If you’re going to exit a mildly competitive round of golf without finishing, don’t do it on the eighteenth tee.
No, that’s not a band: Amy and I bought an apartment. It’s a prewar two-bedroom “Edwardian five” on West End Avenue.
What, pray tell, is that? To quote the New York Times, an Edwardian five is “a one-bedroom for a rich bachelor or widow (probably not for a young single woman—they rarely lived alone in Edwardian times): only one bedroom but a preposterously large dining room and, of course, a maid’s room.” And indeed, that’s what we have, oversized dining room and all.
Our broker called us hopelessly romantic when we fell for the place, with its high ceilings, inlaid wood floors, stained glass bathroom windows, intact transoms, and extensive moldings. We’re in the midst of pushing it even further into prewar-ness, with fresh paint from the Benjamin Moore historical palette and accessories like glass doorknobs (from eBay, of course). Romance is in a holding pattern, though, as the days since closing have been heavily consumed by painting and spackling and arguing about dining room chairs. We move in early April.
Wondering what an Edwardian five is like? Here’s the floorplan:
My mother spent the past few months producing a benefit performance of “The Vagina Monologues” at the new South Orange Performing Arts Center (SOPAC), culminating in two sold-out shows this week, the first of which I attended with my family. In short, the play was terrific, and so was Mom’s big scene.
I could write extensively about the implications of hearing one’s mother scream, “C… U… N… CUNNNNNNNN…” while sitting with one’s father, wife and brother. But the truer emotion to recollect is one of the pride I—we—feel, in both the production and her standout performance.
I haven’t been able to find quite the right words (beyond, well, you know). My future sister-in-law, on the other hand, says it beautifully. Do give it a read, and don’t miss the comments.
Y’know, you go on vacation, and you think to yourself, “It’s going to be a great week, seeing new things, relaxing, taking in the sights, soaking up the local culture.” What you don’t think is, “Hey, y’know what’ll be great? Flying half a mile across a 600-foot-deep valley between hills on the side of a volcano in the middle of a rainforest….”