Where: Not quite Temescal, not quite Rockridge
Words: Locally Grown: Introduction, Locally Grown: Mitama, Locally Grown: Retail
A handful of far-flung friends never had a chance to see the great li'l Oaktown cabin where I lived for almost three years (personal record!), so I wanted to share a few pictures by way of introduction and farewell.
We'll start upstairs in the bedroom. If I were involved in the digital age more than peripherally, you'd get to see that the blanket is a festive orange. My husband is brown and corduroy, and that's how I like him.
This is the desk that IKEA built (they also built the bëd). Actually, I built the damn thing, and it took almost five hours—but it fit so nicely in the corner and had so many handy shelves, those Swedish monopolists are forgiven.
Sad to report that the desk is now in pieces in the recycling bin in my new building. It had to be disassembled for moving, and I just don't have the space or energy to rebuild.
Here is the mini bathroom, complete with organic cotton shower curtain so I don't die early from gnarly vinyl chemical syndrome. Seriously, people, it's worth the investment.
Good morning, Mr. Tyler. Going down?
No? Then may I recommend up?
I have to admit I never got tired of being on the phone and saying, "Wait, I just have to run downstairs/upstairs to check on that." Stairs = real house. Woo hoo!
Speaking of downstairs, here's the living room. This mahogany couch is the first real piece of furniture I ever bought (meaning not from Craigslist or IKEA). The mattress is crazy comfortable. In moments of weakness, I might give guests my room so I can sleep on it.
I found this little end table at one of the SoMa holiday warehouse sales last winter, when all the artists get giddy and start selling their stuff for normal prices. It has an old-school metal latch underneath.
The woven mat on top is from a garage sale in 2000, the year I moved into my first solo apartment. Friendly Berkeley hippie ladies kept giving me stuff when I told them, like an entire set of spices and a teapot.
This is the cute dining table I bought off Craigslist from an exceptionally gay man wearing neon yellow running shorts. He sat me down with a flourish and asked my name. "Mia," he said, "I'm going to tell you a story of love."
Then he spent the next half hour narrating the epic tale of his relationship with a guy he met on the AIDS ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and by the time I left he was weeping openly.
I also bought his deluxe edition of Scrabble, but it's too big to do anything except sit on top of my ancient CD player to keep it from skipping. Which totally works, by the way.
The photos are from my European adventures in 2004, and the plant is named Rocky. He's a ponytail palm, a gift from my first boss after college. "It looks like you!" he exclaimed. I didn't know how to answer that, but now I'm proud to say this is the longest I've ever kept a plant alive.
Here's a fuzzy picture of the kitchen. The big cabinet with tea and jam and oil was so colorful that it made me happy every time I opened it. On the left, convenient hooks for pot holders and cutting boards.
Finally, my favorite part of the whole place: the secret door. Installed at eye level on the front door, it looked like it was designed for munchkins with enough pole-vaulting acumen to go in and out that way.
I always used the secret door to greet people when they knocked, and to let in just the right amount of breeze on mild days. There must be a secret door in my new place. I just haven't found it yet.
