The Joys of Moving in New York - Part 1

The Joys of Moving in New York – Part 1

Forgive me, readers, for I have moved.

It’s been seven days since my last post. Twelve years since my last move. You understand.

Forgive me, readers, for I have moved.

It’s been seven days since my last post. Twelve years since my last move. You understand.

In case you missed Time to Move, you can see it here.

Here I am on Moving Eve. As the dear, departed Lucinda who raised my sister and me would say, I am wo’ out and my feets is swole.

Tired sore feet
Feet propped up to alleviate swelling. Doesn't always work.

I have a bruise the size of Montana on my right shin. Thank goodness for long bathrobes. If I told you how old that bathrobe was you would send me money for a new one. I don’t want a new one, but I appreciate your concern.

The packing and wrapping is done. Mama kept an eye on us.

Moving out with Mama watching.
Moving out with Mama watching.

Then–and this is the thing about moving in the City–it all goes into a narrow hall, then an elevator (if you’re lucky and it’s not a walk-up), then a truck, then another narrow hall, then another elevator. The whole thing takes 2 to 3 months.

Moving out
Moving out

Okay three days. It could probably have been two if not for the hat boxes. Which I keep,  in case I am called to be an extra in the Ascot scene of My Fair Lady. It is not not normal for someone my age in 2013 to have this many hatboxes. I know that. But dear Billy didn’t say a word.

Moving hatboxes

This is my man Billy at 69th Street. He and all the staff there are just terrific. Like family, really. I am going to miss them.

Billy manning the elevator.
Billy manning the service elevator.

I got a little weepy for a minute there. “A lot of chapters,” as my sister said, consolingly.

Frances weepy
Frances weepy

I am also going to miss our snazzy red communal hallway. My neighbors took a leap of faith when they let me paint it red, but I think they liked it. Red is a great color for a hall because Mark Hampton said so. This was a good red. Not too orange, not too blue. Benjamin Moore Burnt Peanut Red.

Now I’m from North Carolina and I’ve seen burnt peanuts and they are not this color, but whatever. It’s still a good red.

Snazzy red hallway
Snazzy red hallway in 69th Street. Parson's table, Breuer chairs, Robert Rauschenberg print.

Counterintuitively, dark colors are good for small spaces because they don’t show shadows, so the walls appear to recede and therefore expand away from you. Also art looks great on dark walls.

One of my neighbors was a curator for modern art at the Met and she had hung fab Jasper Johns posters, prints by Elsworth Kelly and Robert Rauschenberg, and a photo of Willem de Kooning about to fire up a Lucky Strike. Willem was hot in 1950. The image here is the same as my neighbor’s but I borrowed this one from Habitually Chic’s post about the de Kooning retrospective in 2011.

willem de kooning 1950
Willem de Kooning,1950

Movin’ on up in our case is movin’  on down and west to Fifth Avenue, which is great, and it’s the first place that is His Grace’s and mine together. Before we had his and mine, and now we have ours. (Aww.) It’s a little more space but not quite as much closet. Ahem. Not that I’m complaining. But if you have any thoughts about where these hats might go, please let me know.

Hatboxes and hats
Hatboxes and hats. looking for a home

And the luggage?

No this is not a de Kooning sculpture. It is luggage. And a cooler and a vacuum cleaner. And a balled-up shirt. I styled it myself.

Luggage in a heap
Luggage in a heap, with vacuum cleaner. Sounds like the name of a de Koonig painting.

Maybe we put it all in a big net and attach it to the ceiling like balloons at a political convention. Just a thought.

But like I say I’m not complaining. It’s just not possible with a view like this.

Central Park from Fifth Avenue near Grand Army Plaza
Central Park from Fifth Avenue near Grand Army Plaza. That's Wolman (skating) Rink to the left, Central Park Zoo to the right.

To be continued…


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