Umbrellas Are My Friend

Living in a pedestrian city requires that you become friends with an umbrella. Make that umbrellasssssss because just as you get used to a favored one the day turns sunny and and it is soon left behind to become the friend of someone else.
There is no loyalty in the umbrella world.

I had never before given umbrellas much thought. We always had them around the house, shoved under more frequently used weather items like gloves, hats, and scarves but it was rare to pull one out. Oh, maybe there would be a showery morning that required an umbrella covered dash to the driveway to pick up the newspaper that was five times its normal size from absorbing every puddle within three feet of it, but for the most part the umbrella stayed in the closet.

My lesson in learning to carry an umbrella at all times has been learned the hard way. Unexpected torrential downpours have left me shopping, museum strolling, and lunching with a look that should only be viewed in private. That "just stepped out of the shower but with all my clothes on" look. Not a pretty look and very hard to recover from once it's acquired without going home, taking a real shower, and throwing all your clothes in the washer.

It IS possible in NYC to dash under overhangs for blocks at a time but then comes the storefront where there is more people overhang than actual overhang. And you don't want to be that person just barely under the overhang because that is where the rain accumulated on the roof is definitely going to spill. I've seen it happen. Okay, I've HAD it happen. Carrying an umbrella is definitely the way to go.

So now I've made friends with my umbrella(s). I like them all. Big ones, small ones, pretty ones, black ones, travel size, golf size, and even adopted ones. As long as they keep me dry.

 

In the Spirit of the Season

I haven't ventured downtown to see if there is a giant spider climbing its way up the Empire State Building but I am enjoying how the neighborhood is decorating for fall. Even my little bodega on the corner pulled out all the stops. Spooky? No. Entertaining. Yes.

It's no surprise that not one Halloween themed decoration made the move from the Midwest to Midtown. Halloween was never my favorite holiday to decorate or prepare for. I was the mom who was always perusing the store aisles on October 30th to come up with a nifty, creative, original costume when everything looked like Alfred Hitchcock's birds had picked, picked, picked over everything. I seemed to luck out every time so my son never had to head to school as Wonder Woman or a barely recognizable fruit or vegetable. To this day my favorite thrown together costume was the "Where's Waldo" outfit we managed to pull together at the last minute - striped t-shirt, Harry Potter glasses (before there was a Harry Potter), stocking cap, and jeans. Done! Ready for the door to door candy marathon.

In New York they seem to pull out their credit card, make the call to the florist or interior decorator and Poof! instant holiday themed doorstep. Kids have been running around the streets for several days now dressed in costumes that have become part of their wardrobe rotation. Yesterday a court jester and Robin Hood were curbside when I walked out of our apartment.

Gates and barred windows that looked functional and practical now harbor all the spiders and creepy crawly things you would never want to touch. I think the decorating is more of a deterrent than the bars themselves.

It's really a fun time to be in the city as long as I don't have to dress up myself, find a costume for someone else, or put real pumpkins on my window ledge to rot. Other than that I really am in the spirit of the season!

Guests

The first entry in our Guests book reads like this:
8-8-99 - 8-12-99 Kay, JR,Tyler & Jacee 

I don't remember what we did with my sister and her family over those few days but my guess would be cooking out, swimming, and fishing in the backyard pond. It would have helped to have those notes but initially I was just thrilled to remember to remind guests to sign their names. Subsequent entries provided more details - why they were visiting, where we ate, what we did, and invitations to various homes to return the hospitality.

There is even an entry from ourselves:
8-26-00 - 8-27-00 We were grateful for our semi cool basement guest room while our air conditioner was on the fritz. It was 93 degrees upstairs. Of course our newly acquired hometown was 109 degrees today earning the "Hot Spot in the Nation" title - hotter than Death Valley. The front page of the hometown newspaper (in back of book) shows our air conditioner repairman fixing our unit! :-)  Signed, Ourselves

Having a place to host guests as I started setting up my own homes has been important to me. Growing up in a small house with six occupants, one bathroom, and all spare space occupied didn't leave any room for guests. Until I left home at eighteen I can only remember having one high school friend that stayed overnight in our house. Typically sleepovers would be during the summer in a backyard tent made of blankets thrown over the wire clothes line. (Now that I think of it that was a pretty nifty guest room in a Lawrence of Arabia kind of way.)  

Until this last move the guest rooms have typically been a spare room with a private bathroom close by and, if I remembered, fresh flowers from the garden on the bed table and a mint on the pillow. The NYC guest room/TV room/dining room consists of a sectional couch that acts as two twin beds and floor space that accommodates an inflatable queen mattress PLUS a twin mattress if placement is just right. Oh, and one shared bathroom. 

But I still enjoy the parade of overnight guests. This past month it was a favorite cousin and a newly engaged couple who came to town for a romantic dinner at Rockefeller Center. The Guests book helps me remember all of these events over the last few years but more importantly, the friends and family times.

7-8-06 - 7-9-06 Came up to ride The Lizard. The weather couldn't have been any better for cycling.....

Not A Good Sign

Just when I think I have adapted to apartment living I walk into the hallway to see this sign posted today.

 This is especially not good when you are living on this floor.........

and for whatever reason every cellphone call I am place is failing. There will be no talking to the front desk to request my ride down.

That leaves me with taking these all the way down........

which does not kill me but does make me grumpy.

Luckily I caught a ride up when I came home with grocery bags and tonight the sign is gone. That's a good sign I'll be catching a ride down tomorrow too.

Open and Inhale

Someday Sniff Technology is going to be in place. Maybe it already is and I just don't know it.  (And maybe if I were marketing such a technology I would brand it Aroma Pixels because Sniff Technology sounds a little, well, canine.) But getting to my point..........

You should be able to click on this picture and smell hot-out- of-the-oven fresh baked bread. The kind of bread that takes time to make. The kind of bread that you let rise, knead it, and let it rise again. The kind of bread you take out of the oven, let sit for a few minutes, then cut it up and slather a healthy helping of real butter on it. The kind of bread that's chewy, and warm, and oh my.

I live on the opposite side of the block from a bread factory. I know. Right? I can watch men in white uniforms load up fresh baked bread into their vans sporting the corporate logo from my windows. Every day. Their website says they bake bread twice a day. The aroma is enough to set my mouth watering each and every time. I can smell it in my living room, my bedroom, and from the rooftop. There is no escaping it. There are days when I feel like I have doubled in size just by breathing that glorious scent.

I can't think of anything I would rather smell than fresh baked bread. I'm not saying anything to the building managers, but they really need to advertise that our building gets a twice a day spritz of bread perfume. I'm willing to bet there are a few people who might think that makes the rent a little more appetizing appealing. Now, if I could just come up with those Aroma Pixels their advertising e-mail could be entitled:

Open and Inhale.

Ride On

We brought bicycles to NYC. For Mr Y. this was a great idea. For me, not so much.

Mr Y. loves to grab his bike when he is in town and ride over to Central Park, dodge between all the marathon runners, then jump onto Riverside Drive and head up to the George Washington Bridge. Twenty six miles later he is back at the apartment happy to know how easy it is to get around NYC, or even make a dash over to New Jersey, on his favorite mode of transportation. Seems this is a bike friendly town. (Considering almost every restaurant uses bikes as their only method of home delivery I'm thinking that's a good thing.)

My bike riding stays confined to bike paths, no city streets where a NYC taxi cab and I dual it our for space. My one foray out on my own bike over Memorial Day took us to the East River esplanade, up over a pedestrian bridge to Randall Island, and to a wonderful bike/walking path under Hell's Gate Bridge. It was a great ride that took us by pretty maintained flower gardens, picnickers, and the chance to witness the shake down by the NYC police of a harmless looking guy also out for bike ride on the path. (No clue what that was all about.)

When my sister and her family came to town a few weeks ago we headed for Battery Park, picked up rental bikes as part of a tour package we had all purchased, and spent the day riding up the Hudson River side of the island. It was a glorious day, the path is flat, you have the cityscape to view, a nice little restaurant along the path to stop at for refreshments, the Trapeze School at Pier 40, and eventually you make your way to the George Washington Bridge. The nice thing is there are bike rental kiosks along the path so you can drop your bike off at those points and not have to return them to your original rental location.

Biking will never be my preferred method of getting around but at least NYC makes it a pleasurable  touring alternative. Ride on!

Yes, it's true. There really is a trapeze school along the path and there were trapeze artists, or aspiring trapeze artists, working on their skills the day we rode by.

I Am A Lapsed Blogger

I am a lapsed blogger.

There I admitted it. Surely there must be a support group out there for the likes of us. A safe place where we can stand up, shift from one foot to the other, look at the floor, and seek forgiveness for the sin of not keeping up. Where others will look at us with soulful eyes and you know they feel your pain. A place where we can talk about how many calendar days it has been since we posted, what part of life got in the way, or the writers block that is paralyzing us from sharing. (Or not, but I needed to infuse a little drama here.)

So. It's been awhile. For those of you keeping track it's been 33 days. (You know who you are.) In the great scheme of things that's not all that long but when you have just experienced several life changing events (s) over a two month period that seems like an awfully long time.

Life Changing Event #1 - Moved from small town to major east coast city

Life Changing Event #2 - Mr. Y retired from major communications company that has paid him religiously, bi-monthly for the last 28 years.

Life Changing Event #3 - Mr. Y turns 50 - the year of the (yet to be determined what form it will take) mid-life crisis.

Life Changing Event #4 - I turned a year older and as the author of this blog I do not have to disclose WHAT that year is but just know it is closer to 60 than Mr. Y is.

All of these events except the first one occurred during The Lapse Phase so my next blogs will catch you up. Or I may need to begin seeking out that support group............

Nasty Weather, Perfect Reading

The weather outside was frightful, but inside it was quite delightful today.

Strange and unusual weather seems to be not so strange and unusual these days. Earlier in the day it was 96 degrees, hot, and humid. Now it is 74 degrees, wet, and no humidity as major rain storms worked their way through the city.  This is the kind of weather I was not expecting to encounter in the East. Spectacular bolts of lightening, bangs of thunder, and lots and lots of rain. This was the king of weather people from the Midwest said they missed in the East. Red and purple weather on the slide rule of the rain weather maps. Big, noisy, flashy thunderstorms.

But red and purple weather make for a great reading day. Deep into a mystery book, it was a good day to curl up in the swivel chair, take glances at the spectacular lightening, and try to figure out how the hypnotist is going to find his kidnapped son, reclaim his marriage, and help the police track down a young man accused of killing his family. 

Nasty weather, perfect reading.

Shopping By Weight

Is it a bad thing that I now eat all light foods? Not lite, as in nutritional value, but light as in actual weight. Should I get the strawberries or the half watermelon? Should I pick up two cans of beans or four. What else am I picking up on this trip? Anything especially bulky or heavy? What can I actually carry home? Will my frozen food be dripping out of the bag by the time I hit my door?  Do I need to stop anywhere else on my way home from the grocery store and load myself up further?

These are all questions I ask myself as I prepare to go shopping, am in the process of shopping, and as I prepare to go back to the apartment. What CAN I carry? Where am I in relation to home? Does this trip involve the bus, the subway, a taxi, or walking? It's no longer a matter of plopping myself in my vehicle, loading up my back seat, trunk, and front seat from a variety of stops all over town, and then backtracking when I realized I failed to pick up some vanilla. There is not much backtracking on these shopping trips. Planning is everything.

I'm not complaining here. I'm really not. I have a friend who lived in the Brrrrrr! parts of Alaska and actually had to board a plane to get her groceries, so living three blocks from my C-Town grocery store I can handle. If nothing else I can make multiple trips or I could even have my grocery store deliver. I shop, they schlep. Or I can avoid the store all together, shop online AND have it delivered. I think maybe as we get closer to winter and wanting those comfort foods that require canned goods like kidney beans, stewed tomatoes, and cream corn I'll have a look at those services.

For now I'll just keep watching my weight.

A Room and a Closet

 A couple of upsizing, downsizing observations since moving to the city.

I am used to weekly trash pick-up days when I would roll my big carts (one for "regular" trash and one for recycled items) down the driveway, then wait for the big smelly, loud garbage trucks to come by and whisk it way. Not any more. I don't have trash anymore. I have rubbish. How very Uptown.

That's not saying that NYC does not have trash trucks. They do. I just don't do the curbside thing anymore.  I use the Trash Room. That's right. I don't have a trash can, I have a trash room. That's where my rubbish goes.

The Trash Room is my next door neighbor. To some that might sound awful as you imagine a room where everyone tosses in a bag of trash, the smells permeating out as you wait for a semi-weekly pickup. No, these people have this all figured out.

In the small (very small) Trash Room there are receptacles for paper recycling, plastic recycling, and rubbish. The recycle receptacles are cleaned out not once, but twice daily.  I read The Times and it goes to the paper recycling. I finish up a bottle of detergent, into the plastic recycling it goes. My house was never this clean of daily debris. But what I really like is the rubbish chute.

The rubbish chute reminds me of the laundry chute we had in my childhood home. From my second floor bedroom I could open up a lid built into a wooden shelf and expose a chute that went all the way to the basement. Into that I could toss all my soiled clothes where they would end up in a heap on the basement floor next to the washing machine. There was also a small door in the kitchen that accessed the same chute and I can't tell you how many times we used it to yell upstairs or downstairs for someone to come to a meal or stick our heads in the kitchen chute and play chicken while someone upstairs threw something other than clothes down to the basement. But, back to my rubbish chute. I can collect any amount of rubbish I want during the day and take five steps to the rubbish chute and it is gone. Way gone. Down 25 stories to the building's basement.  No muss, no fuss. Which is great considering our apartment, like most others in the city, does not have a garbage disposal.


So my trash can has been upsized to a room and my laundry room has been downsized to a laundry closet.

Turns out that works out just fine.  I always wanted my laundry to be close to my bedroom. Now it's right outside the bedroom AND the bathroom. Well, if you want to get technical it's also right next to the kitchen and living room too. 

I'm growing to like this downsized living. And that's not rubbish!

Day and Night

I am looking out my office/bedroom window and enjoying the view. During the day I see people far below scurrying around on their way to appointments, walking to the grocery store with lists, and picking up prescriptions at the drug store. The traffic flows smoothly up 1st Avenue with an occasional emergency vehicle racing through with sirens.

The apartment buildings I see nearby look empty of it's occupants during the day. I'm sure they are not,  just as my building is not. There are young mothers and their children carrying on daily routines, work at home employees going about their business, people who work at night are sleeping soundly in their beds. 

I sometimes see a window open up or a shade being drawn but rarely do I see any occupants. But then night falls......

 

and I have not been able to capture a perfect picture of my magical view of the NYC skyline at night. I can see the Chrysler building lit up like a beautiful tiered wedding cake. The apartment buildings and high rises take on a whole new life. They sparkle and glisten as people turn on their lights and settle in for the evening, or workers stay late to file a list minute report. More than a few times I have been reminded of the movie "Rear Window" and contemplated the purchase of some really good binoculars. But I'm not sure I really want to know that much about what goes on in those other buildings.

Right now I will just enjoy the views during the day and night.

The Pea

I took my son to see "Once Upon a Mattress" when we were in NYC several years ago (it was a quick decision at the Tickets! Tickets! kiosk in the middle of Times Square, okay?). Based on the Anderson's fairy tale "The Princess and the Pea" it starred Sarah Jessica Parker pre "Sex in the City" days. I remember watching her toss and turn, and, yes, burst into song because she just COULD NOT get comfortable. That little pea at the bottom of her mattress was making her miserable. I am NOT bursting into song but I am miserable when it comes to choosing mattresses.

We slept in the bed we just abandoned in the Midwest for nine years. It felt great in the mattress store, perfect in fact. Not too firm, not too soft, roomy and king sized. Memory foam was just coming into vogue and it sounded like the best thing since, well, straw filled mattresses. Oh, this mattress had a memory all right. When it was delivered it came with a pre-memorized bump down the center. I would swear someone else had slept on it and the mattress conformed to their body types and wasn't going to forget them. We called the mattress company and explained our issue but were told it takes at least ninety days to get used to a new mattress. Nights ninety one and ninety two must have felt okay because we decided to keep it - too much trouble to exchange, money invested, blah blah. We were only too happy to leave that mattress behind, hoping the next person could learn to negotiate that hill in the middle better than we did.

When we arrived in NYC we slept on our blow-up queen size mattress for five very long, very uncomfortable nights. (It sprung a leak on our very first night but fortunately a bicycle tire patching kit saved us.) We decided a queen size would work for us and give us more floor space. We were thrilled to be mattress shopping again. Finally, FINALLY, we would find something perfect. Firm, but not too firm. Something we could say "ah" on while we stretched, curled, and rolled over. Maybe a mattress where I would feel like bursting into song.

Not so fast. We tried out several mattresses, then tried out several more. Making a mattress decision after spending the night on a half inflated blow up mattress and a sense of urgency is not the best idea. But buy a mattress we did. It was delivered two nights ago and we discovered we bought a VERY firm mattress. As in sleeping on a board loosely wrapped in foam. And I swear it tilts, as in water boarding only the opposite direction. I am NOT bursting into song.

This salesman told us it takes only thirty days to know whether this will be a good mattress for us. So, it's down to 28 days (or nights).

 I am hoping for a fairy tale ending but I have a feeling this mattress is imbedded with a pea.

A Big Week, A Big Day

We made it. We are the in the Midtown of Midwest to Midtown. We left the Midwest last Wednesday after the wheat was harvested and in the bins and before the temperatures started climbing into the triple digits.  Our U-Haul ride across half of America was uneventful (thank goodness). The sale of the house closed yesterday, so now we call a NYC apartment home.

This was a tough move. Lots of heavy sighs as I packed up boxes, made last minute decisions on what to bring, and said goodbyes to friends. "I'm not leaving forever you know and my e-mail and cell number stay the same," I would say at each parting. This is a move both my husband and I desired but I fooled myself into thinking it would be much easier than it was. I wasn't really sorry to leave the weeding in the garden behind, or the house maintenance and cleaning of a big house, or one of the gas guzzling vehicles. At this stage I am missing my routine, my connections, and being settled.

The flip side is that there is a little guy in an apartment four floors above with beautiful blue eyes and a killer giggle that turns three months old today.  It's been seven days since we arrived here and we will figure out a structure to our days, and appreciate a super who, within an hour of reporting it, caulked the bathtub faucet (something we MIGHT have gotten around to in a month of two), and get used to the walking, walking, walking, and more walking.  But for today we have "birthdays" to celebrate. And smiles to exchange. And giggles to enjoy.

A Flea Market Starter Kit

Someone is about to get really lucky. They are going to get a lot of my things at a bargain price. They can resell it, re-gift it, or move it into their house. I don't care as long as they cart it away. This could be the start of a new reality show. My version of Storage Wars. Go find as much stuff as you can and see who can re-sell it at the highest price. Flea Market Fanatics. Uh, Flea Market Floozies. Well, Mike Burnett's marketing group will have to pitch their own ideas. Anyway...........

I don't want to have a moving/garage/relocation sale. Call it what you will. I consider the whole process a pain. I don't want to haggle over prices. I don't want to watch people pick over my stuff ("What possessed her to pick THAT pattern/color/shape?") and then reject it. And I sure don't want to sit in a hot garage for hours hoping people understood the directions to my cul-de-sac. I just want to be rid of a bunch of stuff all at the same time and have it carted away. No muss, no fuss.

Surely there is someone out there that enjoys the above much more than I do. Someone who likes to dig through boxes, and laundry baskets, and shelves for hidden gems. Someone who likes to sell someone else on the idea that they cannot possibly live without that wok, garden pot, or vase. I have just the deal for them. A flea market starter kit. Pay me X dollars and you can have EVERYTHING. No picking and choosing. No LL Bean backpack without the Farmway Co-op mug. No pretty basket without the saucer sled. And certainly no box of silverware without the fifty frames.

Some enterprising person out there is cruising the internet tonight hoping they will come across an ad for a Flea Market Starter Kit. Keep looking. It's out there.

Who Knew?

Eight years we have lived in this house. Three weeks until we move out. Is there a better time than that to move your office from the basement to the upstairs guest bedroom? I think not.

Mr Y. has complained for quite some time about having to "go to the dungeon" to work on our personal computer or hook up his business computer.  It was a dark, cold, windowless, unfriendly cave with a view of exposed 2x4's. Telephone conference calls took on a different level of frustration when he had to compete with the heating/air conditioning unit kicking on, then off, then on, then off again. One minute he is talking normally, the next yelling at an unassuming co-worker. And more than once I would  feel a chill, then realize the heat had been turned off or upped to 80+ degrees so it wouldn't kick on during his "work at home" business day.

We talked out moving the office upstairs over the years. Several times. It always came down to how convenient it is to have a guest bedroom on the main floor with easy access to the guest bathroom.  Downstairs was for kids, upstairs for adults. Blah, blah, blah.  The office remained where it was. In the dungeon. Until this past Friday. Furniture was being moved out, we would be having no additional guest room guests, and everything was going to have to eventually be moved upstairs anyway. Why not?
So up it came.

Now I look out at the side garden, hear the house wrens as they furiously build a nest outside the window, watch the birch tree catch a breeze and sway in the wind. Who knew so many cars passed down our street, or the neighbor walks  by twice a day, or there was so much progress being made on the new pool the neighbors are putting in? Most interesting of all, who knew this guy was hanging around the cul de sac?

Wish we had moved our office upstairs a long time ago!

Sisters are for Sharing

The conversations/negotiations/heated discussions continue about what we are going to throw away, store, sell, or move.  Finally we were ready to load up one 14' U-Haul truck with items to "share" with my sister and her husband.

"Use anything and everything we bring up," we said. 

"It will just go to waste if you don't use it," we encouraged.  

"You KNOW anything you bring up is still yours and we will return it when you are ready for it. Riiiiight?" my sister inquires as she eyes a marble table, Tiffany-type lamp, and garden ornaments.

Knowing that I am storing sharing these items with a family member makes me feel much better about ever seeing them again.  Even if the items get incorporated into my sister's decor and the guy stuff goes straight to the shed for my BIL to use in his daily chores on the farm. Actually, some things we have just given them outright. I don't care if I ever see those metal shelves, or the cabinets we removed when upgrading the hearth room, or the 007 posters.  BUT here are some items I hope I can retrieve if we ever put down roots again..........

My limestone garden bench has already found a home next to the outhouse (non-functioning I am happy to report) in my sister's backyard. This is the third move for this heavy, heavy bench but I just can't seem to give it up. It was quarried near my hometown and my niece measured a fish she caught in our backyard pond on it by making a hash mark on the seat with a rock. The hash mark is long gone but the memory of the fun times we've had sitting on it haven't.

Hector, my garden ornament that has had more hairstyles than a 12 year-old pageant contestant, is comfortable in my sister's sitting room. Normally he has to endure the outdoor weather and some really bad "hair" plantings so I'm not sure I will be able to convince him to come back to me.

This little table sat between my sister's and my twin beds when we were growing up. Sometimes there were boxes of Kleenex on it, sometimes a vase of lilacs. It moved with me to my first apartment forty years ago and now is back home where it should be. I think it's there to stay.

Thank goodness I have a sister who likes big houses with lots of storage sharing space!

Graduation

It seems like only yesterday..........you know how those stories go.

I am cleaning out my photo albums and came across some timely photos. High school graduation.  As I see the pictures of local graduates hit our newspaper I can't believe it was 40 (!) years ago this month that I walked with my 72 classmates across the stage of the municipal building to accept my diploma. I was one of the last, between Becky Wichers and Steve Williams. After the ceremony we went to the basement to turn in our gowns and it was there that this picture was captured. I don't remember who took it, only that several of us were crying and hugging just prior to it being taken.

Four of us in that photo gather annually to talk about life as mothers, career women, being retired or wanting to retire, kids, the loss of parents, the aches and pains of aging (What!?), and compiling our "You have to read this" list. These are the women that "knew me when" and I love that about them.

I don't know what my other classmates are doing these days. Even though I grew up in a small town it is easy to lose track of those that move away. Hopefully their lives have been blessed with health and happiness and they are entering the retirement years planning trips with grand kids, taking that class they always wanted to take, starting a new hobby, or sitting in place a little longer to enjoy a nice view. However, knowing how our "retirement" years will be very different from those of our parents it is just as likely that my classmates are running marathons, becoming first time parents (heaven forbid!), traveling the globe with just a backpack, or writing a first novel.

Here's to you, Class of '72.

Gasp! I'm Back

Clear! Stand back! I am about to revive the blog. I'm not sure how many amps to apply but enough to give me a good adrenaline boost to get me through at least the next month of blogging.

I'm going to update everyone on the downsizing and move on from there. The house is sold. Yes, again. Just in time to cancel a dreaded Open House and before the annuals quickly planted in the front yard have time to croak. This round we are confident enough in the sale to start taking pictures off the wall, move promised furniture to the stepson's new apartment, and stop making the pantry look like I actually cook gourmet food. (I do not.)  We have a closing date of June 29th and I can't wait.

The leasing agent in NYC tells us this is perfect timing to pick up an apartment on the 23rd floor of our desired building. Dare we push for the 25th floor where we might have a view of two more high rises from our bedroom window?  We'll know more early this week.

In the meantime I have started downsizing my social commitments too. No more book club, no more P.E.O., no more volunteering for projects. Goodbyes are being exchanged, lists are being made for shutting off utilities, and a plan is being mapped out for driving to NYC in a few weeks with whatever belongings will fit in a van.

Gasp! Ah yes, it feels good to be back.

I'm Thinking

I feel I am suppose to post to this blog more often. If I could dictate the ideas/words/paragraphs to Siri or some such technological wizard and have her post them, I would certainly update more often.  I think of ideas/words/pictures that I would use but I've discovered just THINKING them does not get them on my blog. I'm going to work on an app for that. In the meantime, I'm thinking.

May Day! May Day!

I have always liked May Day. The first day of May speaks to me of fun, and flowers, and knocking on people's doors and running to nearby shrubbery for cover. This May Day is a little different. This May Day speaks to me of an urgent distress signal originating from the French words "m'aider" or "Come Help Me".                                             
                                                                                                                      
We know what building we want to live in in NYC.  Now it is just a matter of finessing our way into the only one bedroom apartment in the building that MAY become available in June. The current occupants could always decide to stay and considering the leasing agent had 3 phone inquiries into one bedroom apartment availability just during our 15 minute office visit,  I feel we will be lucky if we get the go ahead. We are filling out the applications and hoping for the best. We will know the answer to all of these questions on May Day.

My husband is pretty sure he wants to retire in July but needs his final financial estimates from his employer to feel confident about making a dive into another career. The figures will be available on May Day.

And finally, our buyers are jumping through some hoops to get final approval on their loan.  (You know how you HAVE the money but you just can't GET to the money in a timely manner? And how throwing a government savings plan in there for good measure just makes it that much harder?) Guess when we will know the resolution? Yes! On May Day.

So, May Day could be a flower basket day or an "I'm a basket case" day for our household.

May Day! May Day!  

                                                                                       

                                                                           

You're OUT! You're IN!

I tend to forget in between house moves how empowering it is to designate the future status of EVERY ITEM IN MY HOUSE. This chair - OUT! This glass - Definitely IN! This piece of art - OUT! OUT! OUT! Wellllllllll okay, IN!

But this move brings into play levels of decision making never before encountered. Previously the OUT and IN method (or IN and OUT if you happen to be a West Coast person and hamburgers come to mind) worked pretty well. This move not so much. Everything in the house goes through my stringent sorting process -

• Move to NYC (only one van-load though so choose wisely)
• Move to college student's newly leased campus apartment
• Move to my sister's - Lucky stuff! She incorporates it into her home.
• Move to storage
• For Sale to friends
• For Sale on Craigslist or EBay
• For Sale to Half-Price Bookstore (see recent announcement of store expansion to better display recently acquired DVD's, books and board games in The Mr and Mrs Y. wing).
• Donate
• Trash
• Pawn off on some unsuspecting member of the neighborhood by leaving it on their front porch in the middle of the night*

* I promise to only resort to this on May 24th, the last night before I turn the keys over to the new owner. I can feel panic mode setting in about that time and anything left, well, heaven help my neighbors as they open their front doors to find toilet plungers, gift wrapping paper, a variety of kitchen spices, and a hat from the wax museum in Taluca, Georgia (HAD to have it).

Here are some of today's IN and OUT decisions:

The glasses are OUT. Every member of the extended family had their own glass when they visited us and we spent time by the pool in our development. We have not lived near a pool since 1999.

The bookmark collection is IN. I rarely read "real" books anymore but someday someone is going to say "You used these for WHAT?"

It's OUT (donation). A lovely lady I used to work with made this. The memory that comes back to me about Vada is that she agreed to sit over a dunk tank and let people throw a ball at a target to drop her into the water. She was dropped alright but the dunk tank had been placed on concrete. Therefore the broken tailbone. Sweetest lady ever. I know someone who decorates in pink will love it.

The romance cards to each other you can never give away, throw away, or donate. These are the things that delay your move by hours though. How do you stuff them in a box without reading, reliving, and rehashing?


Anyway, the packing/moving job begins in earnest right after we return from NYC next Sunday.

Chicks

The Grandma gene kicked in today.

I agreed to accompany a friend to the local farm supply store to pick up top soil today and what should I find in the middle of the store but crates of little chicks. None of them were pastel colored (thank goodness) even though I used to enjoy seeing those at my little farm town's feed store at Easter time. My first thought was "How cute!" my next thought was "Nolan has to see these." Never before has "Nolan has to see these" popped into my head before today but that's what the Grandma gene does when it is activated.

I know two weeks old is a little young to get all hyped up about cheeping chicks but just you wait. Seeing things through the eyes of children is a great way to experience those "first time" events all over again. It's going to be fun.

In the meantime I think his parents are glad I was still 1200 miles away when the gene kicked in. What would they do with a chick in a NYC apartment?

The Scream, The Sale, The Move, The Smile

We talked about it. We dreamt about it. We did it. (Pause) (Scream)

The house is sold. The close date is set for May 25th. We are actually going to DO this. Move to The City.

My sister asked if I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Yes, I can't catch my breath if I try to think of all the tasks we have to complete in six short weeks. Deciding on an apartment in The City, deciding on an apartment in Small Town for the college student to summer in, deciding on a storage unit, deciding on what to store, what to give away, what to take with us, what to sell. Decisions, decisions, decisions. (Pause) (Scream)

I know in my heart this adventure is going to be fun. I know we are doing something some people only dream about, uprooting in mid-life to try a completely different lifestyle. We are letting go, embracing the unknown, and yet trying to stay in control. My stomach gives me happy butterflies one minute and rolling nausea the next. Do I jump up and down and clap my hands or curl into a little ball and bury my head under the covers? Today, both I think.

The TO DO list isn't getting any shorter as I sit here and write. I know if I take action I will be able to breath easier. One thing marked off the list, one step closer to The City - and the grandbaby, and his parents, and maybe a Broadway play, and Central Park on the weekends, and, oh, I'm beginning to feel better already..........

I can scream AND smile. Right?

Downsizing Tally: One house