The Girl With the Flaxen Hair

The Girl With the Flaxen Hair

My father grew up in a two-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a six-story building on Jane Street in Greenwich Village. The apartment had been purchased by his father in 1944, and nobody was ever able to explain how a Steinway Vertegrand ended up in the living room. It had come with the apartment, and the sole attempt to remove it, sometime in the early 1950s, led to the discovery that while it could fit just fine through the front door, there wasn’t enough room in the hallway to turn it around so it could go down the stairs. Some giant could probably lift it over the railing and onto the stairs, but between our landing and the exit to Jane Street there were seven hairpin turns, and the piano would have to go up and over the railings each time.

The potential buyer had his money returned and the piano was shoved back into its space, where it was covered with muslin and used to display pictures and houseplants in front of the window that didn’t lead to the fire escape.

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Milestones

Milestones

Assuming I stick to my schedule, this Sunday I’ll publish my 100th post. (Actually it’s my 101st, but there was a post that I deleted before anybody could read it because it was stupid, so it doesn’t count.)

I think now is as good a time as any to take a look back, and think ahead about the future.

I started this blog almost a year ago, basically out of spite. I was mad at my boss and decided to show my displeasure by no longer coming in an hour early to catch up on email before the morning meetings. (I also stopped attending the morning meetings, because I was catching up on emails. So take that, Boss! Even better, I still won an award for my good work, and the one time someone asked me about my attendance at morning meetings I threw such a fit that they never asked again, so really it was a win-win for me all around.)

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