My daughter Tammie stopped the rental car, and announced, “Here’s the house we will be staying in while visiting Seattle.” I scanned the row of houses lining the street. They were all older homes tightly embraced by shrubs, flowers and bushes that had been planted around them many years ago. The houses looked messy, but cozy, like happy, comfortable homes.

“Which house?” My sister, Agnes inquired from the backseat of our vehicle, a Grand Cherokee Jeep. Tammie motioned to the house alongside the parking spot she’d just backed into. I turned to look and recognized it from a picture that my daughter showed me when making trip arrangements. It looked older and more cluttered than other places we’d looked at, but that was my choice.

Tammie and I were calling this trip to Seattle, Washington, a small trip. Instead of spending an entire day traveling to a faraway place, like Europe, our flight halfway across the United States had lasted roughly, about three-hours. The tiring part of the trip was all the waiting, the treasure hunt search for the right place to check in, the TSA line, the gate our plane was, and hopes there wouldn’t be delays. My travel savvy daughter made doing these things easier.

As we lifted our suitcases out of the Jeep, I thought about how I’d been lugging mine around since leaving home and decided that the word ‘luggage’ perfectly described suitcases. Even when they have wheels, a person must do a lot of lifting and lugging to get them from one place to another.

Hauling my suitcase up the porch steps, I hoped this would be the last lift for the day. The effortless roll of my suitcase was stopped by the threshold.  Glancing down, I lifted my wheeled suitcase over the bump and walked through the open entryway into the living room.

Glancing around to take in my surroundings, I breathed, “This place is beautiful!” From watching HGTV, I recognized the house was most likely a craftsman style build around the 1920’s. Other than upkeep, it appeared to never have been remodeled. The floors were wood, and the living room was open through a large arch to the dining room. A built-in buffet sideboard separated the dining room from the kitchen. Off the dining room was a small hallway with a bedroom on either end. Between the rooms was a bathroom. It was small but had everything a person would need.

One night while we were there, I stepped out of the steamy bathroom after taking a shower and commented, “This bathroom is amazing! It’s so small, a person could use the toilet while soaking their feet in the bathtub and use the sink to brush their teeth all at the same time!” There wasn’t a place to hang our damp towels in the room, so I ended up hanging them over dining room chairs.

The house was as neat as a pin. Its decor could be described as grandma chic. One shelf in a bookcase was devoted entirely to board games. Doilies protected the surface of tables and chairside tables wherever decorative plates or statues were displayed. A flat-screen TV graced a wall in the living room, and the kitchen had a newer electric stove and refrigerator. For a kitchen built so early in the nineteenth century, it had a good amount of cupboard space. There was a small closet in the kitchen that served as a pantry, storage for cleaning supplies and even the house’s second exit which opened to the small, fenced-in backyard.

The kitchen was stocked with everything we needed and more. It had pots, pans, silverware, basic seasonings, cooking oil, dish soap, tea bags and sweeteners. One bottom cupboard near the sink had been removed and replaced with a dish washer. I figured that was a worthwhile exchange.

My eldest granddaughter’s name is Anne, so it tickled me that the name of the suburb we stayed in was called Queen Anne. Within walking distance of this home-away-from-home were dozens of stores and restaurants and playgrounds. Saint Anne’s, the Catholic church where we attended Mass on Sunday was just two blocks away.

I loved our Airbnb bungalow so much; I consider it one of the things I loved the most about our visit to Seattle.