The previously unexplored world of curtains

Finally it is time to write.

I have my first Big Girl Apartment.

To think that last year this time I was in Vietnam somewhere (probably between Ho Chi Minh City and Hue), with not even the slightest foretaste that I'd be now in Ithaca, with a third-floor apartment right downtown, with a job at Cornell. The thoughts on my mind are no longer Oh Joy This Pho Is Only $1! and We Are Very Lost And It Is Very Sunny And We Can't Read The Road Signs. Now the thoughts are about area rugs and color coordination and an overwhelming need to unpack boxes and where-the-growl-are-all-my-writing-utensils. 

I am forced to write because I cannot make tea, I cannot vacuum or iron, and I can see nothing past 7:30pm in this new apartment of mine. There is no electricity at the moment. So I went out for electricity, and a latte, and here I am with a laptop watching the street go by.


My fridge items are squatting on my fire escape and my freezer items are becoming weepy. I bought them some ice today and shall hope for the best.

I needn't detail why I am devoid of electricity (I happily and un-gratefully experienced it when I first moved in, at least), but the nuggets and nubbins of it are: there was a crossed wire, erm as it were, with the previous occupants, and also NYSEG doesn't take Same Day Requests.

But electricity aside, this is the most thrilled I have ever been about an apartment. I'm not cloistered to just one bedroom in a shared house; I'm not living alone in a wheat field with upside down packing boxes for side tables and an air mattress for a bed; I'm not sleeping on a box spring; I'm not sharing a dark green hole with a grumpy roommate who refuses to speak to me; and I'm not in a college room in a busy dorm. The dirty dishes will be my dirty dishes and I have my very own living room. I've never had a living room before. And I'm deciding to be a bit more tasteful and grown up (what does that even mean?) thus I donated my pink plastic lamp and shall not hang anything that is unframed.

Various mother figures in my life have given me couches and dishes, table clothes and candlesticks. My Daddy made me an organ bed (with four wooden pipes that Actually Play--rather, make noise--and it is a mighty presence indeed in my bedroom).

In apartment hunting, I was a victor in finding this one. I'd seen the overheated slanted flat about the Chinese restaurant (inescapable smells of brown sauce, anyone?), a dark spot in college town with a view of someone's Party Litter backyard, an apartment in a building where there'd be nowhere reasonable to store my bicycle.

But this space is the entire top floor of a huge old house right near the center of town. Windows face all directions, there are wood floors and a sweet set of shelves built in above the stairs, which have a beautiful big wooden railing. I have space for huge kale projects in the kitchen, and I don't pay for heat. And oh I shall have parties!

I am happy to be living for the first time in amongst an urban center (as urban-ish as Ithaca is). I can walk in a few minutes for coffee, to shops, to the library, for a pint, for live music. None of this driving-25-minutes-nonsense or even biking a few miles. Because Ithaca feels like predominantly winter, being able to survive in the north will happen because I can tramp out in the snow just a few blocks and find light and warmth and other humans. (this doesn't stop me from missing the trains and ferns and mildness that is Seattle, though)

The help I received last weekend in setting up made me so grateful to have loving parents and easily-called upon friends. I was ramped and prancing from the excitement of seeing the space being filled.  Four different work-groups of friends at different times, in fact, helped me carry a mattress upstairs, clean the cabinets, and ferry endless caravans of boxes. It all went so fast, and I was gloriously happy to have the help. And my parents were so dear with their cleaning supplies, and trailer, and executive ideas about things.

But I had no idea I'd ever become so captivated by things like buying rugs. But here I am. Setting up this place is an exercise in aesthetics and decisions and design and it is quite fascinating. I feel very new and exploratory and am realizing that setting up an apartment is self-expression, just like choosing one's wardrobe.

There are so many decisions, decisions I didn't even know could exist, that germinate when one has to sow life freshly in a new space. Do shoes go in the entry way or bedroom? Do I want to have my scarves hanging or folded? Do spices go on the rack or in the cupboard?

Speaking of spices. One also learns truths about oneself, when one's life is extracted out of boxes and exposed in this way when moving. I realized I have an intractable penchant for spices. Cardamom in two forms, turmeric enough to stain an army, fenugreek, zatar, both multicolored peppercorns and plebeian peppercorns, allspice, French tarragon I harvested myself.....I tapped and spooned and puffed all these spices from Mennonite bulk containers into my unmatching eccentric little spice jars, then sneezed so violently I blew a few window gaskets.

(In addition to spices I love the scarves, the earrings, and the mugs.) 

I still feel very new here in Ithaca, but look forward to getting out from under my rug decisions and becoming a part of the community.

And now I need to stop writing and go think about curtains.

I went to my first estate sale with my Dad, and he did the amazing maneouver of backing the trailer right up to their garage.

Here my Dad sets up the Organist Bed. That tube is part of the bed.

I guess I like labeling things. Some of these boxes I packed over a year ago, before moving from Washington State to Geneva NY to my parents to my aunt's and uncles....

Church flavors

In the past week astonishingly new things have occurred for me. I am wearing new glasses instead of contacts, and I have a smartphone (or, at least a Moderately Intelligent phone).

Also: I am going to be accompanist for the Baptists. 

I've never played for Baptists before. Not a single song at their choir rehearsal tonight was familiar to me. But I don't think I've ever seen such a happy and perky choir rehearsal; the music was simple with just one or two lines, repetitive, and full of reassuring Jesus Loves You messages. One of my favorite ladies was bouncing markedly in her chair every time she laughed, and there was plenty of laughter. During the funniest bits Mrs. Bounce winked at new little me sitting off by the keyboard, all inclusive.

This area is positively blossoming with organists/accompanists, so positions have been a little hard to come by. This opening with the Baptists is a new development.

Playing for the Baptists might be of the same caliber of Newness as the glasses and cellphone, however. I'm used to music of the Episcopals (complex and sacred), or the Presbyterians (much-loved history and grandeur), or even the Lutherans or Methodists (accessible and boom-chunky), or the Christian Scientists (reflective and devoted). The Baptist music (contemporary and upbeat), brought to mind musical theatre, summer camp, maybe even the Muzak in the waiting room at the dentist's.

They're not using their organ, instead preferring an electric keyboard. So I won't be busting out Bach this Sunday, instead out shall come the sentimental Celtic hymn arrangements, the 7th-chord gospel richnesses. I do enjoy matching my music to various congregations. For most of the choir pieces, instead of someone accompanying at the keyboard, they use......a CD accompaniment track ("that just adds more interest for the listeners," explained Mrs. Choir Director earnestly) with soaring violins, bim-bim-cha drums, and sparkling sparklers.

So it was the easiest choir practice I ever attended. I played the melody line a few times to help people find their notes, and then sat and started writing this entry in my head.

There will be "Praise and Worship" music this Sunday, too. Practicing it, I've never seen so many dotted quarter notes in one sitting. I think this shall be fascinating this Sunday.

But a little pipe organ bird tells me that I might end up playing the historic tracker organ for the Christian Scientists in Ithaca. Because, amazingly, just today Mrs. Christian Scientist Organist offered me most of her Sundays from now until the summer! So, clap your hands clap clap your hands praise Jesus my lord wooowooowooo I think I'll be on their bench. This is just in time before I signed on full time with the electric keyboard and accompaniment CDs.