Our Apartment

Oakwood apartments are primarily for temporary housing for professionals in transition or on temporary assignments. The State Department has a contract with them so many of the people living here are in the same situation as Doug and I.

They are huge, plain brick apartments buildings scattered around a common area with a pool, Jacuzzi (closed for the season), tennis courts (3) a sand volleyball pit, a gym with saunas in the locker rooms, playground and gas barbeque grills that are cleaned daily. It’s nice and we are treated very well. They have an activities director that plans events like s’mores night, lasagna night, game night and karoki night. Also offered are free exercise classes including tennis mixers, cardio jam, abs and more and yoga.

Our apartment is a one bedroom with colorless carpeting, baby poop brown walls, someone’s vacation pictures blown up hanging on the walls as art, appliances from the ‘70s, and doors (including cabinets) that cannot be shut quietly. We did not have the luck of the draw on apartments. We are on ground level so if we want to look out the nice arcadia door, everyone else gets to look in. I can (usually) live with that. Our view out back is the dog poop station. Out our front door is the fire alarm. I’m not inventing this to make you jealous. There are six drawers for clothing. My undies are in one, my tops in the next and my pants in the third. I have a sock shelf. This includes stockings (woolens, etc.) and exercise clothes. There simply is no organization possible there. It’s like I’d be if I were in a hotel for a week. I’d unpack all my clothes to “settle in” but it would be discombobulated.

Thank God for Angelina. She comes in Wednesdays to clean up after us. She cleans surfaces, dishes, the bathroom and sinks, vacuums and changes the linens. She works hard. She is around 55-60 (I’m guessing). She wears a support on her right forearm because is gives her lots of trouble and pain. When she works, I hear her breathe hard and I hear her breath catch when the pain hits her. It’s difficult for both of us in very different ways. She primarily speaks Spanish but is pretty good with English so we talk. One day we were talking about her arm and I have no idea how it led to this but we realized that we both had breast surgery. At first, I thought she had the same surgery I had so I moved my shirt and showed her my scar. She lifted her shirt and showed me where her breasts had been. Total masectomy. She had had cancer. Suddenly my little surgery was NOTHING. Occasionally she still will point at her chest and ask me how I am. We hug when she finishes. I bet we are the only two (housekeeper and tenant) who hug like that. She’s going to retire in January. I’ll miss her.

The entire staff here is great. I even wrote a short story inspired by one of the maintenance men. I’ve had to call maintenance a few times. This is really embarrassing but I had to call them to change a light bulb. Stop laughing. I can hear you from here. “How many piano teachers does it take . . .” Never mind. We are supposed to call them – okay? So Joachin shows up. He’s my favorite maintenance man. Joachin likes to talk. Every time he comes I get another story – the time he temporarily lost his eyesight from being in a strobe too long, the shopping experience at B.J.’s (which, he says, is like Costco but better) and there are plenty more where those came from. Remember – I like Joachin. But I had to take him to task one day which we both handled admirably.

My biggest pet peeve with hotels (and now apartments) is that housekeeping and maintenance don’t give you enough notice before they let themselves in your room. I have had quite the experiences here. Most of you know that I was married before Doug. Well, on Stan’s and my wedding night we got back to our room – the honeymoon suite – around midnight or so. I should tell you that Stan and I waited to do certain things until we were married. So we were READY TO GO. We had JUST begun consummating our marriage when there was a knock at the door and, before we could react, the door was open and in walked a maid of some sort who, of course, did not speak English. Stan and I were shouting and looking for things to throw. We were mad. It kind of spoiled the moment. It was, as I look back with perfect vision, an omen. I called the desk and demanded that the maid who did that was fired immediately – it was after midnight for crying out loud. Another time, I was at one of the storytelling conferences when I returned to my room between workshops. I needed to go to the bathroom. I really needed to go. When you opened the door to my room the bathroom was immediately on the left. I entered, turned and sat to go. Right away there was a knock on the door. “Just a . . .” The door opened before I could finish my sentence. Thank God women have strong off switches. I leapt up (no visuals, please) and slammed the door on the maid. I truly hoped I hurt her. I finished up then went outside to yell at her. She, of course, did not speak English. I know. You’re wondering “why don’t you lock the door?” Good question. I do lock and bolt the door and line up my luggage up (no kidding) in front of it. In that particular situation, remember, I really had to go. The point is, as I told Joachin after he walked in on me, they need to knock then wait then knock again. Whoever is inside may not hear the first knock. They may be busy or asleep. Then they need to open the door and say something loudly just to make sure it’s okay to enter. Please, someone, tell me I’m not asking too much here.

Joachin and I are cool now. He even got a pumkin pie from me to share with the other maintenance men.

MAKING DO

One of the goals I set for myself upon my move to the D.C. area was to cook more. When I taught piano M-F from apx. 3-7 P.M,. that made it difficult to cook for dinner. So I was looking forward to cooking here in our Falls Church apartment. I am making two or three main dishes a week. (Since it’s just Doug and I, there are lots of leftovers.) I make lots of soup and stew, a casserole – whatever sounds good and is healthful. If is not easy to cook when one doesn’t have good cooking supplies, however. All I have is what the apartment came with:

Three glass nesting bowls (Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear sizes)
One 9” round Pyrex cooking dish
One 9’ X 14’ cookie sheet that rusts when you soak it
Two skillets (one non-stick)
One soup/sauce pan
One larger pan
One extra large pot (no handle)
One colander
Set of dull knives (including kitchen shears – thank the Lord)
A plastic slotted spoon, narrow scraper, wire whisk (thank the Lord) and a
spatula
A 12 X 12 casserole dish (which we bought) and an 8 X 14 glass cake pan

My first challenge was steaming vegetables (yuck). I put some water in the Pyrex, boiled it in the microwave, put the vegetables in the colander and set them in the boiling water. Odd, but it worked.

The BIG challenge was Doug’s birthday cake. He loves Red Velvet Cake (Waldorf Cake?). So I was determined to make it. The first step was to beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. I had no beaters. Thank God for the wire whisk. My arms were pretty sore after that ordeal. Mixing alone took a couple hours I’d guess. The amusing part was selecting cake pans as the recipe was for a double layer cake. I wound up using the 12 X 12 casserole dish for the lower layer and the 9” round Pyrex for the upper layer giving the whole cake a sort of hat-like look. To keep the upper layer from sliding around, I used Q-tips (no toothpicks). It wasn’t pretty, but it sure tasted good.

I am also learning to make do with fewer distractions. I have fewer books, for instance. I may actually read a few cover to cover! It’s nice because it’s forcing me to be more focused and to work through complicated or dull passages in exchange for a complete reading.

We only brought a handful of CD’s with us along with our vinyl albums on the computer. A friend of mine put several of her albums on some little thingy which, when I stick it in my phone, is supposed to play that stored music for me. We haven’t gotten it to work yet. (Help, Miss Julie!)

My piano is in storage so I cannot practice or play. I brought my recorders with me but managed to not pack any music.

I have fewer pieces of clothing and am getting pretty tired of wearing the same thing. However, I have mixed different tops with different pants or skirts and been surprised of the new looks. That’s kind of fun. So is shopping. My biggest regret here is that all dressy clothes I packed are black but one.

We bank with ING online and Wells Fargo for checking. There are no Wells Fargo branches out here so getting cash is a bit of a challenge. When we first arrived, I had to depend on some cash my Aunt Katy gave us (thank you, Aunt Katy) some cash on hand from certain piano students. (Thank you Andreas, Hitzemans and Divitas!) Consequently, I am not eating lunch out or stopping for junk to munch on because I don’t like using a card for $5. And I’ve made a ruling on candy: I can buy a little at the grocery store when I do the weekly shopping but that is the only place I’m allowed to buy it. If I want to eat it all in one day (which I have not) fine, but that’s it for the week. Doug doesn’t like change (coins), so I get all his change. It’s enough to buy a Sunday paper and a weekly small Pepsi from Target.

I go into this much detail to try and show what a difference this is from my life in St. Paul. If I went with Doug to visit his parents on the other side of town, I’d take my “possible bag” with me. This bag contained anything I’d possibly want, usually a crossword, a couple of books, writing paper and pen and pencil, some candy and/or Pepsi, and sometimes a craft of some sort. That was for a short visit! From home, I would walk the couple of blocks to Cooper’s Grocer almost daily to buy what I was craving to eat. I really lived according to my mood with little discipline. Instead of thinking, “What do I want to eat?” I have now learned to ask myself “What is there to eat?” Oh, that’s so philosophical. I have learned to ask myself “What is there?” rather than “What do I want?” Ooh . . . I like that.

Our house in St. Paul was not a big house, but it did have a basement, main floor and a second level. There is no getting away from each other in this one bedroom job. If one of us needs quiet, the other cannot watch a movie. If I feel like doing Yoga, he has to watch me balance and position myself with my bum in the air. Doug has lots of computer work to attend to which means I must listen to it chug and chime daily. We have one bathroom, one sink and one mirror - enough said. When I can’t sleep at 2:00 in the morning it’s just plain hard. Where do I go? What do I do? I can’t roll around in bed and disturb Doug who has to be up at 6 AM (although I think it’s a King size bed, he may not notice). I can’t watch a good late movie. Being unable to sleep, by the way, is how I found out how squeaky the door to the bedroom is. Weekends are kind of tough because he has worked all week and wants to kick back. I have also worked, more freely and in my own way, but I have worked in the apartment. I want to get out. But we get by. So far we still like each other.

I am making do without my favorite places to hang out and visit. This is pretty easy because I am still in the discovery stage; just walking the neighborhood streets is still fun. There are a few paths nearby plus the metro to take me into D.C. quickly.

Making do without company and conversation is harder, but so far so good because I’m focused on my personal goals. Actually I can say I'm thriving here. All of the goals I set for myself need to be done by me, alone. There are some women who I see regularly at the gym. Rada we had over for dinner with her family – great time. Li Li and her husband will be going to Christmas Lessons and Carols with Doug and I. We are all in the same boat here at Oakwood so we understand the longing for company, the company of strangers.