Im currently engaged in the thankless task of looking for another place to live.Im a native New Yorker and lived here all my life and always, for some reason, on the top floor of walkups.(I never had the dough for an elevator building.)Well, my knees are giving out now and Im face to face with having to movewhich I havent done in 40 years.Wow, have things changed.
I must stop occasionally to take a breath because its a jungle out there, both in terms of price and availability.I remember when people lined up to be the first to get the Village Voice or the Sunday Times to scan the real estate section.but now its 24/7 and onlineand a depressingly large number of times there are bidding wars or the apartments are ridiculoussmaller than veal pens with a single window and tiny radiators.All they have is a fresh coat of paint and cheap new flooring.First ApartmentWhich leads me to think with longing of my first apartment.
It was in Brooklyn Heights, which was at the time a quiet neighborhood with quirky small businesses; there was a hubbub when McDonalds put an outpost on Montague Street.My apartment was two rooms in an old building but it was more than enough after the chaos of my familys apartment.It had nice wood floors and a circular wall and a compact kitchen.The windows overlooked the skylineand, sadly, the Brooklyn Queens Expressway.
For the first six months I kept having dreams that I was sleeping in a railroad car!Best of all, the rent was affordable to me, an aspiring writer/waitress.I furnished it from items my wealthier neighbors put on the curb and improvised others.I have no idea how I lugged one of those huge round telephone cable spools up the five flights to my apartment.
I had no money but I was pretty handy I built wall units with window seats in the living/bedroom and a tile topped counter with storage in the kitchen.My downfall was when I tried to build my own kitchen table.It was a disaster and I ended up going to Goodwill.You paid WHAT???Still it was a really special place I had lots of fun and friends came over all the time.
I had an Oscar-watching party, expecting fifteen people and the lights went out, so I ran an extension cord into the hallway, lit candles and the show went on.It was a fun and funky crib but after the second robbery, I sadly had to bid it goodbye and moved in with my fiance.People gag when I tell them my rent was $150 a month in 1980.Of course, after I left, the neighborhood underwent a major gentrification, they installed a locking door downstairs and on the roof, and it went condo, so I missed out.I still wonder if I could have stuck it out there, but Ill never forget the wonderful feeling of the first space I could truly call my own.YOUR TURNBut thats me.
What about you? What was your first place like? Share your experiences in the comments!Virge Randall is Senior Planets Managing Editor.She is also a freelance culture reporter who seeks out hidden gems and unsung (or undersung) treasures for Straus Newspapers and blogs about New York City life.Send your Open Thread suggestions to [email protected].
Publisher: Senior Planet ( Read More )
