A few months ago, I was chatting with my neighbor, Judy, who is sort of a neighborhood legend, known for her involvement with the community and the local church (not to mention the raucous back porch card parties she throws on warm summer evenings). For decades, Judy has watched neighbors come and go, so she’s a font of information about the history of the neighborhood. My apartment was kind of a disaster when I moved in five years ago, and I’ve always been curious about what it looked like in its original pristine condition. (Who decided to tear out the pantry, because I want to have a word with them). So naturally I peppered Judy with questions: Had she ever seen my apartment’s original vintage kitchen? (No). Who had replaced it with such an unattractive remodel? (The man-hating (but not lesbian) women who shared the unit for several years). Who had let the back yard become so overgrown and why? (Past tenants, absent landlord). While her recollections were fascinating, I still had more questions than answers, so I asked Judy if she had ever taken any snapshots inside what is now my apartment. At that, Judy, who has presumably never seen this blog, started laughing wildly. “Do you think I’m crazy or something? What kind of screwball would take photos inside somebody else’s apartment?”
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Photo: Neither Judy nor I live in these Lakeview 2-flats, however they do neighbor one another.
