So, what makes a house a home? Is it the stuff? The considerable portion of one's income forked over every month? The comfort gathered from the peace of mind associated with being able to walk around naked, nap on a whim, or enjoy an uninterrupted number 2? Perhaps it is a familiarity with the neighborhood, a friendly acquaintance with the people who dry clean my clothes, pour me drinks, or rent me movies. Unlike when I first moved here, NYC feels much more my home, my one year lease guaranteeing my residence here for at least another year. As opposed to my college apartments, my bed is new, my bookshelf is new, I even have a little bedside lamp, all of my choosing. Midway through writing this blog (yes, sometimes it does take a couple of days), I witnessed the miracle that is home Internet. Instead of looking like a crazy person in the Panera, I am free to be a crazed recluse in the privacy of my own home. This week has partially been spent waiting on strange men to install, fix, and assemble. Unlike the usual crowd of strange men that enters my apartment, these all were carrying tools. For now, all that remains is some essential poster and hook hanging and a proper house warming party. This latest project completed and my camp at least somewhat established, I set my eyes towards the task at hand and the future. Who knows what this next chapter will tell, what this new apartment will witness. I am anxious for the warm weather to return (it has been quite gray the past few weeks) and my next artistic endeavors to begin. Let us hope that the rest of April and May are more than a waiting game, that I may find something meaningful before my planned escape from New York.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Making a House a Home
Or at least making a room, a room. A large percentage of my early April efforts have been devoted to moving into, organizing, and decorating my new apartment. After a determined march up and down Steinway this Tuesday, Katrina and I secured both a bed and some Popeye's Chicken, the one bringing hope of a comfortable night's sleep, the other inducing an unplanned siesta. Yesterday, my bed finally arrived, along with its own crew of moving men to carry it up the stairs and even assemble it for me (the bookshelf was enough of a challenge, for the bed I kindly swallowed my pride). After giving him my thanks and scurrying off to work, I returned home last night to a bed and a room full of cardboard. Kicking the cardboard into the hall (good thing no one lives above me), I removed my full size sheets from their cozy home in the closet, finally restoring them to proper use and the promise of a good night's sleep. My bed made, I set forth to shuffle and scoot and rearrange my room as I saw fit, spinning the jigsaw puzzle until all was in place (or at least kind of). The combination of my white bedspread alongside my new white bed frame and bookshelf give my room a look of cleanliness and light, something an air mattress just cannot give a room. With all that white, one would think I am a super-clean person. We shall see how my room is doing once a week's worth of subway dust has wafted in to dim my domicile. I have purchased the flour and sugar for our anticipated kitchen canisters and our wine rack has been stocked. The spice rack is spinning and filled with seasonings. Tomorrow, Time Warner will arrive to once again grant me the powers of home Internet, freeing me from my Panera Purgatory. Our table is set, and I have successfully cooked a few meals at home. Our drains have been snaked, the clinging remnants of the former tenant finally removed from the apartment. We have cleaned and wiped and shined and swept. We are already making good use of our dishwasher and EZ tie trashbags. Instead of packed away in boxes or piled in stacks on the floor, my books are properly displayed and picture frames in safe view. Jessica's angel sits on my bookshelf, looking down on me as I sleep. This new apartment already feels more homey, more promising, and distinctly more me. Liz and I are getting along just great. For a moment, I saw cause for alarm in the constant presence of a shot glass in the sink. While my wandering mind imagined some late-night shot guzzling Liz, she in fact has been doing nothing more than measuring Oxy Clean with my Daiquiri Deck steal. I am considering starting a club for the growing society of single women that have lived with me. The tally stands at 8, but I suspect there will be new members before long. Just imagine the stories that sorority would have to talk about.