It's official. We are moving to a new city in the fall, after we return from our visit to the United States of America. Last week, I flew to our new city with one of my favorite friends, Alisa, pictured here (she and her fam are moving there, too) and signed my name to a two-year lease and paid the landlord half a year's rent in cash. That's how it's done here. Boy, am I glad I didn't leave my purse in the airport ladies' room that day! If only the petty thieves had known the kind of heat I was packing. Yikes...Our new apartment is 7-floors off the ground with no elevator. I will have buns of steel by this time next year, I am sure of it. OK, maybe that's wishful thinking. Just trying to look on the bright side, as I will have to tote four small children and their scooters and trikes and all of my groceries up and down those stairs several times a week. Whew!
The reason we chose a top-floor apartment is the roof access. For the first time since
504 N. Lexington Ave., where we lived in 2004, we will have private outdoor space. Can you hear me singing? I am. I am singing a song of celebration.
Now, don't get me wrong, the place is a dump. But a little lipstick and rouge and I think we will be very comfy there. I want to put a picnic table on the roof, and a kiddie pool, and we might even pick up a cheap grill. Now if only we could get our hands on some good, red, American beef to throw on the Bar-B. Ah, but a girl can't have everything.
I have to tell you about the DRAMA that happened on our flight home! Our flight was supposed to take off at 10 p.m., but it was delayed. We didn't even board until 11:45 p.m. As if that weren't enough, we sat on the tarmac until 2:30 a.m. Yes, I said 2:30 a.m. Well, at about 2, the passengers of the crowded aircraft formed a mob around the stewardesses, demanding answers. That would have been no problem except that Alisa and I were sitting in the bulkhead. Lovely. What I am saying is, at 2 in the morning, after being up since 5 the morning before, we found ourselves surrounded by 50 or 60 angry and overtired people from a culture where yelling is acceptable. The louder the better, in fact, it would seem. The staff of our airplane, who we needed to get us home safely, were being berated to the point of tears. Their petite hands were shaking. It was in this state that we were finally cleared for takeoff, and the plane began to race down the runway with the mob still on their feet and pressed against our backs. Alisa and I were squeezing each others' hands and praying out loud. It was insane.
What did our husband's have to say about it? I can't remember if Daniel had a comment, but Alisa's husband, John, voiced his disappointment that we didn't get it on video.
Nice.
All that to say, we are moving. We are moving to a new city, in a new province, into a great big dive of an apartment, with good friends by our side and the L0RD lighting the way. I am buckling my seat belt right now.
