A little change can do you good

My bed has been turned long ways in my room since November, its pillow-top padding extending two more feet into my precious floor space for the past five months. Moving it from its original position - that is, being stuffed sideways against the back wall, the head of the bed touched the right wall and the foot of the bed touched the left, with the radiator sandwiched snuggly in between - seemed like a necessity at the time. I was completely unfamiliar with the sputtering, hissing and clanking that was bringing the metal bars to life. To me it looked like a fire waiting to happen - my comforter would surely ignite on the metal bars that were soon be flaming hot.

Maybe normal radiators get flaming hot, but throughout the winter, mine never so much as warmed up. Just sputtered and spattered and shook a few times, but never warm, much less hot.

So now with April approaching, and me sadly giving up (on my radiator burning) and joyfully letting go (of the cold weather), I decided it was time to claim back my space, which is no small feat considering: 1) the mattress could squish me like a fly swatter and a bug, 2) the width of my room is so small, the mattress, box springs and bed frame each must be lifted practically on one corner in order to "swivel" into a new direction, 3) my bookshelf, dresser and wall hangings all must be moved out of the room, and 4) I keep thinking I can do this all by myself.

Two hours and a broken vase later, my bed was back flush against the radiator, hushing it like a finger in front of a ssshing mouth. I skipped a few victory laps around my broadened floor space (four small skips and you've lapped back to the starting point!) and marveled at how invigorating a few extra feet can be.

Remnant reminders

Construction just up the street from my apartment has annoyed me for months. Not because I could hear banging and drilling in my apartment, but because "the project" dominated the sidewalk and my ability to walk it freely. Every time I left the apartment to go anywhere, I had to go underneath, around or through the mess of two by fours and machinery. And on top of that - literally - the scaffolding covering the sidewalk (a byproduct of all construction projects in the city) was an obtrusive eyesore for the street, a congregating area for random shady-looking people, and a constant source of fear for objects that could fall on my head.

I had no idea - and never stopped to consider - what the final product was planned to be; my only concern was to get through the area without stepping on a nail or being heckled by the workers. Even so, I did notice the building taking shape little by little each week - the foundation beams soon became walls that were soon painted and given necessary lights and fixtures. A few months into the project, I remember thinking as I scurried by, "This pile of nothing is becoming something!"

One day the protective scaffolding finally came down, revealing detailed work that had been hidden from my street view, and I was surprised at the refining and advancement that had taken place without me being aware. Still though, boards covered the facade and paper blocked the view through the windows, so it was impossible to guess the outward appearance, much less what finishing was going on inside the heart of the building.

When I returned to New York after my Christmas and New Years travels, and I made my way up the street for the first time in a few weeks, I stopped in my tracks beside the construction area. It was no longer a construction area at all - coverings had been removed to unveil a finished building. From the dirt and splintered wood had risen a sleek and strong building with a surprising purpose - it is the community facility for an Asian church called Remnant Presbyterian!

Now those who gather outside on the street have a Bible in hand rather than a beverage in a brown paper bag. What once was the black eye of the street now is its shining halo. The remnant now for me of those months of annoying construction is the reminder that I, too, am a work in progress, and that I should not be quick to judge those areas (and people) of my life that are messy, troublesome or need a little nailing into place...maybe something beautiful is under construction!

Stairwell surprise

Running down the steps of the apartment on my way to work, I was suddenly a little girl descending from her bedroom on Christmas morning.  I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the stairwell, grabbed the banister and squealed in surprise.  Colored lights!  Red bows!  A little elf had come during the night and decorated!  As I snapped pictures and nodded appreciatively at the even swoops of the lights, I realized the saying, “It’s the thought that counts,” is most true during the Christmas season.  These decorations were by no means elaborate, by no means impressive, and by no means the most beautiful in the city of New York, but their presence in our lobby showed the thrill of the season, the joy of giving to others, and the spirit of having a happy heart.  

O (my!) Christmas tree!

As with most things in my New York City apartment, I make do – and my Christmas tree this year was no exception.  I figured there was no point in buying a real tree when I would be here to enjoy it for only 12 days, and then after surveying the apartment, I figured there was definitely no space to put it anyway.  The two-square foot area next to the couch was tempting to fill, but my visions of green quickly vanished with the thought of being accosted by pine needle pokes and Fraser fir sap each time I entered the apartment.  And who am I kidding – do you really think I have boxes of Christmas ornaments tucked away under my bed?  

So with a little bit of creativity – not to mention a little bit of tape – I finally put to use the swag of garland I had planned to throw away back in June, the string of red lantern lights I had piled in a heap back in September, and the incredibly long J. Crew green ribbon I’d kept since untying it from a birthday present back in November.   After a few minutes of twisting and trimming, I plugged the lights in and stepped back to assess my work.  Seeing the masterpiece as only the artist can, I clapped my hands with delight – the lights glowed just right and the zigs zagged in perfect order.  Santa will have somewhere to put the presents after all!

The New York City Dream

Dreams are what bring people to New York City. Dreams of becoming a famous fashion designer, of making a fortune on Wall Street, of dancing on Broadway, of writing for a magazine, of living in the greatest city in the world. But once here, all those many dreams meld into one; one dream that so nags at your conscious, so grips at your very being that all you can do is hold on to it, playing it over and over in your mind, hoping that one day, one day soon, it will come true. And, oh!, what a glorious day that would be!

I have the New York City dream. I have it quite frequently, actually. It’s the kind of dream that occurs while sleeping, subconscious thoughts playing out in such real surroundings that when roused, for a split second it doesn’t seem as though it was a dream; it seems real and has renewed my excitement of living in the city. But then my eyes open and my feet hit the floor, and I wish terribly to close my eyes and be transported back.

Transported back, because it is only in the dream, this one collective dream of every New Yorker, that my apartment is indeed four times its actual size. That my closet has room to walk in and turn a cartwheel. That the door I had never noticed in my hallway opens to a huge hidden room with skylights, a swimming pool, 20-foot ceilings, unobstructed views of the city, and three ponies grazing on lollipops. As my waking body rushes to the hallway to see if the door to my dreams is still there, the dark, small reality sets in: it was all just a dream.

But thankfully for all of us dreamers, another night awaits, and another chance to make it all come true.

Memo: Where's the heat?

I guess the memo about heat in the apartment is lost in the same file as the memo I never got this summer about the air conditioning in the apartment! Don't worry landlord - I'll take care of writing the memo to the building.



To: All New Tenants

From: The People You Send Half Your Paycheck To

Date: Two days after the first three consecutive days of freezing temps

Re: The frigid-ness inside the apartment building



Please be advised that although each apartment unit is equipped with an antiquated heating device that we are not exactly sure works, the said heating device will not be activated for the building until the first snow is on the ground, or the first tenant is rushed to the hospital for frost bite, whichever occurs first. During this "chill out" time, do not be alarmed if the following occurs:

1. You can "see" your roommate's breath when laughing about how cold it is in your apartment.

2. You hear rattling and hissing coming from the antiquated heating devices. Trust us, we have not turned on the heat yet.

3. You experience slowed movements and brain functions - don't worry! It's just a little cold in here!

We do care about your health and well-being, so we have compiled this handy list of tips for keeping warm:

Tip #1: Layer up! Long Johns, t-shirts, sweat pants, fleece pullovers, knee socks, ear muffs - you got 'em in your closet, so wear 'em!

Tip #2: Cocoon yourself! Put that puffy down "stovepipe" coat to use - wrap it around your body like a blanket...underneath all your other blankets...

Tip #3: Tent it! Got yourself layered and cocooned, but your nose is still cold? Create a "sheet tent" above your head. *Note: Make sure you leave enough circulation so as to not smother yourself while sleeping.

Tip #4: Steam it up! You don't pay for the water, so run it to your heart's content! Crank the tub faucet as hot as it will go, leave the bathroom door open, and wa-la! Your apartment is so small, you will easily feel the steam in the living room and bedrooms.

Tip #5: Learn from pros! Do those homeless people on the street look warmer than you are in your expensive apartment? Take some time to get to know your neighbors and learn their staying-warm secrets!

Enjoy the heatless cold weather, and please don't call us if you have any questions.

Summer sweating

Central air conditioning does not come standard in most New York apartments - especially those pre-war walk ups like mine. What does come standard is night sweats, after-hair-drying heat exhaustion and cool drinks - lots of cool drinks. I tried to stay out of the apartment as much as possible - easy to do with so many summertime events in New York - and when all else failed, I'd escape the heat with a trip to the frozen tundra of the Apple store under the guise of learning more about my new Mac. I came across articles in the New York Times of city dwellers who decided to turn off their AC to save on energy costs, thus opting for alternative ways to keep cool - open windows, handmade fans, sitting outside in the park, bourbon laced ice chips. I was empowered with a "we're in this together" camaraderie and soldiered on through the incessant heat with thoughts of the money I was saving by not installing a window unit.

After sweating it out, er, toughing it out through several days of 100-degree June heat, I thought, "If I've made it this far, the rest of the summer should be a breeze..."

When July blazed in and there was no source of a breeze other than the 6-inch personal fan I held directly in front of my face as I lay sweating on my bed, I decided enough was enough. First thing in the morning I would call Bed Bath & Beyond where just days before I had defiantly walked by towering walls of boxed air conditioners strategically arranged at perfect taunting distance immediately inside the front door of the store, "Come here, little girl," they called from inside the cool, air-conditioned oasis, "don't you want to take us home?"

"Sure," I thought, "so you and Con Ed can take advantage of my pocketbook."

As fate would have it, instead of me making the call, the next morning my phone rang and the voice on the other end had an air conditioner query for me, "Hey, did you get an AC yet?"

"Um, no," I replied, still groggy with sleep.

"Well, do you want my old one? I'll clean it and bring it over whenever you're ready."

Thanks to my friendly neighbor Robby for a great deal on an AC, and bonus free delivery and installation! Now, if only Con Ed will be so kind!

My newest favorite spot in New York - sprawled on my bed in front of the cool-purring AC!

Security Baton

My batons were among the many items Julie stragetically stuffed into my three suitcases for the move to New York City. I didn't have any reason in bringing them really; I had and still have no desire to be a spectacle by twirling in Central Park as so many people have suggested I do. I suppose I just wanted the batons to come along for the ride since they've been with me for most of my life anyway. And the thought did cross my mind that if couldn't find any new friends once I got to New York, at least I would have my trusty old batons - my grown-up security blankets.

Sadly, the main action they've seen over the last year is the inside of a closet; there was a trip back home for Alabama Homecoming, and a few struts around Jane's apartment to show off for guests. But that's a far cry from the starring role they played in years past when a baton might as well have been a permanent extension of my arm. In high school, Daddy yelled for me to "put the baton down!" when projects he asked me to do around the house were hindered by a baton in hand; I twirled so much in the kitchen that I finally mastered a very low two-turn - and never broke the big deck windows trying! In college, I usually had a baton in my hand while I studied in my dorm room, absently twirling it through my fingers.

Now that my twirling is limited to day dreams and memories, I have found a new use for the old gals...

Not only useful as a window prop, but when I go to sleep with my window open, I lay a baton on each side of me to deliver a swift whack in the face in the (unlikely) event someone tries to come in my window through the fire escape! The batons' new use may be far less glamorous than the twirling of the glory days, but they are certainly still the extension of my arm, my lifeline, my security batons!

And it all comes crashing down

How does a leisurely Saturday afternoon of lounging on the couch with a magazine turn into a my-life-flashed-before-my-eyes moment and end with firemen in full fire-fighting regalia crowding into your tiny apartment?

By having a non-English-speaking super and an "I could care less" landlord handle the repairs on a leaking ceiling, that's how!

As the freshly repaired ceiling literally crashed all around me, Emily rushed from her room to see me curled screaming on the couch. We didn't know what to do other than stand in the rubble, and tremble, and laugh, and shake sheet rock out of my shorts, and take pictures - of course.

By the time we summoned our fireman friends from the station next door, my camera battery was completely dead, making me unable to capture the most humorous image of them all - Jose the Super's eyes as wide as saucers as the intimidating firemen so numerous in number they spilled into the hallway, informed us, "Ladies, if this is not fixed right and fast, you come over and get us."

Oh, we will, you hunka-hunka burnin love, we will!

Somebody stole my brella

Well, my umbrella had a gallant end by saving me from the pop up thunderstorm...

You see, I hung it on the stairwell just outside my apartment door to dry out from the soaking of the afternoon, but when I left a few hours later to meet a friend for dinner, you guessed it - the umbrella was gone! Everyone leaves umbrellas in the stairwell to dry, so I squelched my mad, accusational thoughts of all my neighbors and gave them the benefit of the doubt - maybe someone needed to "borrow" it for the afternoon? When I got back to the apartment after dinner, I made this nice little note and taped it to the bannister where the crime occurred.

We'll see if the guilty party clears his conscious!!

UPDATE: AS OF FRIDAY MORNING, JULY 4TH...NO SIGN OF MY UMBRELLA! I LIVE AMONGST A THIEF!!

One man's trash...

...is another girl's treasure!

The end of the month is an exciting time in New York City - people are moving out of apartments and leaving items they no longer want on the curb, making a walk down the street just about as good as a trip to the mall.

This morning I walked out the front door of my building and immediately saw a white bookshelf outside the building next door. It practically jumped into my arms (or maybe I was just hugging it!), but not knowing if it was up for grabs or in the process of being put in a moving truck (note: there was no truck in sight), I peeled myself off and ran on down the street to throw my clothes in the laundry. If the shelf was still there when I returned, my self-imposed statute of time limitations would have kicked into effect and it was mine for the taking. Sure enough, it was still there, but my fear of hearing "stop, thief!" during my jaunt-down-the-street-with-loot-in-tow made me stall. The shelf was so perfectly what I had been looking for that I decided I would wait by it (note: in the hot sun) for up to 35 minutes (note: precisely the amount of time until my clothes were finished). After waiting only about five minutes, a guy and girl shuffled toward the door carrying another piece of furniture, and my heart sank thinking they probably were just in the process of moving.

Before I could even get my question out, the girl's words were a gift to my ears, "Take it - it's yours! My roommate moved out and left it, and I don't know what to do with it."

Jumping and clapping and shouting, I called Emily to come help me get the bookshelf inside the apartment and up the steps to its new home as the newest member of my "Hall of Finds"!

Oh my gosh, I'm in love! It's so perfect!

My first road-side find - the dresser I nearly killed myself getting back to the apartment.

Our cute Ikea couch (free on the curb off 28th Street - don't worry, we washed the slipcovers immediately!) and the red ottomans (free from a remodeling dance studio - carpet cleaner worked wonders on these!) that double as a coffee table or extra seating.

Miss Fix It

I had eagerly awaited the first packages to my new apartment from Mama and Daddy. In preparing to send the bedspread and pillows I had requested from home, my dad began to round up the tool box and tools he had bought for me during and after college. When he discovered the tools had been "misplaced" over the years - I guess I didn't keep good track of the tools knowing Daddy, aka Mr. Fix It, was always just a short drive away for any needed handywork - he didn't get mad, he got even.


Since my small apartment cannot handle the size of the first tool box anyway (which is pretty much the only surviving piece of my first tool set), he bought a small tool box and filled it up with tools. I talked to Mama before the boxes arrived, and she said I would be able to get a second job as a tool girl with all the stuff Daddy was sending! I envisioned a monstrous amount of pliers, screwdrivers and clamps I wouldn't know how to use or have room to store. But what arrived was a cute little tool box filled with the necessities for around the house fix ups.


Thanks to Daddy for always providing me with the "tools" I need for success.

"Living on Dreams and Spaghetti-o's"

I’ve always loved Martina McBride’s song This One’s for the Girls, especially the middle stanza:

This is for all you girls about twenty-five
In a little apartment, just trying to get by
Living on, on dreams and spaghetti-o’s
Wondering where your life is gonna go

This one’s for the girls
Who’ve ever had a broken heart
Who’ve wished upon a shooting star
You’re beautiful the way you are
This one’s for the girls
Who love without holding back
Who dream with everything they have
All around the world
This one’s for the girls

I was singing it to myself the other day as I unpacked and organized my new little bedroom and realized I don’t even have a microwave yet to be able to eat spaghetti-o’s!

I moved to a new apartment last weekend with Emily, a friend I met here in New York but who is also from Birmingham. I still live on the East side, just about 25 blocks south. I now have a 12-minute walk to work – no more daily subway! – and a FIVE-minute walk to Mercury Bar where the alumni group watches the Alabama football games. Now I’m not saying that’s why we loved the apartment (Emily is an Auburn graduate, after all), but it was a definite plus!

Emily and I both moved to the city with three suitcases each, so we were astonished at what we had accumulated in such a short time (10 months for me, one year for her), and exhausted after moving it all ourselves! I borrowed a friend’s car, and we made four million trips between my old apartment, her old apartment and our new apartment, hauling boxes, suitcases and the heaviest TV known to man up the two flights of stairs. We’re still barely settled in our bedrooms, so we haven’t even begun to think of decorating and furnishing the little living area and kitchen.

So, to answer the two most frequently asked questions about my living situation:

Q. Are you still sleeping on a couch?
A. For starters, I never did sleep on a couch! I had my own bed with a spectacular view, thank you very much! The answer is no, I have my very own bedroom now!

Q. How does it feel to have a door?
A. If feels kind of strange, actually! I’ve been leaving my door open and miss my old roomies being around! But, it is nice to shut my door and go to sleep.

A quick tour of the area - more pictures to come of the inside as we get it together!



My new apartment!

Saturday morning must be "wash the fire trucks day" at the fire station next door.

Beautiful blooms across the street.

A "panoramic" view from our corner - the Empire State Building is on the left and the Chrysler Building is the smaller pointed building on the right.

Roadside Rescues

As I drove Emily back to her apartment after a long day of moving, we turned onto 24th Street and were startled to see the street was a dead end into a culdesac rather than connecting 1st and 2nd Avenues (first day driving in the city, remember?) Annoyed to have to turn around and prolong getting back to my apartment for rest and dinner, my eyes widened with excitement when I saw a desk and other furniture piled in the culdesac - waiting to either be rescued from the road by someone like me or waiting to be picked up by the garbage man...whoever got there first.

I schreeched the car to a halt and we both jumped out and ran to survey the pile - no, desk not right; no, cabinet too big; but - looky here! I rested my hands on the top of the wooden chest of drawers - just the right height and depth, and full of potential. Though my eyes definitely saw the flaws, I tried to make my brain ignore them - nothing a little cleaner, strong scrubbing and light hammering couldn't fix! After several assurances from Emily that yes, it could be cute and no, you're not crazy to pick it up from the side of the road, we unloaded the drawers and lifted the chest frame into the trunk. And sat it back on the ground. Wouldn't fit. Let's try the back seat! Uh-uh. At this point I was slightly in love with the chest, so I couldn't just walk away with an "Oh well."

"Where are we?" I ask Emily.
"24th Street between 1st and 2nd," she says. I see her see what I'm thinking.
"And the apartment is on 29th and 2nd. That's only five blocks. I can carry it."
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Totally. I'll just carry it on my shoulder like this." I hoisted the top of the chest so it hung on my right shoulder, and I steadied the front side with my left hand. "See - easy. You load up the drawers and stay with the car and I'll be right back."

A lesson I should have learned from horror movies is that you never say, "I'll be right back."

I had barely made it to 2nd Avenue when I was feeling a little winded. "It's okay. Power through," I urged myself. I rested on the corner for a second then set out for my next goal - the corner of 25th Street.

"Okay, this is heavier than I thought" I said to myself as I plopped the chest down on the corner of 25th and 2nd. Not to mention enduring the quizzical looks of people passing by and the now really hurting pain of the middle bar of the chest banging into my right hip with every labored step I took.

The quest to get to the next block was not only hindered by my lack of strength to carry the chest, but by its lack of strength to stay together. The little crack along the top left corner that I had chosen to ignore a few minutes ago was now completely split in half, and the back panel was loosening with every step. As I faced the reality that in another block or two I was going to have three separate pieces - and I still had three blocks, around the corner and up two flights of stairs to go - the chances of me or the chest not making it to our destination were increasing with every step.

Just as I was feeling defeated, a man stopped and asked how far I'm going with that. "Oh, just a few more blocks up the street." I was kind of embarrassed to admit how far I had planned to carry it all by myself. Before I could protest or show him how it was completely falling apart, he shoved his book at me to hold and lifted the chest to his shoulder and started up the street. "You really don't have to!" I called out as I ran along beside him, trying to keep the back panel from flapping as it loosened even more. "Let go - I have it!"

As we passed 27th and then 28th, I began to worry that he might expect me to pay him for his assistance. I only had my cell phone and keys with me, and honestly I didn't want to have to pay him anyway - this was supposed to be my free chest after all!

I instructed him to leave it on the corner (didn't want him to know which apartment was mine!), although I'm pretty sure he would have carried it inside and nailed it back together for me.

"Thank you so so much. I couldn't have done this without your help, but I have no way to repay you."
"You don't have to repay me," he said.
"Well, I just feel terrible, you carried it all this way."
As I handed his book back to him, he just looked at me and said, "Just pray."
Startled, I said, "Well - okay!" And then we hugged (yes, hugged!) and he went on his way.

I left the chest in front of the fire station and ran back to Emily waiting in the car. Out of breath and trembling with excitement of my new chest, I told her the story of my roadside rescue as we drove the drawers back to the apartment.

And while I fulfill my little angel's request for prayer, I'll also throw in a few prayers for the poor broken and dirty chest - it, like all of us, needs a lot.


After cleaning every inch of the chest, I hammered a few nails in the side to keep the frame together and a few in the back to stick the board in place. Oh, and that bar you see is what was banging into my hip and left a nasty bruise!


Wa-la!! Isn't it retro cute?! Fits pefectly where I wanted a chest of drawers, and it will look great with the mirror Jane gave me hanging above it.

Move On

The gang gathered to wish Kimberly and me well as we move on...we're losing our sweet and fun Kimberly back to Birmingham, and I'm moving in to my "first" New York apartment in a few days!


Mary Jane, Jane, Meredith, Arthur, Walton, Kimberly, Jen, Cameron, Rebecca, Lynn Ellen, Emily and Katie.


Don't we have the best party games?! Who can spot Rebecca on the TV??


Walton and me - soon to be neighbors on East 29th Street!

We all love Janet...she lives several floors above us, but she's an official "33P girl"!

So you want to live in Soho?

In case you ever fancy living in Soho so you can hobnob with all the celebrity residents of the neighborhood and have the poshiest New York shopping right out your door, you should be prepared to pay $2,275 per month (plus utilities) for a fifth floor walk up the size of a glorified closet. Hey, at least it has running water.


The "den" and the door to the bathroom.


Now, turning a little to the left and voila! It's the "kitchen"!

This is the BIG bedroom.

This is the not so big bedroom. I think my head could probably touch one wall while my feet touched the other!

I think we'll keep looking.