Technically, Hamilton Heights is in Harlem, BUT it's in south west Harlem, and it's considered to be a much nicer area than the Harlem of the stories you have maybe heard. I can attest to that, actually. I have always felt safe in my neighborhood. I've never been bothered. I do, however, stick out like a sore thumb.
Oh the joys of being a blonde white girl...
I'm the only one in the neighborhood as far as I can tell.
I do get catcalled and whistled at occasionally, but I usually don't understand what is being said about me, so it doesn't really bother me. And as I said, I have never felt unsafe. I keep to myself, and so does everyone else.
Apparently there's no such thing as a quiet, lazy Sunday afternoon in my neighborhood, though. After a crazy week, I had full intention of napping and reading all day. As I left for church this morning, there were already snow-cone stands being set up all up and down the street. As soon as I stepped off the train this afternoon on my way home, music flooded down into the station and the neighborhood culture enveloped the entire block. From my room, I could hear bumping salsa music from the apartment next door. I moved to the living room. From our open window, I could hear spanish pop music blasting from a car parked next to people sitting in the park enjoying the sunshine and grilling dinner. When I was making my spaghetti for dinner, music drifted up to our kitchen from the courtyard of our apartment building. While I couldn't locate the source, I could tell that behind one of those windows, there was a family enjoying dinner and company.
I also had to go to the grocery store today. I could practically hear people singing "one of these things is not like the other..." My bright blonde hair is like a siren wailing through a sea of brunettes everywhere I go... Maybe I'm just self conscious, but I don't think so. If you remember, last summer I mentioned grocery stores could be pretty expensive. I decided that to save money, I would go to our local grocery store, Super Compare. I actually really enjoyed it... I couldn't translate most of the signs and labels on the shelves, but I recognized most brands, and fortunately for me, numeric symbols are the same in both English and Spanish. The cashier and I just kind of smiled at each other and pointed to the screen when I was checking out, but overall, it was a successful trip.
The trip to the post office was another adventure! I missed the delivery of a package from home (shout out to my awesome parents for sending me things I forgot to pack), so the pink slip left at my door told me to go pick it up. I took a little morning jog to the post office before work. I was pleasantly surprised that there wasn't a huge line waiting to be helped, and the workers moved fairly quickly. I was surprised, however, when I noticed the 1.5 inch thick glass that separated the employees from the customers. Trying to talk to a person behind an inch and a half of glass is difficult no matter how the tiny communication opening is configured. They also send the package through a glass cage that can only be open on one side at a time. I'm not sure what they need to be protected from, but whether it's dangerous weaponry or bubonic plague, they aren't playing around with that glass... It's intense.
I can't remember if I've mentioned this or not, but my apartment is fantastic. Our living room overlooks Riverside Park, we're only one block from the 1 train, and I have my own toilet/sink. (My room used to be the maid's quarters when this was a fancy schmancy place). I've always joked about moving to New York and living in a closet, but it's a real thing. I have a walk-in closet in Biloxi that is about the size of my room here. The room is pretty tiny, but it's cozy, and the rent is super affordable. We also have a really nice sized kitchen and a great living room.
Well, it's bed time, and I've got a big day tomorrow in show business ;)
Grace be with you,
Lindsey Shea
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