Since I’ve been whining about the horrors of moving, it seems only fair that I admit to the fact that I absolutely love my new home. Olympia, the small but intriguing port city of my youth, has reclaimed my affection along with my residency!
(Yes, I know this is a website devoted to Damned Scribbling Women… but forgive me! I’ve been so busy lately with baby showers, weddings, and moving that I haven’t had time to scribble. Or even, tragically, read romance novels. For now, all I can offer you is an Ode to Olympia.)
Being an hour south of Seattle means that I can get more for my money, and I must say I’m loving the apartment amenities. I haven’t had a dishwasher in two years, so having one now is lovely… and I’ve never enjoyed having a washer and dryer in my own home. Three cheers for that innovation! No more wandering down to the basement with a bag full of quarters and underwear, hoping no one else is already washing her knickers…
I’m also fully settled into my kitchen which, unlike my last kitchen, contains (a) storage space and (b) electrical outlets. I’m happy to report that, after a mere fortnight in residence, the spice cabinet has already taken on an alluring odor of marshmallows and cinnamon. Mmm… makes me want to bake…
In fact, I christened the oven with a blackberry pie. This baby was homemade from the crust on up—I even picked the blackberries myself, from a wild patch on the other side of my little patio. Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve been exceedingly spoiled in the berry arena. When I lived in New England, I hated buying berries at the grocery store. It seemed like cheating, somehow. But now I can get sticky, prickly purple fingers to my heart’s content… I’ll be making at least one more pie before the season’s over.
Three of my five items already listed, and (like Erica) I’m still focused on the proper care and feeding of my oh-so-spoiled stomach. I’m happy to report that I now live within walking distance of my favorite coffee roaster, Archibald Sisters, my favorite store on earth since approximately 1988. It’s not the random assortment of Curious George lunchboxes and statue of David magnet sets that attract me. No, those are fun, but it’s the perfumery in the back that’s held my attention for almost twenty years. I used to spend hours trying all of their different scents—much to my mother’s chagrin. Sadly, I am no stranger to the phrase “You smell like a whorehouse,” though these days I stick to the demure Peach Rose blend.
And there you have it. Reasons to enjoy my new location. Next time, I promise, I shall wax rhapsodic about something involving romance novels! But in the mean time... tell me five things you love about your home!