I did plan to post something to this blog last month – in April. And now here we are at the end of May. I was thinking of originally titling it “Last Sunday” and write about the last Sunday of the Coney Island Polar Bear Club winter season which ended on April 26. But like many intentions I let it slide. It turns out the month of April was significant for many reasons; and the end of an eventful winter swim season – one that took me to China and the frozen waters of Vermont – was just one of them.

Back to a Small Island
Last month we moved – back to Manhattan. After moving around – to five different places in the last 25 years since we left our place on Grove Street in the West Village – we’re back on this small island at the mouth of the Hudson River. I originally moved here in 1976 in my junior year of college. It was the good old nasty days of New York City: high crime; graffiti all over; crack vials on the street; dog poop on every corner – though as a 19 year old kid I was totally unaware of it. Manhattan was the place I wanted to be. Born in Brooklyn, raised in the decidedly low end south shore suburb of Wantagh, I always fantasized about living in an apartment in New York City – where everyone stayed up late, drank coffee all the time and it was always noisy. In the mid 1970’s the city was awash in cheap apartments (remember, it was a hellhole) and my first place was a share in a huge flat on Riverside Drive (it didn’t bother me too much that I couldn’t walk down West 93rd Street any time of day or night for risk of losing my wallet to an 11 year old with a pocket knife). After college I rented my first place on my own – a studio on West End Avenue and then to the legendary Grove Street apartment where I stayed for eleven years. It was where Diane moved in with me in 1986 and where Madeline and Kerry were born in 1990. I seem to remember making a promise to myself that I would never leave Manhattan (despite my growing love of all things Queens!). But alas, after two little babies change beckoned. Six years in Omaha, Nebraska; sixteen in Forest Hills (where I really enjoyed our little Tudoresque townhouse tucked into the Gardens); and two more in the Marriottesque Avalon in Long Island City, we jumped across the river.

Our move to Long Island City was hurried – though we did plan to stay and buy. But a combination of factors changed our minds. After much consideration and a great deal of looking we are the proud owners of an apartment in a new neighborhood. The building is a little over the top for us (I’ve named it the Grand Budapest Hotel – lots of men in uniforms calling me “Mr. Bornstein,” wishing me a good day and offering to carry anything heavier than a newspaper – all of which will be appreciated as enter my dotage).

So that is what preoccupied us for much of April – and well into May. I have a philosophy about new homes: What doesn’t get done the first four weeks – never gets done. Though the apartment was in good shape the décor wasn’t our taste (a little heavy on the glitz) With that in mind we furiously went about fixing it up, purchasing some new furniture and spent probably too much time considering toilets (I recommend the Kohler ‘Dual Flush’). I even went out and bought a deco-like cocktail tray and ice bucket where we can make martinis. It’s placed by the window overlooking 57th Street. Clearly I watched too many Thin Man films with William Powell and Myrna Loy.

In the Swim
Ah, but as I have to include swimming somewhere in this, it is important to note that in a stroke of fortune the building has a pool. It is small – 40 feet (133 laps to a mile) – but it is rarely crowded and the best part for me is the heater isn’t working. Got to keep in shape through the warm summer months…