Nannies-El Salvador, Trinidad, Jamaica-who is raising your children.

    This is a huge subject-who is raising your children?  I interviewed a young woman, Monique, actually she's 34, for the nanny position with the twins.  We met at Cafe Peddlar for the interview, which  Jordan had asked me to do.  Jordan now goes into work and gets home at 7pm. It's a long, hard day.  If she takes one baby in, she comes home at 7 and gets to nurse and feed them both before bedtime, which is around 7:30.
     One thing I have learned with all of the visits with Jordan's friends is how frustrated everyone is about family, work, love, etc.  Jordan told me how Sarah, her friend from high school who is an attorney, used to cry when she would leave her daughters.  She would go into the bathroom and pump her milk and cry.  When the girls got older and she went to school events and other mothers would talk about play dates, etc., she would be jealous.  No matter what Sarah did, she was frustrated.  She flew out to NY from San Francisco when Jordan had the twins, and stayed for 3 days.  We had a great time.
     But now we have had 6 or so different women, including "Nanny nurses" and "Adoulas"  watching them and Jordan wants to find a nanny. A "nanny nurse" charges $20 an hour, and does nothing except take care of the babies.  So like today, Judie, who is a baby nurse from Jamaica, just watched Tess and did nothing other than feed her and play with her and clean her bottles for $200, no taxes, for 10 hours.  There was a night outfit that had poop on it and she didn't wash it out.  She also left the baby on my bed where she could have rolled off.  I found myself getting frustrated.  But Jordan told me she couldn't ask her to do things that were not in her original contract-but she would talk to her about leaving the baby unattended.  Then you have to have a cleaning person, etc. 
     When the babies were born one usually gets a "baby nurse " or Adoula.  A baby nurse takes care of just the babies, but an "Adoula" is there to not just take care of the babies, but to help and nurture the mother.  Jordan had an Adoula for a few days, her name was Kate, she was a college graduate and an artist.  She charged $35 an hour, and would spend the night and watch both babies.  I don't think Jordan paid her 35, maybe 30 an hour.  She would get Jordan a cup of tea in the morning, some toast, and try to make things easy for her.  Jordan was going through 300-400 a day for help. It's all pretty crazy.
     But back to finding a nanny-not a baby nurse.  Jordan needs a full time nanny who can work up to 10 hours a day, and really be a part of her family.  I meet Monique at Cafe Peddlar, she is waiting outside.  I get us hot chocolate and we have a chat.
      

Gloria Steinem, Power Yoga and Being Hard on Yourself!

     I went with Sydney to a yoga class today.  I started yoga back in 87' in San Francisco, it was Bikram yoga and the rooms were hot!  Since I fractured my back in March, they told me in rehab not to do twists.  So I haven't been to too many classes.  I stopped going to Bikram when he kicked an older lady in class and told her to get out!  I moved on to Iyengar yoga and a wonderful teacher named Anna DeLury in Los Angeles.  She taught in her studio garage and went back every year to India to study with Mr. Iyengar, who was now in his 90's.  Anna was just a great teacher, going deep into the nature of a pose and working with each person individually.   She could take 6 weeks off in the summer, a month off to go to India, and 2 weeks at Christmas and everyone still came back to her classes. Unlike Bikram, she didn't have a big ego and she wasn't a guru- yoga couldn't solve everything.
    Today I was reminded of the heat in Bikram's classes.  The teacher was Italian and the room must have been 110 degrees.  I felt like I was going to faint. It was a class without instruction, just the poses and music.  I put myself in the back of the room so I could rest if I needed to.  I was at least 25 years older than everyone else.
  Down dog, up dog, triangle, etc.- I pulled my pants up and stripped to a small top.  Everything was drenched.  I did a lot of the class but I no longer compared myself to everyone else.  I'd rest and do child's pose.
    At lunch Sidney was talking about all of the pressure, children, living in the city.  Maybe she would move away, up north.  "It's all too much, why are we here if we don't use the city anymore?"
    I thought of the 70's and how ashamed I felt of being a mother, even though I thought it was the most important thing one could do.  Jordan agreed-"yet nobody cares about mothering-that's what's amazing".
    Now all these women have their careers and are doubly frustrated-they are never enough on so many levels.  There is always more to do at work, at home, on your body, with your children, etc.  What we had accomplished with women's lib was to make more demands on ourselves and create more frustration.
    My wishes have changed.  I want to be happy and content.  I want to love and respect myself and other people.  I wish for my children, my friends, my grandchildren love and happiness, laughter and peace.  I wish for a world filled with wonder, a sense of community and respect for the earth.  I wish for simplicity on all levels and the first place I need to start with is myself.
    The babies are in bed, Jordan just went down, and all is good!  Peace to the world and love.

I am free at last! -No Polyps and Baby A and B!

     Last night was torture!  I hate everything about colonoscopies except being told that "I was cancer free and no polyps!"  Yea, now I have to figure out my life.
     It's amazing how free you feel when you are told that you don't have the "BIG C"-I do have diverticulitis, but that's livable.  I was reborn. I saw the world in a new light. However as the day wore on my frustration about what I was getting done multiplied.  Jordan says I'm working on too many projects, that I need to just concentrate on one-that's how people are successful!  She's a boss at work and she's good at telling people what to do.  However, her version of "me" is not necessarily me.
     Her friend, John came over on Sunday.  He was going to help us move furniture and visit with the babies.  I knew where I'd place my futon-bed, but Jordan wasn't sure she wanted to do it, so nothing happened.
     "Do you remember the Pottery Barn caper?" I ask John. This was a huge deal. Before the babies were born around October 19, we go to Cornell to check with Jordan's doctor, (she's fine but they still won't do a C section until October 29th.) I don't see how Jordan can get any bigger and still walk, but I keep my opinions to myself.  They are called "baby A" and "baby B". We go to a dark room and the technician puts goop on Jordan's stomach, using the ultrasound to figure out where they are.  Baby A, who Jordan named Tess, is on the bottom of her womb.  "She stays put" mom. Now baby B, Gigi, is on top and flips all over the place.  I try to make out the babies, Jordan has ultrasound pictures at home where you can pretty well she their faces. Tess has a different nose and possibly lips than Gigi. 
     But here I see nothing.  I start to go to sleep. When we're finished we walk 2 blocks to Le Pain Quotidien for breakfast.  "My treat" Jordan says.
     I say no, but she insists.
     After breakfast we take another cab to Pottery Barn. Jordan had ordered a changing table and top, as well as a fragrance less top.  Pottery Barn kept on messing up the orders, sending the wrong color, etc. Jordan lectured them and they gave her full credit because of all the trouble.  Now she was going to try and find a rocker.  We tested all the rockers, high back, low back, etc. Finally for $1200 dollars Jordan picked out a high back rocker with linen stripped upholstery. It took an hour for the gentlemen to finish our order.
     "I wanted everything to be just right"  he tells us.  It will be ready the second week in December."  It seems so far away.  
      We leave there and take a cab to a household goods store. Jordan wants a trash bin for the kitchen, pots and pans, and I suggest a sweeper. We look around, can't really find anything, and finally give up and buy 2 pans.  They are not a set.
      "We need to get going, the car will be here" Jordan tells me as we wait to be checked out. We'd taken a car service into the city-40 bucks a pop, plus 10, then 12 to get around.
    The car service is out there, but the sales lady can't figure out the price-it's a sample!
    We keep waiting for the manager to come over, and finally she goes to the second floor to check the price.  I run outside to connect with the car driver.  He's waiting by the curb in a black SUV.
      Finally jordan comes out and we get in the town car.
      "Cobble Hill" Jordan tells him.  It seems like such a huge, expensive $100 in cabs for a few pots I could have popped into Pottery Barn in LA in 10 minutes.
    C'est la vie, c'est la guere!

A Colonoscopy...The Beginning-coming to NY

   I am having a colonoscopy tomorrow and I am very nervous.  I've had two, and should have had one about a year ago...but now I am.  I had some signs which got me scared so I signed up really fast for a colonoscopy at a nearby hospital.  
  While out to pick up my medicine (absolutely hate it), I did a rare thing for me.  I ran into the Catholic church and lit a votive candle.  It is one of those old church's on Court St. and no one was in it except a few people on the altar practicing in Spanish and a priest and old woman selling holy cards at the entrance.  I left the church and then ran back and said to the priest:

"My daughter has twins, I've been here for awhile and I'm having a colonoscopy tomorrow and I want you to pray for me!"
"Are the twins alright?" father asked.
"Yes, they are fine.  But my mother died of colon cancer and I'm afraid."  And I started crying.

Father Thomas held up his hand and said something like, "Dear Lord, please take Sarah and let her have a peaceful time tomorrow, let he body be clean and pure and let there be only peace.  "Thank you lord" and he blessed me.
At that moment all my Catholic background came back.
I guess in the end we all want to be absolved of any sins or short comings we have. 
I am feeling out of it.  It all seems like a dream.  I ask Jordan, "how long has it been?"
"They'll be 3 months old tomorrow."
"Wow"
"Remember when you first came here, October 13th?"

I think back, it was so long ago.  I remember thinking the babies would come any minute, they were due on Halloween, but twins, twins come early.

When I saw Jordan I couldn't believe how huge she was-and still working.  She was absolutely gigantic.  We'd walk down the street and people would literally part and stare.  Pregnant women would look at her scared.

She took it all in stride and was very calm. I was thinking I'd be there for a couple of weeks, she had friends lined up who were coming to stay and there wasn't room for all of us in this apartment.

"I've had no problems what so ever" Jordan told me again, "nothing, no diabetes, no anything.  It's all that running and working out I did for years.  I'm a star pupil my doctor says." 
We walk down to Smith St. and have breakfast.
"Work sends a car for me...they worried about me taking the subway."  Jordan told me, she has lived in NY for 20 years.  She came to go to Columbia, traveled around Europe and the Middle East, went back to the West Coast and then settled in New York.  She'd walk through central park at night time, walk across the city, do a marathon that started in the river, and wind up with a 25 mile bike ride. She was tougher than me.  

Somewhere Over the Rainbow", car seats, and "Baby Einstein!"

       It's 7:19 pm, the girls, Tess and Gigi, are getting their night time bottle and we are playing children's lullabies, in particular "Somewhere...."  Jordan wants a routine, the lights are put on low, TV's off, and music plays.  In between burps, we swaddle and change them.
       We have Tess and Gigi in their car seats-they seldom go anywhere in a car since Jordan doesn't have a car!  But we discovered they love their car seats more than the crib!  When they both got sick at 3 weeks old, we put them in the car seats because it elevated their chests.  Now we don't even put them in the crib.
       Aside from being in a bouncy chair (these bouncy chairs are sort of ugly but they throb and have little toys hanging off a bar for the girls to try and touch), or on their tummies on "baby Einstein," they are in the car seats.
      "How long can they stay in them?" Jordan asks my friend Mary who has a 15 month old grandson.
      "Until 6 months" Mary answers. "And then you'll have to change your habits".  The two girls sit there, their big eyes staring at us and drinking their bottles.
      Last night they slept from 9:30 until 5am!  We are impressed.  However yesterday one of them was fussy or crying all day.
      It snowed last night and neither Jordan or I have good boots for the snow.  I looked for some when we were in Memphis, but couldn't find any that fit my feet.  But we do have the down carriers called 7am at two hundred dollars a pop for the girls.
      When I got out today I saw two of these outfits.  You can put children in them from 3 months to 5 years.  It fits into a car seat or a stroller and you can literally take them out in their pajamas!
      I want to go to a movie, but it doesn't start until 6:10, Lincoln, so I settle for the bookstore.  I fantasize about leaving and having my own schedule.  The futon is getting old, and sleeping in the loft is getting tiring, and I can't be a Oma Nanny forever.
      

The "tourniquet hair"-they could lose a toe or a penis!

           Jordan is playing with Tess and she discovers a scab on the bottom of her right foot and one toe is red.  I come over and look at it.  It’s 3 toes with a scab along them.  Jordan is mortified. “I am a bad mother!” How many times have we all said that? I tell her to calm down, lets soak her feet. Tess has gotten fat and her toes are all curled under-she hates to have you touch them.

We do, though Tess doesn’t like that idea. She’s not crazy around water, she looks at Jordan with pleading eyes and whimpers . She hasn’t had too many baths.

We think it’s either Athlete’s foot or a fungus!

          We take the babies to the doctor. We borrow Sydney’s car and when we get to the doctor’s office, in Brooklyn Heights, I must stay in the car.  No parking!  It’s freezing cold and I periodically turn the heat on.  Jordan left the stroller in the car, no point since you have to go down steps to get into the office.

I read and make phone calls

When Jordan comes out she tells me that it’s a “tourniquet hair”-probably one of her own hairs (Jordan’s).

         “It’s a human hair that gets wrapped around the toes or the penis of a baby Jordan explains.  “As they move their feet in their socks or clothes, the hair gets twisted tighter and tighter.  It cuts off circulation, they can lose a toe or penis!”  This is something new, of course there is always something new!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who a put a diaper down toilet??????????

The toilet is stopped up again!  It was stopped up a few days ago and Bob, who works for the owner, fixed it.  Now we will need a plumber. We text the owner, Jordan is uncomfortable complaining, but we have to go to the bathroom. Lucia, the nanny from El Salvador, is at the apartment. She cleans all the floors and organizes when the babies are sleeping. She lines them up in their car seats with little blankets on them. I go over to visit Jordan’s friend, Sydney, an artist who lives a few blocks away. Sydney wants to know how everything is going.  I tell her the latest low down-Jordan saw another apartment, garden apartment (it really would be considered a basement anywhere else in the country) that is 3600 and not so hot. It turns out that Cobble Hill is a very popular neighborhood because of the schools, public, thereby saving the parents thousands of dollars a year.

            Sydney empathizes. “She should move in here, the babies can go out in the yard. But I’m not sure about the expansion because of the building code.”  Jordan calls and tells me I have not left a number for the baby-sitter. I say I will be back in a bit. Sydney offers that I can spend the night, which I did when we had a night nurse. I am very tempted. She also tells me to join her at yoga.

            I rush back home, Lucia is feeding both babies and lullabies are playing. It seems very quiet.  But last week Lucia, who is short and on the heavy side, starts to go down our third floor walk up carrying Gigi. I see her holding Gigi with two hands and staggering on the top stairs. Pictures of her and Gigi flying down the stairs to their death envelop me.

“STOP! Be careful,” I yell.  Jordan lives on the third floor of a brownstone on a pretty street in Cobble Hill. Lucia stops.

“Grab the rail with one hand!”  Lucia makes it to the second floor landing and I instruct her on how to carry the baby the rest of the way down.

But trust is gone.  That night Jordan and I decide that Lucia would not leave the building with a baby. 

Jordan has gone for a workout.  She’ll be back in a few minutes.  The owner, Mike,  arrives and questions me about the toilet, the flow of water, if anything else is backed up. 

It all seems very intrusive, like somehow we did something wrong in going to the bathroom. I say the contractor, Bob, said that it might be the main line. 

Mike comes back with a plumber. Mike waits and watches the plumber.  Ten minutes later the plumber wants to know if we put anything like Tampax or a diaper down the toilet?
I say I'm through menopause and Jordan says she's been pregnant.  Lucia, after they leaves says: "How a stupid they think I am? As if I a put a diaper down the toilet! What they thinking?  I perfectly agree.

It's 11 degrees!!!!!!!!!! Where's LA sun?

 Even the New Yorkers are saying its cold.  Mary, the baby nurse, arrives and today she has on a fur coat, boots with warm liners, a fur hat, and gloves.  "I just walked from the corner to here" Mary, who was from Jamaica says "and its cold!"
"I ordered their zero weather bags" Jordan tells me, "but they haven't arrived.  Maybe I should have them deliver them to the office."  Two hundred dollars a pop- but they can be worn until five years old!  It's big business because so many New Yorkers take their babies out and walk them in strollers.  They are "working strollers" and in the rain or cold weather they put plastic covers over the stroller to keep the cold air and rain out.  They stick bags in the bottom, coffee cups in the cup holders, groceries on the handles, they are a walking car!
 Jordan got a stroller for two from Sidney as a baby gift.  But when we tried to use it with the twins, who were three weeks old, we couldn't figure out how to get them into the stroller.  She went by the neighborhood baby store and they said the twins had to be 11 weeks old to use it.  It's a double width stroller so you have to maneuver it around doorways-more like a mini-car.  Jordan went out and bought another stroller, one that held the car seats before we went to Memphis for Xmas.  Me, all I had for 3 kids was a little umbrella stroller that weighed a couple of pounds and I threw in the trunk.
There are so many different choices in everything now-the kind of stroller, the car seat, the bottle, the breast pump, the lactation consultant, the baby nurse, the "dula", etc.  I am overwhelmed with the choices but can now discuss them like any other young mother.  Things like "sensitive" Similac, and Dr. Brown's bottles, detachable car seats, and on and on and on.
The doorbell keeps ringing.  I run downstairs-its the postman for the owner.  They just ring every bell.  He wants me to sign.  I try to sign, but the pen is frozen.  The postman breathes on it!  "I say, it's cold!" He nods and runs away!


  

Come to Mooburger!

 Last night I did not sleep much, worried about one of my own projects.  My head is whirling, and I am somewhere else.

That afternoon, Jordan's friend Sidney comes over, she is going skiing with her partner and her children. She wants to visit for a few minutes.  We stare at the babies who are now cooing.  They don’t really recognize one another, but they do stare at us-stare and smile and coo. The talk is of nannies, Jordan needs one, and property.  Sidney has ridden the boom of early NY real estate.  15 years ago she bought a loft in Soho, sold it for a great profit, and purchased a brownstone in Cobble Hill.  She rents out the “garden apartment.” 

            “I just feel Jordan has to get started, she has to buy something, even if she borrows the money and pays it back in 5 years.  Everyone is moving out of NY, the other areas will come up” Sidney says.  She is a good business woman, careful and generous with her money and her time.  She goes home to leave with her family for a few days of skiing.

            Two hours later she texts me: “Come to MooBurger-too late to leave, join us for dinner.”

            Jordan is interviewing Josephine- our favorite nanny for the job.  And its really cold outside so she’s going to stay with the babies.

            I walk down Court St. a few blocks to Mooburger.  It’s really just a hamburger place with long tables, benches, and tons of kids. For $14 you can have a salmon burger with spinach and lettuce on it, or for 9 a regular hamburger and down the line.  There are children everywhere, but the “boys” I notice are restless, one boy lying on the floor of the restaurant..

  It isn’t easy to eat with children, the parents attempt to have a conversation and eat their meal, perhaps a glass of wine, but the kids have trouble sitting.

            “Draw a picture around this “(it’s a small cup matt) Sidney says to Brent , 10, and Carrie, 5.  They begin drawing.  We talk more,  and soon its time to leave-a short night.  They are leaving early in the morning.

President sworn in-still no nanny!

I did not see the Inauguration today, we do not have TV, but I did see clips tonight on the internet.  We are the greatest country, all Americans are equal President Obama says in so many words!

            Why do I always feel like it’s an ad campaign, or a Hollywood spin. “We are the greatest…”    What does that mean, why do we have to keep telling ourselves we are the greatest and number one?  Surely if we really felt that way we wouldn’t have to brag about it.

            I really think our insecurity makes us think we have to constantly be in charge and prove to the world we are the best!  We have to be the best country, get the most medals, be the most perfect opportunity for everyone.  Everyone is moving up, going places.

            “I was working class”, “my parents just came to this country”, “my mother was a single mother”, the stories go on and on.  Look at me now world, I’m Beyonce, I’m Donald Trump, I’m President Obama, I’m Lance Armstrong, I’m rich, I’m successful, I have made it to the top!

            This drive to be perfect has us (especially in Hollywood, cutting our faces, stuffing our tits, fat removing our butts, dying our hair, oh yes and oxygenating our blood.)

Let’s back up for a second-Lance Armstrong, the new OJ everyone can hate.  But the truth of the matter is the very qualities that made him win the Tour de France 7 times, and remember its 22 days of grueling cycling on steep mountains with riders neck and neck, are the very same qualities that drove him to use whatever means possible to put his body in the best physical shape.  Most of them were doping.  So now everyone can judge him and he can be publicly shamed. 

And there are the more simple problems like a nanny and an apartment.

Since Josephine told Jordan she needed more money than Jordan was offering she is  interviewing other nannies.  Two women came today, one 28, Siera, from Granada, who was 28, and Gwen from St. Lucia.

Jordan stays with Siera and I got to Sydney’s house and sleep.  I have hit a wall! My doctor calls this morning and tells me I have a pinched nerve and carpal tunnel in my right arm. Great, I can barely hold Tess, and Gigi’s too heavy.  I just feel tired, like the job is endless, not that I do that much.  Jordan’s exhausted and nervous because she goes back to work on a big project on Wed. and she doesn’t have a nanny.

            I understand her anxiety.  I feel anxious for her and these little babies, two, almost three months old.  Paul, their father, is back in Canada and doesn’t seem to be in the picture anymore.

            I return at 5,  Siera is leaving, and Jordan goes down to meet Gwen at a coffee shop.  They come up a few minutes later and Gwen disappears into the bathroom to throw up.  She is a large woman, almost 6 feet tall.  She apologizes.  No problem for us.

            Jordan shows her the babies.  I ask her about her children.  She has 3, 37, 27, 21.

            “They all went back to St. Lucie, they didn’t like it here.”

            Well, so much for the American dream. 

“My mother is here, she came here 37 years ago, but they are back in St. Lucie.  They all have good jobs!” Gwen says.  I walk her downstairs.  As she is leaving she tells me “good luck” in finding a nanny.

            “And its warm” I point out.  When I watch President Obama’s speech I think of Gwen.

            Jordan thinks she’s too old, and she wants a Metro card, vacation and holiday pay.  I don't even get those. But these babies, I have to take care of them!

The Twins Are in Bed

Night time: 

Yea, the twins are in bed.  It's 9:23, and we were playing lullabies, etc. I tried to watch Revenge earlier but the sound was so low and the plot so complicated I couldn't follow it.

Yea, I'm free!  But no, I'm tired. WHat am I going to do with my 5 minutes. Now Jordan's back is hurting. We were splitting laughing about the fact that we both have bad backs and the babies can't sit up!   I told the babies it was their last bottle.  It was my job to entertain them while Jordan made a bottle and Zia, put the picture on the background (she's at Pratt!)  Then we couldn't stop laughing filling out the blog-a nanny who doesn't carry more than 12 pounds.  

Jordan pays a friend of my older grand-daughter, Zia, who is at Pratt, $288 for a few days work.  SHe holds a baby and does a little grocery shopping.  

I say where's my money! Jordan says I'm giving you room and board! I say "where's my room?" ( I sleep in the 12 x 42 foot room-I'm off of lofts now, no  privacy.)  She needs the computer for work-signing off!

Looking for an Apartment in Brooklyn Heights!

Looking for an apartment in Brooklyn Heights:

            It is Sunday afternoon. Jordan’s agent, Sam from Tennessee,  calls Jordan and tells her that there is a great sunny 2 bedroom she should see in Brooklyn Heights for $2900  a month that will go fast.

            We look at each other and nod, we need to go- besides, its Real Estate!  Every other store front in Cobble Hill is a Real Estate office.  It’s booming, having gone up 15% since last year.   The neighborhood has some very nice Brownstones, some carriage houses, tree lined streets and eclectic shops; it also has great public schools, saving the parents up to $30,000 a year in private school tuition.  The rents are very high.  The apartment we are going to see is in Brooklyn Heights, same brownstones though somewhat bigger and the streets have no litter.  Too perfect for Jordan: “I really don’t like Brooklyn Heights,  it reminds me of Pacific Heights.”  That’s a neighborhood where we had a four story house in the 80’s overlooking the city and bay.  I redid the whole house on a modest budget, it was $750,000 in 1982, and it turned out to be a very strange period of our life.  I never minded Pacific Heights, but Jordan’s feelings are different. 

            We take the babies down the two flights of stairs, and put them in the stroller. We start walking to Brooklyn Heights.  It’s about 9 blocks.  I am thinking of one of the apartments, condos we went to for a Christmas party.  We get to Montague and Henry St. and turn left.  This is a street with shops!  Already I don’t like it for a residential home.  We get to the building, near le Pain Quotien, there are three steps to get in the door and another three steps to get to the hallway.  Impossible!  Sam, who has been waiting, must help with the stroller.  Next the elevator is too small for the 2 seater baby stroller.  This is out!

            Jordan goes up the stairs and quickly comes down.  I knew it wouldn’t work, nothing felt right.

            Sam walks with us back to our street.  I ask about prices for buying.

            “Well, a two bedroom in Cobble Hill runs about 700 a square foot, a thousand square feet apartment is $700,000!"  

This isn’t anything fabulous, usually just a small two bedroom and living room.  It’s what might be a starter apartment anywhere else in the country.

            We get back to our street and immediately feel better.  In Jordan's apartment the stairs can be managed.  It’s got one large room, 42x 12, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and a kitchen, bathroom, and small bedroom off of it.  "I get really depressed if my environment isn't good" Jordan says.  I agree, it brings up past moves, past traumas, past everything.  I want to get back to her place. My heart is pounding.

For weeks Jordan has been complaining about this apartment.  There are no closets, it is impossible for more than one person, there is no washer dryer, a third floor walkup is undoable.  But suddenly the big log with sun in a beautiful brownstone looks great!

From LA to Cobble Hill, Brooklyn