There is an elderly woman in my apartment building who is always sitting by the back door when I leave for work in the mornings.  I’ve known her since I moved into the building, although I don’t actually know her name.  Six years ago, when we first started chatting in the elevator, she got around with the help of a cane, but was independent and strong.  You could tell that she was a powerful person, but one of such cheerful spirits that you could tell that she was the type that other people used for support and ballast.

In the intervening years, I’ve watched as she has gone from cane, to walker, to walker with a seat (living in a building with a high percentage of elderly people has been an education in their walking accessories) and now finally to a wheel chair.  She now always has an aide with her and seems to have shrunk quite visibly.  However, she is still exuberant and just this morning said to me as I was walking past, “Button up that overcoat dearie, it’s cold out there this morning.”  I smiled and said I would (even thought I was already all zipped up in my winter coat).

Sunday is Easter, so in honor of that holiday, we’ve made up a batch of deviled eggs. These are so simple that you don’t really need a recipe (but you can find one here if you so desire). So make sure to take a few of your leftover Easter eggs and devil them (same goes for your leftover Passover eggs in a few weeks).

Friday night, when we picked up the desk, I also acquired a couple of boxes of family pictures, letters, keepsakes and other paper. My cousin Lisa took me over to a trunk of letters and told me to take several handfuls. I dipped my hand in four times and on the last reach, pulled out an old stationary box from the John Wanamaker Department Store.

When we got home, I opened up that box and in it I found old postcards, Christmas cards and a small envelope containing the invitation to my great-great-grandparents wedding in 1886. In addition to its age, this invitation is particularly special because the wedding was here in Philadelphia. The ceremony was held at the Grace M.E. Church at Broad and Master Streets and the reception was at 1400 N. 16th Street, just a few blocks from the church. That neighborhood is now essentially part of the Temple campus and is sort of rough. My mind keeps reaching back, hoping to be able to imagine what it must have been like on the day they got married.

The final card in the packet, and the one that has given me the most delight, is the one labeled “At Home.” It indicates that the newly married couple lived at 1738 Green Street in Philadelphia. This is across the street from where my friend Georgia lives today and just a couple of blocks from where my cousin Harlan lived while he was in medical school. The idea that I’ve unknowingly walked the same blocks that my great-great-grandparents did thrills me in a way I find hard to articulate but enjoy deeply.

It’s been a hugely busy weekend, in which Scott and I rented a Philly Car Share truck, filmed a live episode of Fork You Live down at Foster’s Homeware, braved the St. Patrick’s Day crowds, watched a crappy movie, had lunch at Di Brunos, grocery shopped, had dinner with Roz at Plaza Garibaldi and came one step closer to integrating our stuff into a single apartment.

However, this post really isn’t about any of that, it’s about how Thad and Angie are some of the most fantastic friends ever.  After Fork You Live on Saturday, they came over to help us figure out how to get a very heavy, 100 year old+ desk that is 35 inches wide through a door frame that is 29 inches wide. We went through four screwdrivers, two hammers, nearly a roll of paper towels (it was quite dirty) and moved several pieces of furniture, but the desk now happily rests in the den.  Thanks guys!

There’s been a lot of rearranging going on around these parts of late, what with the whole cohabitation thing stirring up the order and arrangement of stuff. Last Sunday, Scott and I moved twelve boxes of books from his place to mine (we moved three boxes several weeks ago). They’ve been sitting in stacks in the living room since last weekend, waiting for us to do something with them.

I started moving things around last night, in an attempt to make some room, as well as cull a few books from my collection and I finished the process of making space tonight. Somehow (I credit my superior organizational skills) we managed to find homes for all of his books on the existing shelves (I did get rid of two overflowing bags of books in the process and I packed up most of my CDs, because really, I rarely use them anymore since the advent of the iPod).

The end of this merging process is actually in sight, which is a huge relief (I like it when things are settled, organized and put away. I realize that the nature of life is always in opposition to this desire of mine, but I still fight against entropy on a daily basis). He has to be out of his place by the end of the month, so the next few weekends will be devoted packing, moving, cleaning and discarding. I have to admit that I’m hoping for a spring and summer of simple routine and ease. A girl can hope.

Hey, if you want to see the rest of the overpacked bookshelves in the apartment, here you go. Living room, entry way, den, bedroom and bedroom.

Finally, a good use for my antique wooden spool. It’s the perfect height to serve as a microphone stand. If you’re wondering what’s happening in this picture, Scott’s about to participate in a TUAW Talkcast. Very exciting.

In other news, I’m into the third week of the new job and the schedule has suddenly started to kick my ass. I also think that losing the hour early Sunday morning has something to do with my difficulty to pry myself out of bed this morning. However, the good news is that the new vacuum arrived today (although I was too darn tired to do anything with it tonight). It is pretty and totally sucks.

As with many things I own, my vacuum came with my apartment. My grandfather bought it at the hardware store that used to be around the corner (it moved into a storefront across the street from my building about two years ago). I remember using it to erase the marks that a rented hospital bed had made in the bedroom carpet after my grandmother died and I have spent quality time with in on my hands and knees, reaching for the dust in corners and out from behind doors.

The first year the vacuum became mine, it stopped working. The motor turned on and the headlight shined bright, but it did not suck. And, in opposition to most things in life, when it comes to vacuums, it is actually better that they suck. There was a vacuum and sewing machine repair shop near my office, and so one morning, set out with the vacuum cleaner in tow. I got a series of strange looks from the people I passed as I walked my vacuum down Chestnut Street and into my office building. It sat with me in my cube until lunch time, when I walked it over to the repair shop. Several days later, I picked it back up, good as new.  It worked for a while, until the belt that the I had paid $19.75 to have replaced burnt through.  I was actually able to fix it on my own, and it sucked happily until last month.

Towards the beginning of February, I was cleaning up and pulled out my trusty vacuum cleaner.  Plugging it in and starting it up, almost immediately the room filled with a burning smell and the vacuum started making a sound that was out of its natural range.  I turned it off and tucked it away in the hall closet, thinking that I would deal with it later.

Tonight, Scott and I took it apart and attempted to install a new belt, thinking that that would solve the problem.  It worked for about 30 seconds before burning through the fresh belt and grinding to a halt.   My run with this trusty bagged vacuum has come to an end.  I feel slightly guilty getting rid of it, not only because my grandfather bought it, but also it feels environmentally unsound to throw it away and get another.  However, my vacuum repair store is no longer and my need to remove all the media stand packaging on the floor is starting to overwhelm me.  The new vacuum will be here on Tuesday.  I can’t wait.

When I first started this blog, lo those many years ago (Apartment 2024’s three year anniversary was about a week ago, for those of you keeping track) one of the big things that I wrote about was my journey along the running path.  Back then I was hard at work, training for the Broad Street Run.  I did the 10 mile run in May 2005 and kept happily running through that summer.  Then I sprained my ankle and got seriously derailed.  I’ve been a hit-or-miss exerciser ever since.

The entire time I was full-time student, I tried to get myself to the gym regularly, but the unstructured life I was leading made it really hard for me to make time to get on a treadmill or outside.  My running shoes were also at the end of their lifespan and so every time I’d work out in them, my feet and body would ache for days, further deterring me.

It might seem counter-intuitive, but now that I’m working a 9 to 5 schedule again, it feels easier to fit exercise in that it did when I had buckets of free time.  And yesterday, I took myself over to City Sports to shop for some new sneakers.  I flagged a sales guy, told him I was stupid about running shoes and tried on about 12 pairs until I found some that were winners.  I went to the gym last night and was shocked at how much easier and less painful it is to run in good shoes.

For the last week, since the new job update I pounded out last Monday night, I’ve been meaning to post.  But it hasn’t happened.  It’s not for a lack of things to write about but more a feeling of overwhelmedness at suddenly how much there is to write down.  It’s like as soon as I take a job and release myself from the bounds of my apartment, I remember what it’s like to live and blog.  Here are a couple of recent tidbits…

Friday night, as I was riding elevator back up to my apartment, I got smacked by a wave of scent memory.  I was tired from the week and so was a little spacey and receptive to olfactory time travel.  The doors opened on the 14th floor and I was suddenly hit with the smell of cooking kasha.  The smell of nutty, steamy buckwheat hit my nose and I was a small child, riding the elevator with my grandmother.  I remembered the feeling of safety and warmth and I carried that sensual memory for the rest of the evening.

This afternoon, I made the mistake of going to Trader Joe’s in the middle of the Sunday afternoon rush.  The lines were halfway down the aisles, so I edited my list down to the basics and headed for the express line.  There was a lovely kind of teamwork and cooperation happening, as people tried to keep their places and make room for the others who came after.  A woman got in line with her daughter, and I got to chatting with them after briefly holding their place.  I recognized the woman from my building and as we talked about Center City living, multiple members of the line joined in.  It made the wait far more pleasant, and while I didn’t get my neighbor’s name, I know that we’ll exchange waves and hellos from now on.

And on the cohabitation front: I purchase my first brand-new piece of furniture in order to accommodate Scott’s gigantic television.    I must admit, I am enjoying the hugeness of it and finally understand what all the fuss is about HD.

It’s the end of the night, and it’s only the final fumes of the day that are currently keeping me running, but I thought I’d take a minute or two before I pass out to check in.  I started my new job today and it wasn’t terrible at all.

I woke up with a start about fifteen minutes before my alarm went off this morning, having just finished a dream in which I overslept and ran to the office in my sweatpants and tank top.  Luckily, my latent anxiety prevented that from happening in reality and I lay in bed awake for the final few minutes of unemployed time, staring at the slivers of morning light that were peaking through the slates of the blinds.

Once I got there, it was just like all the first days of work that have come before.  I filled out HR paperwork (I am quite excited to have health insurance again, after 18 months without).  I went on a walk around the office with my supervisor, meeting people, shaking hands and forgetting names as soon as they were told to me.  I set up my email and voicemail and read the employee handbook (did you know that there’s no ‘and’ in GPTMC’s name?).  I went out to lunch with some new co-workers, asking a bunch of questions and answering some in return.  And, at 8 minutes before 5 pm, I started watching the clock, looking forward to the moment when my time would be wholly my own once more.  Ah, work.