The place in which one’s domestic affections are centered; the dwelling place.

My home is a two-bedroom apartment in the city.  Located on the east side of the Willamette River.  It is a cozy place.  Big windows.  Quiet.  An easy bike ride to downtown, and walking distance to many of the most quintessentially ‘Portland’ areas of town.   In a two-block radius from my front door, there are six restaurants, one food cart, five bars (one is a small brewery), three coffee shops, two bike shops, one wine seller, and a movie theater/pub.  Every single one of these places are local and completely unique.

I have two roommates who I get to hang out with on a pretty regular basis.  We make meals together and watch West Wing.  They are quiet and very courteous and do the dishes when asked to.  Food is a communal affair, and it is always lovely coming home to fruit piled on the counter and fresh loaves of bread.  (Did I mention we have a small food store three blocks away?)

Sometimes we host gatherings.  There is little I enjoy more than hosting good friends for a game night, movie night, brunch or impromptu hang out.  The apartment is big enough to comfortably host five to ten people, which is a big step up from some of the places I have lived.

Example A:

My first dorm room.  300 square feet of concrete plus a lofted bed.  Awesome.

Thankfully I’ve moved to larger apartments since then.  This is the place I currently call home: