I Might Just Miss It

My mother is a real estate genius. Seriously, if you need to sell a house, call this woman. Many, many years ago in a pre-New York era, I used to spend a lot of time with her looking at houses that had just come on the market in our North Chattanooga neighborhood. My mogul mother can spot a hidden gem from a mile away, and she taught me to see the often hidden potential in these historic homes. I learned to love crown moldings, built-in shelving, and other period details. And little known fact here: as a result of my early real estate explorations, I can pretty accurately estimate the year a house was built based solely on the style of the interior doorknobs.

When I was looking for my first real New York City apartment two years ago, I fell in love with my current Astoria place immediately. It had beautiful hardwood floors, unique molding, and all kinds of fabulous pre-war detailing (note: in the North, the war referenced in the term "pre-war" is World War II, not the Civil War. Shocking, I know.) Ornate glass doorknobs? 1930! Dream come true!

Perhaps had I not been paying so much attention to the damn doorknobs, I might have noticed the ear-splitting, soul-crushing rattle of the N Train right outside the window. But no, there were floor inlays to see and vintage radiator covers to examine! It wasn't until the lease had been signed, the furniture had been hauled, and I had lain down for a post-move nap that I finally noticed the thunderous subway noise. And then my neighbor's weekly band practice started, the plastic pony ride for kids at the HomeMark 99¢ Store on the corner started blaring out "It's a Small World (After All)," and the afternoon service at the Iglesia Cristiana Emmanuell across the street kicked off with some particularly loud Spanish Christian pop tunes. It was the only moment in my life when I have ever seriously contemplated jumping off a bridge.

It has been a noisy two years. The rumble of the train every three to six minutes has been the background noise to everything that has happened in this apartment. It's been the soundtrack for dinner parties, birthday parties, movie nights, and a million other gatherings. It's been my lullaby and alarm clock. On particularly cold nights, you can even hear the automated train announcements : "This is an Astoria-Ditmars Boulevard bound N Train. The next stop is Broadway." It's all maddening, and yet it's been so much a part of my daily life that I might just miss it. So on my last night with reliable internet access here in New York, it seems appropriate to post this video shot from my kitchen window during a snow storm last winter.

Here's to you, N Train. It's been real.