We’re looking at Rego Park/Forest Hills/Kew Gardens in Queens, which is one extended neighborhood with Forest Hills definitely being the Queen Bee of the bunch, and at Prospect Park South/Flatbush – Ditmas Park in Brooklyn.
For context, because I felt inspired to write it, and inspiration comes slim these tired days:
Recently, Ashley and I have been arguing about whether we should have a couch in our apartment. To her, a couch is part of the basic definition of a home. To me, we have two big dogs and a cat that pees on couches when it feels threatened, which with two bigs dogs in the house is… often? So we argued, and we go to this point: She is willing to stipulate that everything I’ve said is absolutely correct and a good justification for not having a couch, but she just can’t wrap her mind around it. A home without a couch isn’t a home, period.
So I thought about this some over the last week. I actively refused to go couch shopping with her and told her I might not even help her bring it inside; that’s how set I was against it. She went shopping on her own and considered everything I had said to her against a new couch and managed to get some lightweight modular thing–our (I think) fourth couch in four months–that addressed most of my concerns about moving it and disposability, etc. Bottom line: She’s having a fucking couch in her house, the end.
Well, of course her definition of “home” doesn’t end there. Really, it all reaches back to Florida: Ashley wants a couch because her mom had a couch. Ashley wants a clean home because her mom has a clean home. Ashley wants other things she had as a child in Florida, and she won’t be happy as an adult or potential mother until she has them: particularly, a lawn, a garden, a neighborhood network. (Fortunately, I think, she overlooks a pool and mosquito netting….)
Beyond my own psychological understanding of Ashley as a person, we had all of these things in Savin Hill, our second apartment in Boston, which was the top 2/3s of a two-family home and also represents Ashley’s favorite period of our relationship. I was unemployed and unemployable as an MFA student, and she was working full-time at Mass-General Hospital under an abusive boss and attending an intensive French course at UMass every night, but the summer was gorgeous and we went on bike rides along the beach, and the streets were tree-lined, and the landlord’s father kept a tomato patch in the side garden, and we had Kalli and she was so happy and rein-free, contrasted against the near-constant rein we had to keep on her in Jersey just because we don’t have a lawn or isolated tree-lined streets or convenient access to a beach or all the other Savin Hill perks.
So, being her husband and life-love, I’ve set out to give her those things. I want to give her all the things she wants, even when she doesn’t know how to ask for them. If I have to change cities to do it, then so be it. But maybe, just maybe, these neighborhoods will work for her, or at least buy me another 2-5 years in New York before she’s really over it. All I know for certain is that as nice as Jersey City is for city life, she’s over it, and to be honest, I am, too. I, myself, want to take my leash off and bask in some tree-shade.
Yeah, Historic Downtown is nice. It’s about as nice as you can get and still have what we think of as city life. But I’m just a good old Southern boy, and Ashley is a good old Southern girl, and all we really want is grass under our feet and dirt in our nails and happy dogs. If I can find that in a suburban neighborhood in the city, then I’ll happily give it to Ashley and take it for myself.