Entries Tagged as 'Moving'


One would think, leaving NYC after 21 years and moving back to the area where I grew up, Reading, PA, that I would indeed feel a sense of failure. Oddly, I don’t. Instead, I feel something that feels more like completion.

No, I’m not saying, “I’m home, dig a hole and throw me in; life it over.” Not that kind of completion; not an ending. Rather, more a sense that the adventure that I was on is now over and there is a new adventure to experience.

Lord knows, in my years in NY, I did more, experienced more, than I would have ever imagined, growing up outside of Reading as I did. It has been an amazing ride: wonderful people, amazing places; a fantastic ride.

Recently I uploaded a list of what I’ve been doing theatrically since 1974, here’s the link. It was wonderful to look back over the years to where I’ve been, where I came from.

And now, on to the next adventure. It’s very exciting. At the moment, it’s also very wacky; living in my childhood bedroom in my parent’s home. I’m here alone, as Jamie is finishing up his job in NY – he was “job eliminated”. He’ll be here next week. I’m going up to haul him and the cats and some luggage and, perhaps, a friend’s daughter home to PA.

We, Jamie & I, not our friend’s daughter, she’ll be staying with her parents, are staying with my parents until our place in NYC sells. Hopefully that will be soon; it’s a really wonderful co-op apartment in a great building. We put a lot of work into it. I’m especially sad to give up my fabulous kitchen that we designed and built, but hey, now we can do it all over again…

And, should you be in the market for an apartment in NYC, here’s a lovely one. I’m sure you’d be happy there, I know we were.

So it’s time to move on to the next adventure. That’s what the falling dominoes of the last six months or so are saying anyway.


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Yes, finally. More pix have been added. More crappy phone cam pix. Scroll through to the end of the gallery to the 8-22 section.

Either Follow Morgan the cat to the gallery. click on Morgan or follow the Renovations tab at the top of the page to go to the gallery.

Okie doke, more later, now I sleep. Sleep and dream of our curtains arriving tomorrow. Dream on, they just shipped today. Ok, maybe Friday. Anyway, soon. And soon I’ll write about the move and the continuing saga of the kitchen design. Oh, you thought, looking at the pix (well, you will) that it was done? HA ha ha ha ha. No, not yet. There’s more to come. We haven’t yet installed the fountain! The dancing waters! No, just kidding; but there is more to come.

I gotta block Ikea from our computer, Jamie’s a madman.


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Minutia. That’s what life is about right now. That’s what’s keeping me from writing. That’s what is ruling my life.

Where to hang this picture? How to arrange the drawers in the kitchen. (And I must say that they are arranged beautifully. Having made, just the other night, the soup previously mentioned in these pages, I found everything within easy reach, readily accessible. What a joy!) Where to put the tchotchkes, on a shelf, into storage, in the garbage? Curtains or blinds or shutters. (Solar panels on the main living room window and solar blinds on the rest was the JC Penney answer to that one.) Etc and etc and etc…

It was an eventful, busy day. Our super Super installed the new faucet on our bathroom sink. We were going to tackle it ourselves but found the rusted connections and aged pipes somewhat daunting. Our floor guy came by to install the threshold between the living room and the kitchen. This was a difficult task as the height along the 12 foot run varies between 1″ and a quarter inch less and a quarter inch more. Lots of shims and Liquid Nails and in the end, the thing looks beautiful. And finally, the arrival of the Sears plumber to hook the refrig up to the water so Jamie can finally have his longed for water-and-ice-in-the-door. I have to say, it’s quite lovely and convenient. As much as I bust his ass about it, I’m glad we went that route. And while all that was going on, J was doing laundry and I was installing knobs on the kitchen cabinets. We finished off the day with three margaritas and a really good meal at the local Mexican restaurant. I was pleased to discover that our previous, first, rather disapppointing, visit seems to be the exception; tonight was great.

And the the Mets won.

A very good day all around. Now Jamie’s in bed and I’m soon to follow ’cause:

Tomorrow, it’s again the first bus, for hopefully the last time for a long while, to Ikea to pick up some remaining whoo-ha’s. Ya know, a couple pully-outy things and more handles for the kitchen, some cool lights for the hallway, possibly yet another book case, though none of the ones lining our walls at the moment are Ikea, I do need somewhere better than the lovely milk crate to store my music.

So hopefully soon, I’ll remember to write about the actual move, which was exciting and wacky, as all moves are. And it’s about time I posted some new pics in the Renovations gallery; why, it’s almost a finished product! How’d that happen?

Lotta sweat, lotta bruises, lotta swearing and a whole lotta love. I can’t imagine having done this with anyone other than J.

I love my husband and I love my new home.


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I think Boo Radley lives in the next building. Well, not the next, because the building next to ours is the other half of the Co-op clump. It’s 4410 and 4414. Our building, 4410, was built in 1929, 4414 in 1931.

But it’s the single-family dwelling next to 4414 where Boo lives.

Actually, I don’t know who, let alone Boo, lives there. When we first moved into our new home, there was never a light on in the place. The flagstone sidewalk in front of Boo’s place all cracked and shifting, the lawn overgrown, the shades always closed.

Then about a week ago, I noticed, during one of my late-night walks, a light on, on the second story. Just a little glow. As the days have passed, a first floor light will be on, or a different second floor light. Always the blinds down. The other day, I noticed that someone, at some time had cleaned up the front yard a bit. But I don’t know who. Never saw ’em.

It’s odd the things that intrigue us, that catch our notice and fancy. I’m loath to find out who actually lives there; it’s probably someone who’s resident part time, just getting the place back into order. How incredibly mundane.

I like thinking that I live next, or next to next, to Boo. That some night on one of my walks, I’ll run into this person, look into their eyes and know: they’re Boo. “Hey Boo,” I’d say, in my best Scout immitation.

They, of course, would look at me as though I were quite off my rocker and cautiously move on.

Here’s hoping I never meet them. I like the illusion.

And maybe this will explain something, my friend Nath led me to this personality test. It’s pretty interesting; I know, there are thousands of these things on the net, but this one has a nice, different presentation. According to them I am a “Considerate Inventor”. Here’s my PersonalityDNA (their little gimmick).

I’m not going to post the rest of the report, it’s a bit long, but quite accurate.

Go ahead, try it.


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As you can see, Jamie set up the computer today. Yes indeedy, I’m sitting in, or rather outside of, in the hallway to be exact, the inside-the-apartment hallway, not the hallway of the apartment building, but anyway, outside of what was formerly a nook, niche, an indent in the hallway turned, through one of the apartment’s past renovations, into a closet. But it is no longer a closet. It is now a closet and a computer room.

Yep, my keyboard which serves as our computer desk and also my midi controller on the rare occasion when I actually have time to make some music, is in the closet with the computer and all the peripherals atop and under. Our wonderful Super fixed the formerly non-grounded but now down to earth, outlet that we found in the closet. It was the original 30’s outlet; like a good roller coaster, cool and scary all at the same time.

I’ll have to get a pic of the set-up tomorrow and post it. Until then, you’ll have to do with the 12 new pics I posted in the Renovations gallery. They start with a view of the newly refinished floor, a thing of beauty.

Some day soon, I’ll write of the adventures of the move. But at the moment, it’s late and I’m still tired from last week. LOL Time to join Jamie in slumber-land.


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One day left.

We’ve taken the rugs up to the apartment. The floors look beautiful.

Jamie is disconnecting the computer so we can take it up to the new place ourselves. He is not going to hook it up again in a timely fashion so I guess I’ll write again on Tuesday with a report of the rigors and horrors encountered on Monday.

Going to pain the baseboards now.

(It’s now Friday. I’ve just re-read this and while I’m sure it did indeed hurt the trees from which the baseboards were made, I had no hand in their mutilation. I did, however, would the above had read, “Going to paint the baseboards now”, make them pretty. k. 7-27)

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Two days until the move. Too many boxes. Too stupid.

It’s two days until the move. Tomorrow (Sunday – day 1), our Godson’s family is picking up the steel kitchen baker-type shelves (3) that I hate to give up, have no place for in the new place, and in the end, am happy are going to someone we know.

They have also kindly offered, they have a truck, to cart some stuff up to the new place for us tomorrow, in advance of the move. This is great; we’ll take up the rugs, probably the refrigerated stuff, maybe some other things. Tim, Deana, Olivia, our Godson Zane will get to see the place for the first time. And we’ll all get to see how the refinished floors look.

This is all happening at 8AM. I know, no deliveries on weekends. Technically, I guess that this will be a delivery, but really, it’s more of a drop off. I feel fine with this. I see no possible upset occurring. I could be wrong. Life goes on.

So, boxes, boxes, boxes. I mentioned before that our living room is a maze of boxes. It is now more so. One must weave to get from the kitchen to the bedroom, like wading down a particularly rocky, meandering stream. Now we’ve got to figure out what’s going to the apartment in the moving van, what’s going to the apartment in the truck we’ve rented for Monday, and what’s going to the storage space. That should be fun.

Too stupid. Yes, I did about the dumbest thing I’ve done in ages today. Jamie found our old Palm Pilot and we decided to get rid of it. But what of the data still resident? The CC #’s and personal info? Jamie suggested a hammer, but both of those are up at the new place. I took the case apart and pulled out the board thinking I’d pry the chips off and mash each one with a scissors or something. Then I saw my high-powered creme brulee torch. Oh no I didn’t. Oh yes I did.

I took the torch to the board, frying the chips and couplings and all that lay resident in that particular Palm neighborhood. As Jamie came running into the kitchen yelling, “What the hell are you burning in here?!”, I also realized that I had released a ton of toxicity into our immediate environs. Jamie quickly opened the windows and set up the exhaust fan and we went to the room farthest from the toxic carnage and hid.

We both felt pretty physically crappy after that little scheme of mine. Hopefully, it didn’t take too many years off our lives. We are all entitled to a few incredibly stupid acts in our lives, I think the burning of the motherboard constituted the use of two or three of my gimmies.

So later this evening, not having enough toxicity in my system, I decided to clean the bathroom one last time before the move. Now my lungs are filled with Palm innards and Tilex fumes. I think I’ve done enough damage to myself for one day. Hopefully I’ll wake up tomorrow.


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Three days until blast off from Inwood, Monday being day 0, moving day, blast off.

There is still much to do in the new place. This week has been frustrating because, if you’ve been reading you know, the floors are being refinished and we haven’t been able to get into the place to do anything.

I ran up to the new place today to collect the mail (more final season of Deadwood discs from Netflix) and hopefully sneak a peek at the floors. Alas, the floor guys had the door taped shut to keep the fumes from seeping out into the hallway, so no visual updates on the interior of the apartment.

Today is beautiful, coolish with very little humidity, that’s a nice change from the last few extremely humid and rainy days. That should help the floor drying/curing process along nicely.

It’s my Summer Friday off from work (every other Friday, in exchange for working an extra 45 mins the other 4 days of the week) and I should be finishing the packing. So far, I’m not doing that, although I expect to do some packing when I finish writing this so I don’t feel that I’ve been a slug for the entire day. On the other hand, I kind of feel I deserve to give myself a day of sluggishness after the last few weeks. Sometimes you must give yourself the gift (sin) of sloth to stay sane.

The maze of boxes that is our living room is a quietly smirking reminder, though, that indeed, I should be adding to the cardboard confusion. Ok, ok, I’ll finish the kitchen; all the heavy things, the small appliances and such that are the bane of a mover’s life.

Hopefully I’ll have the kitchen packing finished before Jamie gets home. He won’t mind if I haven’t, but I’ll project my guilt at not having done it onto him and we’ll both be cranky. Funny how guilt works. You cast guilt away from yourself, trying to make it someone else’s issue so you can be free of it. “Stop making me feel guilty about…” It’s almost always our own issue, and most of the time, imagined, without cause or need. Although, never feeling guilt would be worse because sometimes it is indeed warrented. Better to find a happy middle guilt ground and try to discern what of it is deserved (and act to resolve/restitute/reconcile) and what is simply ego-driven self-flagellation (and just get over it – there are far better ways to use your mental ectoplasm).

Well, this post has spun off into onion-peeling. And now, I can either finish packing the kitchen of my own, happy volition because I want to get it done, or I can sit on my butt and play happily with the Wii.

And I’m not going to make Jamie make me feel one way or the other about either of my choices.

The countdown is on.

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Ok, so Jamie and I suspected it wasn’t allowed, the Co-op has house rules on this sort of thing, but we scheduled our refrigerator delivery for this past Sunday. We were desperate to get as much done before this week, the last week before the move, the week we are not able to get into the apartment because the floors are being refinished, so we broke the rule: No deliveries on weekends.

So, when you place an order with Sears for delivery, they give you a date, but the time is not announced until the day before the delivery. We knew the frige was coming on Sunday. We knew we had to take off our apartment door so it could fit through. (Yes, it’s big; lovely, stainless-steel, side-by-side, and big. We cook… a lot.) We had a notion we were breaking the house rules, although we weren’t positive. What we didn’t know was when the thing was arriving.

Saturday evening we found out. Our delivery window, as I previously mentioned, was between 7:45 & 9:45 AM. Not great, not great at all. Nothing like trying to sneak a hulking machine into the building in the quiet, early Sunday morning hours.

We got up at 5:45 so we could get to the apartment by 7 to get ready for the delivery. “5:45?” you say. “I thought you were only 15 minutes from the new place.” Well indeed we are, but the subway was running oddly due to track repairs and we thought we could stop by Dunkin’ D’s to grab a quick coffee and breakfast croissant and mentally prepare ourselves. But no. No it didn’t happen like that. Why?

At 6:45, as we were sitting on the 1 train, waiting to go “express” to our stop, the delivery guy called saying, “Just wanted you to know that we’ll be there in 10 minutes.” 10 minutes? That, for the mathematically challenged, or just to drive home a point, would put the delivery time at, oh, 6:55, or nearly a full hour before the earliest point in the delivery window. Prompt? Overly so.

Jamie explained that we were on our way and would meet them in the lobby.

We arrived shortly thereafter at our station, hurried up the street to our building. I to the apartment, Jamie to the lobby. I wildly removing screws from our front – steel – door, Jamie escorting the delivery men and refrigerator up in the elevator, all the while explaining the need (as if it needed to be explained that one should be extremely quiet, or as quiet as one can be whilst lugging a refrigerator, at 7AM on a weekend) to be quiet. The quartet of Jamie, deliverymen and frige processioning through our doorless doorway. The frige placed gingerly in its proper kitchen space. The brief whine of the screwgun (not brief enough and oh so loud) as the doors were attached. The departure of the deliverymen with the old hulking, non-functioning machine with, once again, Jamie as escort and door-opener. The replacement of the apartment door.

All very smoothly done. Except… Jamie informend me that as the delivery truck was pulling out, our Co-op board president ran up chiding him, “Bad, bad. No deliveries on the weekend.”

I was horrified. Nothing like making a good impression with your Co-op board. Well, we did what one does with that kind of embarrassment, we laughed at ourselves. Nabbed, indeed. And we decided that we would do no drilling that day.

A while later, at breakfast, I queried Jamie further about the incident. “Was she in her nightgown?,” I asked. Jamie looked at me curiously. “No, she was dressed for running, she was out jogging and just happened to be coming back to the building as the truck was pullling away.”

I explained that I had a picture of her flying out of the building, robe aflutter, hair streaming behind, fire issuing from her nostrils. Although, in the light of understanding, that did seem absurd because she is quite a lovely woman.

No, Jamie explained, it was nothing like that at all, while she did indeed say, “Bad, bad. No deliveries on the weekend” it was said in a gently chiding, non-threatening, but still blush-inducing way. Pshew.

As Jamie said, we have now played our Mulligan.

And we have now rescheduled next Saturday’s delivery of our couch and missing Ikea sink (more on that in another post) for a week day.

(Some new pix added to the Renovations Gallery.)


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One major thing Jamie and I have learned during our apartment renovation process is that the word “standard” does not live in a Pre-War building.

Lighting fixture kits that come with standard screws to hook the plate to the junction box? Throw the screws out, don’t even try to use ’em; the ceiling has been renovated so many times that the junction box is now two inches higher than it was originally due to the ceiling now being two inches lower.

The wires in that ceiling? Look out. The wiring may have been standard in 1930, but as we all know, standards change. And once you get an electrician in, so will the wiring.

The walls at angles of perfection? Uh-uh. They are canted and bowed; warped as a patient at Bellvue. Be prepared to finesse the hanging of cabinets, the painting of a straight line at the meetings of walls and ceiling.

Level is a relative term. There’s level, meaning the little bubble is in the very center of the tube and then there is “level” meaning that the floor to ceiling measurement varies by 1/4″ – 1/2″ from one side of the wall to the other but ther’s no way around that so it’ll have to do. I’m dubbing this kind of level, “Level F”, for “Level Fudged”, ie: it’s a bit off, but it works. If you’ve, however, been unsuccessful at taming the oddness and your room looks like some kind of carnival funhouse, you may change that to “Level Fucked”.

Luckily, Jamie and I have, so far and with fingers crossed, managed to remain in the land of Fudge. I was pretty sure we’d move to the Kingdom of the Fucked when we hung the cabinets against the Fudged linearity of the pressed tin. Luckily, the bizarre variations of one, offset those of the other and it wound up looking pretty darned good.

I’ve decided that rather than having multiple Crappy PhoneCam Pix Galleries, I would consolidate them all in timeline order in one Renovation Gallery that I’ll update as things happen. You can find it here. Or follow the Renovations page link at the top of the home page of this site.

Before I close and hurry to bed -’cause after all, Sears is delivering the new frige tomorrow between 7:45 & 9:45…AM… did I mention that we decided to get a new frige because the one included in the purchase price of the apartment, after being plugged in for four days never got cooler than lukewarm? And that was the freezer compartment. Oh, so many questions we now know to ask 30 or so years from now if we decide to move again… I digress.

Before I close, I do have to mention that with all the unexpected, scary things we’ve found in our architectural archaeology, we have uncovered the rare gem or two. Today, we finally undertook the task of removing the hideous blue carpet and its under-padding from the living room floor. We had previously peeked at a corner of the floor, so we knew that there was promise, but once uncovered, unleashed from the bonds of its faded powder-blueish, 70’s shroud, oh it is a thing of beauty. Three concentric (rosewood?) inlays define the living room and within them, beautiful oak laid diagonally. The arera suddenly became defined and alive. The floor is stripped and refinished all next week, so it will be even more lovely. I’ll try to get a decent pic so I can do a “before/after” refinishing comparison.

Gotta get to bed, gotta get up early and meet some delivery men.


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