Home is where all your stuff is

So we've moved.
That is to say, we've almost completely moved.
Which is then to say, we have done the actual moving of stuff. The unpacking, arranging, rearranging, positioning, repositioning and finally, the repositioning/rearranging (temporary) is yet to come.

But we have a new apartment in a new 'hood and it's more lovely than we could have hoped for. A park across the street, a rooftop deck, friends in the building and blessed, merciful quiet at night. Not to say that we didn't love our old neighborhood, but the 2am drag racing, the drunken frat-pods stumbling back to their cars (drive safe, kids!) and the increase in vandalism and car thefts had been starting to put a strain on the whole bohemian lifestyle Ida and I were playing at. (Seattleites - I'm talking about Ballard, if you can believe it.)
It's finally time to embrace our inner Old Fogie, we thought, and go for peace and quiet over, well, noisy drunks and petty theft. I know, whatever!

In a delightful turn of fortune, our new place is in a fairly central and desirable neighborhood, with access to everything we do - theater, work, social, food, drink - it's safe, hip (but not too hip), walkable/bikeable and a great place to raise Futurebaby.
There's something about a neighborhood that truly embraces urban culture. The urban-ness as well as the culture-ness. People living in close proximity but not on top of each other, a good spectrum of economic and social diversity, access to transit and a sense of embedded community. Of course there are dirty, rough spots, but that's the joy of true urban culture. It's freaking urban! You're not supposed to be able eat your organic pita sandwich off the sidewalk, but it's nice to know the little place that makes really good organic pita sandwiches.

Now I'm hungry, maybe I'll grab some lunch.
If I can just remember which of these boxes has my pants.