After several grueling days of rifling through brokers’ lists, Craigslist, tramping up and down stairs all over the northwest quarter of Manhattan, losing our checkbook, making a rapid trip down to Chinatown to get at the only open bank on a Sunday morning, and Kate and I successfully found, applied for, and got an excellent apartment at W 153rd and Broadway: just shy of a mile’s walk to the hospital, and a two-mile bike/bus/subway ride down to Columbia. The space is much larger than we’d hoped for, beautifully renovated, and the owners (who live downstairs) seem like neat folks. We lucked out. (We’re paying nearly our hypothetical budget limit for it, but we lucked out.)
And now: we’re beat, brain-dead, and feeling the effects of 3.5 straight days of fingernail-gnawing uncertainty catching up with us. Bleargh.
Oh, and our cats shredded John and Mike while we were gone. That part: not so much a success.