The first
time I went apartment-hunting I took along two things: an explicit
bucket list and my real estate agent, who volunteered for the task.
I wanted to
live in the heart of the city so that narrowed the field. Most apartments
downtown are for people who live for their jobs and night life, so they need a
bed and a closet.
I wanted
space and a view.
News was out
about a newly renovated building; each apartment had its own own laundry and there was lots of guest parking, so we tried that first.
We checked
out a two-bedroom where the residents still lived before moving to a condo. My realtor
bluntly asked, right in front of our rental guide, why they were moving and
they rather bluntly explained; constant
elevator breakdowns, old windows that fogged and dripped all winter and too-small
rooms so they kept tripping over one
another
I was
mortified that my friend would be so blunt—and really glad he was.
Next we tried an old building a few blocks away and it almost fitted my bucket list like a
glove.
Corner suite, knock-out view, hardwood floors,
good- sized rooms, windows that still don’t drip and so far the elevator has
been faithful.
But there
was a problem: my bucket list included a roomy balcony where I could have a small potted garden. This balcony weighed in at 7. x 11 ft. The door opened at one end where the plants would have to go and the best
stretch of area is interrupted by the window air conditioner.
I envisioned a small table and two chairs fitted around the a/c and good luck to the plants
The gorgeous
view and hardwood floor had me hooked so I irrationally believed I was creative
enough to make that balcony flourish with plants and people .
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This was my first garden spot; veggies and flowers and my knee co-mingled
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| no more trumpet vine |
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| honeysuckle and barbecue a thing of the past |
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| I loved those peonies Keep in mind moved in in June. I thought I adapted rather well and there was time to work out a better plan for the next summer. |
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