After two major house renovations (Ashby Avenue in 2009 and Virginia Avenue in 2006), Bob and I are quite content to be living in an apartment, with someone else responsible for the maintenance. Every place we live has its idiosyncrasies. The most memorable for us date back to our second year in Romania. Here is Kuwait the routine is not unfamiliar. Call the maintenance guys and then wait! And wait and wait.
In Kuwait, a city of roughly two million people, there are apartment blocks everywhere. Villas are fewer and farther between, at least in our area of town. We call our surroundings "The Projects," but in an endearing sort of way. Our eleven-story building has eight towers, with three apartments per floor. That's a total of 264 apartments. Bob tried to capture the 264 air conditioners with his camera, but it was hard to fit them all in.
Our apartment is nothing fancy but we are enjoying it. We have a spacious living and dining room area, and two large bedrooms, one of which will eventually be converted into a studio for Bob. Interior decorating is on hold at the moment, till my 100-day probationary period at work is over.
In the meantime, we've rearranged the furniture so that the kitchen is no longer just a place to cook and do laundry.
We regularly sweep up the plaster that falls from the crumbling walls.
We've taken out the windows, caked with dust, and have gotten them into pristine condition, which makes the sunrise over the water each morning even more glorious.
Most importantly, we've gotten to know the plumber, the electrician, the air filter cleaner, and Abu Ahmed, the general manager of the apartment complex, whose good side it is important to be on. Maintenance happens when it happens, sometimes two weeks after the toilet stops working (fortunately we have two bathrooms) and sometimes late at night. The other night we were playing music with friends, and the doorbell rang at 10:00 p.m. Our new cheap toilet seat had arrived to replace the old cheap toilet seat that had broken in two.
As I write this blog post, I hear the drip from the kitchen faucet that I've heard for the past several weeks. One of these days (or nights), I'm sure the plumber will show up!
Thanks for the peek inside your world. Mom
ReplyDeleteI echo the thanks for a peep inside the world of Cynthia and Bob. The pictures of your apartment brought back some good memories of our days in Heliopolis. Darrell
ReplyDeleteA blurb in the Goshen alumni magazine reminded me that you have a blog. Your flat looks very Middle Eastern with the grand furniture.
ReplyDeleteI see you read the book, Home. I thought that was one of the saddest book I ever read, but it was well written. I recently read The Help, historical fiction about the lives of African-American maids in the South during the 60s. It's a page turner.
I was nice to hear your voice again through writing. Hope you had a Merry Christmas. I have fond memories of spending New Year's with you last year, particularly playing the piano while Bob sang in an opera-like voice. Love, Mary Ann