I’ve just moved, Gentle Reader, as you may be aware, and I’m finally unpacked. I’m still settling in, but for the most part all my beautiful things are around me. The house itself is lovely; it’s a Craftsman, over a hundred years old, that was lovingly restored right before my housemates bought it. Oh? Didn’t I mention? I’m living with my very dear Ms. Capere, her husband L, as well as two other members of their established household, N and N.
For the first time in my life, I’m living in an urban environment, rather than the hinterlands. There’s a bus line that runs right in front of the house, Gentle Reader! When I look out of my window, I can see people! I’m sure this isn’t remarkable to sophisticated gentlefolk like yourselves, but it’s entirely new to me, and I’m continually astonished by everything. Tacoma’s no New York City, but, well –
At any rate, I thought I’d give you a glimpse of the new living space. It may appear crowded – I suppose it is crowded. But that’s how I like things; I firmly believe that every inch of a space should be both functional and beautiful. So! We begin, of course, with a wall of family photographs, assorted artworks, and a baleen.
A lot to take in, n’est-ce pas? From the bottom: Great-Uncle Frank’s Steamer Trunk under all. On it we find a carved wooden tray containing a sphinx lamp and a desk fan from the late 1940’s. To the left, we find one of two red-velvet-and-wood stools which are vaguely Moroccan; on it is a heavy brass candelabrum, Humbert Humbert the terrifying stuffed monkey with face leprousy, and my phrenology head. Arranged below are various nick-nacks. Left of that is a record player, with a wrought-steel-and-china cemetery displayed on it. There’s also my crystal ball and Tarot cards in case I should need them in the middle of the night.
Turning towards the window a trifle, we find the Studio, where my sewing, crafting, hat-making, drawing/painting supplies are kept. I think there’s some metal-working things tucked away over there as well. They’re all kept in vintage suitcases, briefcases, cigar boxes, cookie tins – and in one instance, a lunchbox.
Pivoting just a little further, we find ourselves in the lounge. There’s the chaise, and Veronica, of course, as well as the globe bar and my immediate family.
Careful, Reader! We’ve merely turned ninety degrees from where we started, and we’ve been in three separate rooms. I’m getting a little dizzy! Minimalism is fine, I’m sure, but it’s clearly not for me. Anyway, shall we turn down the corridor? There’s a corridor.
The corridor features a samovar and the library table, under which are many dusty tomes. Facing the table, and unpictured, is my actual bookshelf, also filled with books. I love to read. You’ll also find my vanity along the corridor. As I age, I find that I rely on it more and more.
Adjacent, we have the Study, which contains my Nanny’s china hutch. It also houses my collection of dead things. It’s where I get most of my work done.
Finally, Reader, we have my bed itself, as well as my wardrobe. The bed was once my grandparent’s marriage bed. Fun Fact: “Want to come back to my grandparent’s marriage bed?” is possibly the worst pick-up line.
And there we are, Gentle Reader! That’s my home for the foreseeable. I really think that I’m going to be happy here.