I have always been fascinated by the idea of home. Still, I always used to think of it in terms of where I slept, where I kept my stuff. After awhile, especially after living in Champaign-Urbana for four years–three of which, I was enrolled as a student at UIUC. After working at the college bookstore for a year, I concluded, or just solidified my conclusion that home is a group of people, not so much a space.
Still, each place is memorable in its own right, even if I spent most of my time surrounded by four white walls. There were some variations. My childhood home in Jerome had a gray mottled ceiling fan which terrified me since I could make out demonic faces in the Rorschach-like blobs of gray and black. What can I say? I was a strange little girl.
The room I slept in from fifth grade onward in Springfield used to be an old lady's office. I could swear that the old lady's ghost still turned up in the house just out of the corner of my eye as I practiced the piano at night. Instead of the shelves being lined with her mystery novel, the shelves were (and are still) filled with various stuffed animals and dolls I had collected, covered in dust from neglect.
My first dorm room was covered in movie posters by my roommate, Sarah. I didn't really start caring until the second semester when I attached the same loathing to all of her things as I did to her nasty personal habits like leaving her used Kleenexes all over the place (one of which had inexplicably wound up in a shoe inside of my closet).
My sophomore year dorm room was split more or less down the middle between me and my friend Liz from high school, who had often been sympathetic to my plight the year earlier. On my side, I put up printed-off internet pictures of James Dean, Spike Spiegel from "Cowboy Bebop" and Gogo from "Kill Bill." On the wall above my bed, I switched posters from "The Lost Boys" to "Say Anything" and at some point my "experimental" phase of having a rather gratuitous poster of Jessica Alba from "Sin City."
My first apartment was with a mutual friend of my sophomore year roommate, who actually helped me move into my current place on Hawthorne when she came visiting from her internship in Corvallis. Having a room to myself made having male guests over a lot more convenient, even if still mildly awkward the next morning.
On those walls, the same "Say Anything" poster (even now I'm a hopeless romantic, even without the poster) and an 8x11 ad for the Red Herring, a local vegetarian restaurant run out of the Universalist Unitarian church's basement. I sort of reverted to my Spartan method of interior design.
My last year in Chambana was mostly spent at the campus bookstore, but my room was a bit more cozy. To cover the tack marks and scratches our leasing company failed to repair, I put up a hand-woven, tapis-style cloth my mom had gotten in the Philippines when she had gone back for (one of myriad) cousins' wedding. It was made for a king-size bed, but adorned my wall nicely.
Now I use that "wall-hanging" as a blanket on top of an inflate-a-bed (update: it's covering my futon now, which I got for about $120, originally $100, but I insisted on giving the guy $20 for delivering it and helping get it up the stairs to my apartment). As a temporary arrangement, it beats Mike's papa-san chair+bean bag improvisation. Still, he has a bed now and I still haven't found a futon in my price range (once again, I found it).
My first place in Portland, my current place is a studio on Hawthorne. The building is called "The Lynnwood" and dates back to the 1920's. My room has the original cabinets, which still sticks slightly and don't close all the way due to recently being painted over. There is also an antique phone I can use to buzz in visitors.
The tile of the kitchenette stops after a step to meet a nice creaky hardwood floor which I don't think I'll bother covering with a rug since after I put the futon in, there wasn't a lot of space between it and the fridge or the radiator (about two steps). Two walls have great windows that let in light and air, which is awesome due to the lack of A/C (although I haven't noticed due to the amazing weather) and the fact that I sometimes burn my cooking and cook spicy things or fish a lot...That is, when I even bother cooking.
I plan on setting up a coffee table or something where my inflate-a-bed once sat in the middle (now relegated to the closet between the main room and the bathroom) along with some nice pillows for sitting Japanese style in case I should ever have company for dinner (not to mention buying more plates/cups for serving). One thing I loved about the Red Herring was how nothing matched. It always seemed more like home than how most suburbanites attempt to "create" a home with overpriced designer, color-coordinated flatware and dishes.
Once I get a futon, I'll probably stick it in the "closet" between the main room and the bathroom (update, yeah, that totally didn't happen since it didn't fit and I had to put my clothes somewhere). I'm relieved that the bathroom has a bathtub. I've missed taking proper bubble baths (update: I've taken one, and it was lovely). In the "closet," I've set up some plastic drawers to store my "everyday" wear (which has turned into my weekend wear after I got a job). I still haven't figured out what to do with my "professional/nice" clothes arrive (update: yeah, still haven't figured it out, and so they remain folded :cringe: on top of the plastic thing).
Still, I think I'll only worry about details like furnishings only after I find a job and can thus afford to buy things. Jenna was mildly saddened by my Spartan outlook on interior decorating/life in general, since she wants to make money, have nice things and settle down someplace. Me, well, I'm still very much up in the air. She admitted my place does have potential, so her dismay was most likely from my lack of interest in doing more with the space.
I can't help but laugh at the free "Urban Living Guide" to Portland. It recommended all manner of clothing boutiques, spas, furniture stores, and restaurants I could never hope to afford. I'm so glad I live on Hawthorne as opposed to the Pearl District (which has condos about the same size as or just slightly larger than my studio, but for probably about twice what I'm paying for now).
Besides, it's not so much about where I live, but where I can get to from here. Downtown is a ten-minute bus ride over Hawthorne Bridge. I can take nice strolls in Ladd's Addition right behind my building (update: I do often, and it almost makes me wish I could afford a house in this "Bermuda Triangle of urban planning." If I hop on the bus at the stop on the corner, I can go as far as Mt. Tabor Park or get off in the main Hawthorne shopping drag where there are some restaurants, bars, coffeehouses, window-shopping places, vintage clothing stores and a Powell's Bookstore. The coffeehouses are nice for people-watching and writing when I don't feel like being cooped up in my apartment.
Right now I'm at a nice European grocery store called "Taste of Europe," run by a nice old Bosnian (?) man. I'm sitting outside with the remnants of a Flake chocolate bar (the NY Times was right, the British do know their sweets) and a white chocolate mocha (which isn't sickeningly sweet like Starbuck's, the nice man knows that a good coffee drink should taste like it actually has good coffee in it). I am alone, but the act of randomly scribbling in a notebook makes me feel more comfortable, more at home, I guess.
If I walk a couple more blocks, there's a movie theater (closer than the Bagdad, although they probably don't serve beer and pizza), a bike shop and a cafe across the street from a cafe/bakery. Next to that (the Grand Central Baking Co.) is a tented produce market with the biggest peaches I've ever seen. Everything there is ridiculously gorgeous and doesn't look like it's been on a truck for days (unlike sad Illinois supermarket produce). It almost reminds me of Christina Rosetti's "Goblin's Market." I'm only pretentious enough to reference it, you'll have to google it on your own.
A bit further down is a Safeway where I can buy non-produce things (or produce if I'm feeling cheap) and surprisingly carries three kinds of sake and plum wine. Still, I'm more of a social drinker, so I'll probably be at the Barley Mill Pub across from my building where me and the other tenants steal internet (from across the street in the lobby or right on the sidewalk, no less).
According to Ali, my neighbor who lives downstairs in apartment C with her girlfriend Ana (?), with the "Declare Yourself" sign posted on the door, the wireless signal is lost if a car parks in front of our building. She was sitting outside with her apple notebook when I met her. I guess I can be glad of faulty wireless if I can be sociable because of it. I check my email on my laptop every morning in the lobby, but since my battery is terrible, I can't go too far from an outlet (like going outside). I hope I can get it to work with the Ruckus wireless modem I ordered, otherwise my "convenient" internships won't be so convenient anymore. (Update: it works, hooray for internet privacy...but boo to being antisocial.)
Right now, the family sitting behind me at the European place is eating something that smells amazing. I think the owner wasn't exaggerating when he told the little girl that it will be "The best food you've ever tasted." (Update: I ate dinner there once, a bit pricey, but he wasn't kidding. The lamb/beef patties were juicy and flavored well so as not to be overwhelmed by the herbs, but very complimented, sort of like if someone nods a hello to you on the street as opposed to tackle-hugging you).
I'm talking to Dad on the phone now, so I feel a bit more at home (especially considering he calls me multiple times a day). He calls about every night, so I think I'll humor him until I have things sorted out so he won't worry so much. (Update: yeah, I'm a bad daughter, I've hit the "ignore call" button more times than I'm willing to admit).
Everywhere I go, I see a good mix of people, but a lot of people my age. Most of them are attractive and dress in that sort of scruffy/bohemian-trendy way. I love that I see almost as many bicyclists as cars sometimes. It's a lot like Urbana here. I've even noticed the same Hot Lips pizza delivery mini-car drive by a few times. They like to use organic produce and donate some of their profits to help build houses for the homeless.
Once again, I seem to have completely strayed from the original writing prompt. I guess no matter where I go, some things won't change. Either that, or it just reflects on my surroundings. There's always something going on here. This weekend will be the Hawthorne Festival to celebrate the completion of construction.
Who knows? I may actually be social. (Update: I wasn't, not really).
But anyway, home really is a group of people. I haven't exactly fallen in with any group in particular here, but I figure it's just my first week here. (Update: I've been here three weeks, and I still haven't insinuated myself in any social group yet).
For now, I think I'll quit hogging valuable real estate, hand in my used cup and go "home" for the night. The conversation with Pop put me in a bit of a mood. Maybe Ben's right and I really am just running away from myself. Either way, that doesn't change the fact that Springfield stopped being home for me years ago and it was only a matter of time before I wore out my welcome in Chambana.
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