Here's the thing about furnished rented houses: they don't feel like one's own. Either they are so exquisite that one doesn't dare move (the epitome of this, for me, was being loaned an apartment in the Watergate, in DC, when I was a grad student - a terrific space, to be sure, but so carpeted in impeccable thick white pile that I never dared move out of the safely tiled kitchen - and even then, I was so very worried I'd drop something that would shatter) - or else they need help to make one love them. I'm glad that I brought this melamine bowl with me - originally, I packed it so that I could take along some watermelon salad for the potluck part of the NHC's welcome party in it - but now it's sitting by the front door to cheer up this space, and welcome me home. Of course, some sunshine might have the same effect, but that's currently in short supply.
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