On feeling more grown up than ever before

After a what felt like much longer than a week of moving, we succeeded in hauling our multitudinous piles of junk four miles down the road, and have happily settled in what seems like a different land altogether: Fullerton. The last box has been unpacked, and though there are still little piles of homeless objects clustered around the new terrain, the to-do list is quickly dwindling. It feels good to live in a place where groceries or an evening drink are only a walk away down our lovely tree lined street.

Our house is almost 90 years old. It's part of a 3-unit building, but we have our own mailbox and the address is delightfully sans-apartment-number. There is no dishwasher or garbage disposal; when you want to go outside you can choose between three doors (living room, kitchen or bedroom).

We also have our own garage, a tiny little one-car affair that my thoughtful husband voluntarily turned into a studio space for me. Carpet and all. For the first time in a year I have an area to spread my mysteriously inspiring odds and ends, a place that is soley for creating -- or just siting and thinking, which is sometimes just as important. Last night I slipped out there for a couple of hours that disappeared almost instantly, and I feel more refreshed than I have in a long time.