Sun-shiney-ness

Astute readers will remember that one of the words I used to describe our new apartment was: sunnier. This is a crucial feature and a major selling--I mean renting--point. Sunny was Tiffany's primary criterion; top floor was mine.

For two and a half years, we've lived in the back of a squat three story building with beautiful old glass windows that look out onto--wait, for it--the cement foundation of a residential skyscraper. Here's how Tiffany and I check to see whether the sun is shining in San Francisco (it generally is not): we tilt our heads back so we are looking straight up and we press our right cheeks against the pane to see the sliver of sky visible to us from that angle. Not surprisingly, without any direct sunlight, our apartment is freezing. We wear hooded sweatshirts and slippers and cuddle underneath a blanket while we watch television. Sometimes we pull out an electric heater and point it directly at our feet. Our favorite part of baking cookies (besides eating the cookies) is standing over the open oven door with our shirts lifted out to catch the warm draft.

In Los Angeles, where we lived for a while before we moved to San Francisco, we had quite the opposite problem. Our little 1970s-ish West Hollywood apartment was like a cement sauna. The old Russian couple who lived across the walkway from us ate dinner and watched television in their underwear: he in boxers and black socks; she in a camisole and (given her age, this term is appropriate) granny-panties. Once, during a heat wave, the electricity on their side of the complex went out and they showed up on our doorstep (fully clothed) with plastic tubs of ice cream and several dozen Saran-wrapped chicken legs for temporary storage in our freezer. Our own guests were often shocked at the heat Tiffany and I became accustomed to. We sometimes slept on top of our bed covers with cool cloths draped on our necks. When Tiffany's mom came to visit, she dragged her air mattress to the door of our balcony and slept with her head outside in the cooler air.

Alas, those days are gone... but not for long! After a couple years shaving over goosebumps in the shower, Tiffany and I are ready to shed layers instead of pile them on when we walk in our door. We danced a little dance the first time we saw a pool of sunshine--the actual yellow stuff!--spreading on the linoleum floor in our new kitchen. Also, the new apartment has steam heat--all year round (laugh if you will, my non-San Francisco readers, I wore a scarf to work two days ago).

Maybe someday, we'll find a space that's just right, temperature-wise. Until then, if the sun is out and the steam heat is on, you might find us tanning ourselves in that sunshiney pool between the sink and the refrigerator.