Nesting

We actually spent the entire weekend absorbed in domestic chores like putting up shelves and blinds. Sorry, I mean window treatments (been watching HGTV). And by saying "we" put up shelves, I mean Delta did all the measuring, hammering, carrying, sanding and sawing. I hovered around helplessly, trying to generally stay out of trouble, and passing Delta implements when he needed them (think an operating room when the surgeon says, "scalpel please").

Delta would be balancing precariously on a footstool, singlehandedly holding up the curtain rod, with a measuring tape in his mouth, and the other hand hanging on to the window to prevent himself from falling, and he would ask me a small favour like "pass the leveller, please" and I wouldn't know what it was. I would hum and haw and generally buffoon around, leaving my husband hanging at the window, while I tried to learn what a leveller looked like.

That is exactly how little help I was this weekend.

But partners we are, when it comes to such tasks, and now at the end of the weekend, I'm proud to announce that we now have blinds on the windows and shelves on the walls.

Little steps. That's how it goes. Little steps.

The Pitfalls of DIY

Trrrng, trrrring.
Delta's picture was staring up at me on my iPhone.
"Hi there! How's things going?"
"Erm, I have a bit of a problem here."
Sigh.

Earlier that day, Delta and I had scuttled over to Home Depot to buy new metal switch plates and dimmers for the lights in our apartment. Things like this make us positively brim over with ill-contained excitement. Our enthusiasm for homebuilding knows no bounds.

"Are you sure we should be doing this ourselves, Delta?" I'd asked cautiously, when he started fiddling around with the wires.
"Of course!" he'd reassured me, "this isn't rocket science, you know."

So now when he said there was a bit of a problem, I wasn't quite sure what to expect.
"Well, the good news is," Delta continued, "the dimmer is working perfectly."
"Great!!" I exclaimed excitedly, knowing what a difference this would make to our living room. "So what's the problem?"
"Well, the bad news is, somehow, the hallway switch is now turning on the light in the kitchen."

What.

"Seriously?"
"Yeah. It works, but for some reason it works in the kitchen."

Craziness.

"So what light does the kitchen switch turn on?"
"I'm not sure yet, I'm still trying to figure that out."
"Delta, are you serious? I don't think we can live with all the wrong switches turning on the wrong lights."
Even as I said it, I was thinking to myself, actually, it could be pretty entertaining.

And very quickly, I found myself quite accustoming to the idea of random switches for random lights. In fact I was just about to suggest it to Delta, when he cut my thought off right there in its nascent stages:
"You know what? I'm quite liking this. Wait till I connect it so you have to pull the flush to start the microwave."

Movers are always late

I'm sitting at home on the couch, waiting for the movers to arrive. Predictably, they're running late. Which is a pretty torturous thing, when everything you own is in boxes, except your laptop. So I'm reduced to watching re-runs of Saturday Night Live skits on the internet. Which, come to think of it, is actually pretty fun. I might keep doing it even after we've moved.

Queen Jaffa, having shown tremendous fortitude throughout the chaos of this move, has chosen this morning out of all, to insist on sleeping on the keyboard. Which makes blogging an interesting adventure in its own right.

For the fifth time in 7 years, I'm packed up to move again (but this time to stay put for longer). Once again, all my worldly possessions have been summed up in two suitcases and a handful of disposable boxes. And a scratching post (doesn't fit in the boxes), and a sleeping cat.

Boxes, suitcases, scratching post, sleeping cat and me, still waiting for the movers to arrive. In eager anticipation, that in a couple hours, we can start the rest of our lives in the new home.

An Autumn Gourd

I suddenly looked at my blog this morning, and realised - OMG I haven't posted anything since the 8th of September! The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity and simply disappeared before me in a whizzing continuum of chaos. Guess it goes to show, if there was ever any doubt, that time truly is an elastic concept. Experiential putty, figuratively speaking.

The last two weeks have been a time for a sudden spurt of growing up, in my life. Before last Friday, I never owned anything more valuable than my cellphone. And now, all of a sudden, we own a home. A home!! Delta and I whooped in excitement as soon as the 'closing' was over.

And then we went back to the apartment, and were immediately sobered. Oh the apartment was as lovely as it always had been, but there was so much work to be done!
"Come on Ficali, let's head over to Home Depot," Delta grabbed my hand and we headed out.

We bought little cans of wall paint, and painted large patches on our walls, trying to choose the colours for our new home. And over the next few days, I learnt about sanding and spackling (??!!) the trim, and about primer and choosing paint sheens. And about ridiculous paint colour names like "Autumn Gourd" and "Summer Overture".

And then finally, last night we got home and collapsed in an entangle exhausted pile onto the couch.
"I'm TIRED!!" I exclaimed. I hadn't thought that painting was this much work.

But at the same time, I was also exhilarated. Here it was, after days of hard labour (and many, MANY trips to Home Depot), our home was slowly coming together.

At long last!

At long last, after waiting for many a day with bated breath, we have a confirmed closing day for our new apartment. Finally, finally, this wait is at an end. Finally, we can start getting serious about the furniture, and the wall painting, and together start creating this home which will be our own.

For two weeks now, I have been pestering our lawyer with pestilential tenacity on an almost daily basis.
"Have they given us a date yet?"
"What about now, do you have a date yet?"
"What about today, have you heard from them yet?"

So you can imagine, the lawyer quite expected me to whoop in jubilation when he called me this afternoon: "We have a date! September 19th!"
Instead, I dissolved into a puddle of panic. The 19th! That's less than two weeks away! But I still hadn't weeded through my stuff at home! And we still hadn't decided on the wall colours! And the furniture, and the movers and ... there was no way we had enough time.

In typical Ficali fashion, I had been so fixated on getting the closing date finalised, I hadn't really thought to plan for the day after. Or the day after. Or after.

I rushed home in a huff of panic and excitement, but no one was home yet, except Queen Jaffa, squawkingly demanding her food. So I proceeded to tell Queen Jaffa all about the closing date, and what that would mean for all of us. About what her new home would be like. About how she really shouldnt' scratch Delta's couch if she cared for us at all. About how we planned to take her for walks in the new neighbourhood. She was a rather silent participant in our conversation, but that's okay, I had enough to say for the both of us. And then in the end, after having silently endured the entire monologue, she squawked. She was just wondering why I was blithering on instead of giving her her food.

So I gave her her dinner, and headed to the room. Where the closet still needs to be weeded through. But closet control can be kept for tomorrow. Today, it's just about telling Queen Jaffa all about her new home.

Interviews are scary (even for an HR bod)

Yesterday, Delta and I had to appear for a Board Interview. This interview process is peculiar to New York, it appears. Essentially, after you agree to buy a home, and after the seller agrees to sell it to you, and after you get all the mortgage shenanigans sorted, you still need to get approved by the Board. The Board is a panel of the building's tenants, who ultimately decide whether or not they like you enough to let you stay in their coveted building. Essentially, a group of strangers deciding upon the fate of your life. Charming, really.

"Remember to dress up for this interview just as you would for a job interview!" our broker cautioned. And so Delta and I had to cobble together a set of vestaments suitable for the occasion. At least Delta wears suits every once in a while, usually for the odd wedding or another. But me, I hadn't dressed corporate smart in years. Delta took one look at the shirt I had in my hand, and sighed. "We're going to need to iron that," he said, shaking his head. And (with good reason) he proceeded to iron it himself, for fear that I would ruin it.

So after a bit of ado and kerfuffle, there we were, all spiffed and shined. I ogled at the girl staring at me in the mirror - the one in a crisp white shirt tucked into a tight skirt and 3-inch heels. And wobbled my way precariously to the door. Other than on my actual wedding day, I dont' think I've worn any footwear but flip flops all summer.

We reached the building a few minutes early and seated ourselves in the lobby. I wondered nervously what the board would be like. Who would interview us. Whether they'd be personable. Whether they'd like us. And of course, most importantly, whether we'd pass their test. I was mulling these questions over in my head when a man approached us in the lobby.

"Delta? Ficali?"
It took me a moment to register that he might actually be a member of the board. He was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, obviously on his way to the gym.
"Hi, I'm Zor," he stuck his hand out warmly.

And at once, I knew it would be just fine. There were two people who interviewed us in the end, and they embodied exactly the simplicity and casual warmth that had attracted us to the building in the first place. We liked them both instantly. After a friendly half an hour chat with these two happy bods (one of them turns out to be our neighbour, coincidentally), we were already on our way.

So there we go, final hurdle almost done, and now, at the end of September, we might actually have our first home.

Eating an elephant

If you haven't done it before, let me tell you something about life (said the grouch). The initial glee of buying an apartment very quickly changes into sheer panic.
Pure, unadulterated, panic.

For no one told us when we put an offer on the house that we'd also need to find a lawyer. And haggle for mortgages. And make sure the brokers were on top of their stuff. And still continue normal lives at work each day. Well, maybe they did tell us all this, but they never warned us that it would be impossible.

I mean, doesn't life stop to give you the time you need, when you want to buy a house? Doesn't anyone teach you a more efficient method of coping than with a thousand en-scribbled post-its stuck all over your desk?

Today was reserved for sulking about the fact that co-ops just dont' seem to play by the mortgage rules that any other normal purchase. Tomorrow will be reserved for sulking about tomorrow's dilemma.

But I'd once read, as a child: the way to eat an elephant, is one bite at a time.

(although for most of my life, I took the adage quite literally, and applied it to every voracious meal I ate).

But today, for the first time, we're genuinely eating an elephant. Panickingly (and yet excitedly), one bite at a time.

Fingers crossed

My heart was thumping in my chest.

Yes, we're going to take it, I said. Yes. Yes.

"Hello? Are you still there?" it was our broker.
And suddenly I realised I hadn't been speaking aloud, only in my head.
"Oh sorry, I said yes, we're going to take it."
"Brilliant. I'll draw up the paperwork, and the next step is to get the lawyers involved."

And that was it. That is how quickly we decided, and all of a sudden, we were buying a home.

Of course, a zillion things could happen to stop it from going through in the end. Maybe the co-op board would hate us. Maybe we would see the apartment one last time and realise we had made an egregious error, and backpaddle desperately out of the deal. Maybe we would suddenly re-look at our bank accounts and realise we couldn't afford it after all.

But until any of those fears actually come to fruition, it still stands that Delta and I are buying an apartment. Our first home together, right here in the epicentre of this microcosm of insanity which is this city.

The terms are sparse (but then, "sparse" in the world can still be plentifull in Manhattan), but it's our home all the same: a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and a closet. I mean, who needs more, anyway. I'd even go so far to suggest that anything further would be outright wasteful.

"I wonder how we're going to fit all our clothes," I mused, staring at the floorplan and mentally willing the closet space to double itself.
"I know!" Delta exclaimed. "If you could just get rid of all your clothes, if you don't mind terribly, I think I could manage to fit mine in there."
I scowled and gave him a playful shove, and we grinned at each other in glee.

For in three months, maybe, just maybe, we will be building this home together, closet space and all.

Homefinding

We have entered a new phase in our lives. It's more than that. I could even venture so far as to audauciously suggest that America herself has entered into a new phase in her life. Real estate is finally affordable.

So with much kerfuffle and perplexity, Delta and I have launched on our mission to buy a house.

I always knew that home-buying would be complicated. I just didn't know how mind-consumingly, mind-bogglingly, mind-swimmingly confusing it would be.

First, we had to find a broker. We side-sweeped that step, of course, by latching ourselves on to the first broker we met (nice elderly fella with a trustable-looking face, what more could one want).

Then, we have to identify the apartments we want to see. Now, that's the fun part for sure. Floorplans, pictures, little spreadsheets comparing price-square-footage ratios. Well, for the first ten apartments anyway. And then suddenly, by your hundredth apartment, the floorplans merge into a blur of contorted black and white boxes, like some kind of surreal real estate version of tetris.

Today, we decided to get pre-qualified for a mortgage. "Delta, would you please take care of that for us?" I asked.
My forte lies in persusing floorplans. Finances will need to fall to someone else, I'm afraid. So Delta got volunteered for the task, and I sat finger-nail-bitingly by until he called me back.
"Okay, we're set, I got us the pre-qual letter."
"Really? it was that easy as that? We are pre-qualified for a mortgage that will get us the apts we want?"
"Sure, of course. What did you think would happen?!"

So apparently Delta had been less mentally ruffled than yours truly.

And now, the funnest part. This weekend, we meander aimlessly (well, in reality, it's a rather ardent stride through an ambitious list of apartments in 2 hrs) through the Upper East Side, and perhaps we find that place we can call home.

Or perhaps not, and it's back to real-estate tetris.