Well, I'm all moved into my new appartment, and it is a funny appartment at that. An architect would love to come and laugh at the different time periods and styles in the house. The building was built in 1930s to house the steel mill executives in the Ohio Valley. My appartment includes 80s wood flooring, late '50s bathroom fixtures, '70s tiling, '40s oven/range and metal cupboards, and various odd peices of furniture and accesorys. The fuse box is funniest of all, with only 4 switches, one for each room and a main switch. It is cozy though, not suffy, and has plenty of windows. Since it is in the basement, my window looks right at the grass. I am fascinated by basements, since we don't have them in the Virginia tidewater. If we did, they would be flooded more times than not. Whenever I had little dreams and fantasies during my childhood, I would dream about basements. Almost until I went to college, I thought they only existed in books. =) Now I'm living in one, under the rest of the building. Here's hoping the 70 something year old hunk of steel and other materials doesn't decide to colapse just when I'm living under it! O Lord preserve me!
Naturally, I have not confided this rather insignificant fear in any of my family members. Joseph would probably go balistic. When I first went to college and he found out that I was sleeping on a top bunk without a rail, he prayed every night that "Lord, please don't let Naomi fall out of bed, and hit her head and be killed. But if she does, please let her go straight to heaven." Ah the practical and eternal faith of children.
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