The
way our family lives now has completely changed from ten years ago—but not
necessarily for the better. Ever since New
York City started work on a subway for Second Avenue—where unfortunately our
nest is located—our quality of life has gone downhill. Even with the windows closed in our apartment,
we’ve been relentlessly bombarded by noise: jack-hammering and blasting from the
subway construction, along with the tooting horns from snarling traffic caused
by closed off lanes. Perched 9 stories above 2nd Avenue, our formerly pleasing “city view” has been transformed by ugly trailers, white
metal cylinders and a hodgepodge of tools and large orange and white cones
framing an endless traffic tangle. Up
until recently, some of these structures spewed gas fumes, dust and mysterious
microscopic particles. Have these emissions shortened our lives or increased
our risk for lung disease? Who knows? Sometimes I feel like I’m in a revival of
“Prisoner of Second Avenue,” Neil Simon’s black comedy about a middle aged
couple trapped by circumstances….
While external environmental
changes have impacted our nest, internal changes have also profoundly affected
our family dynamic. Perhaps most importantly, when our twins left home for
college in 2009, we all began to live semi-independent lives. Now that Sarah and Max, 23, have both
graduated from college, we ALL yearn to live on our own. What was once a relatively comfortable nest
for a family of four, now feels crowded and tense. There are no longer high school curfews or
restrictions, but our young adult kids are less than delighted about keeping their parents informed of their
whereabouts and, for example, whether (or
not) to expect them for dinner. Other
than showing up for classes and turning in papers with due dates, Sarah and Max
have gotten used to doing everything—eating, sleeping, laundry—whenever they
felt like it. But now that they have
returned to the nest, that kind of spontaneity no longer works. Half the time I
don’t know whether to plan a meal or file a missing person’s report.
Nevertheless, we have all embarked
upon our separate-yet-overlapping lives. Since neither twin has secured
full-time employment or become self-supporting, both have moved back into their
childhood bedrooms. Five nights a week Sarah sleeps in her
lavender twin bed with a moon and stars carved into the headboard. Friday and Saturday nights she
sleeps at her boyfriend Jake’s house, (and so far she has managed not to bring
home any bedbugs.) During the day, Sarah
is almost never home, but out and about: at the gym, with her friends, or at
Adaptations, a program for young adults with disabilities at the JCC. Not wanting Henry and me to worry (or for us to "bother" her by calling), our daughter has been kind enough to provide us
with copious texts on her comings and goings. Next month these news bulletins
will be less frequent. During July and
half of August, our daughter will be volunteering as an assistant teacher at
the Learning Spring, working with kindergarten kids on the autistic
spectrum. After that, maybe she’ll be
filming her movie, (and maybe not). What
will she do in September? It’s anybody’s
guess.
It’s also anybody’s guess what our son will be doing. Currently Max is working on a script and
hoping his agent can help him find a writing position. He sleeps at his girlfriend’s house most nights
and comes home in the mornings when she goes to her job. Reclining on his twin bed (green with fish
carved into the headboard), he types on his laptop and guzzles Coke Zero. Clothing spills out from his drawers and fills
up a giant laundry bag.
I
try to tolerate the mess until Wednesday when the housekeeper arrives. (God
bless that hardy soul.) There’s no use
fighting with Max, I’ve learned. A much better strategy is to close the door to
his bedroom and pop a few Tums.
Simpler, but more painful, has been our
separation from Sparky. Our beloved Norwich Terrier moved out forever six
months ago. (See “For Love of Sparky, “1/31/14). We have given away most of his stuff—doggy
toys, treats, bowls, bed, clothing—to neighbors with pooches. Of course we saved the two sweaters he had as
a pup and a few other mementoes.
Although we tried to extend his life with chemotherapy, Sparky had other
ideas. After two treatments, our pooch
departed for canine heaven. Hopefully,
he is enjoying endless treats and resting in peace.
Speaking of peace, how much longer can we all stand to live
together? When I was in my early
twenties, I couldn’t wait to leave home.
The moment I earned enough money to scrape by—at 24—I moved into a tiny
studio and thought I’d reached nirvana.
Shortly thereafter, my parents sold our coop and downsized to a smaller
rental. After I left, they didn’t need
the extra space, and the money from the sale of the apartment was very helpful since
my father was older and slowing down. I
still remember how much fun my parents had finding and decorating a new “love
nest.”
Hmm…Maybe Henry and I should move to a two bedroom and escape from
Second Avenue? Our lease is up at the end of the year; the rent is already
pretty high; and completion of the subway is still light years away. We’ve lived in the same nest for 23 years,
while watching our building go steadily downhill. Nowadays one of our two elevators is always
broken. A permanent sign in English and
Spanish warns tenants to be careful because the elevator doesn’t always “level.”
Every summer the antique air conditioning system breaks down more often,
usually during the hottest days. Instead
of replacing the whole system—as the super recommended years ago—the owner
prefers the cheaper solution of ordering a new part and letting the tenants
sweat until it arrives.
w Once upon a time, when we moved
into the building, there was furniture in the lobby. Nothing fancy, mind you, but
there was a table with chairs, and a bench.
If the elevator was slow or the bus was late to pick up your child, at
least there was a place to sit. Not
anymore. When the furniture wore out, it
was simply removed. What happens now to
the old people with canes, the working people waiting for car pick-ups, or
moms waiting for their kids to get off the school bus? We are all are out of luck. Tenants who don’t like the minimal
services are welcome to move out. The
landlord will be happy to rent the vacated apartment for hundreds more than he
previously received.
Maybe instead of paying another
rent hike or waiting for our young adult kids to move on with their lives,
Henry and I should move on with our own lives.
Is it time to shift from a family nest to a couple’s nest? I don’t know, but I made an appointment with
a broker to look at some two bedroom apartments.
Labels: air conditioning, autism, college graduates, construction, elevators, emissions, family, landlords, love nest, Neil Simon, Norwich Terriers, Second Avenue, subways, tenants, traffic, young adults