Jefferson City, Missouri: At Least I'm Not Camping

Although my apartment offers charm in views, design, and location, it is as breezy inside as a log cabin that has lost its chinking. 

For some reason, this state of affairs reminds me of the so-called bozi flower in Caucasus Georgia, aka prostitute flower. My apartment windows are as loose as a bozi's legs. 

And the walls are cold. Because there ain't no insulation in this 100-year old building. 

Sometimes I'll feel an actual push of cold air that flows by me, but when I get up to investigate where the hell it's coming from, it's untraceable. A frosty spirit? 

During a recent two-week arctic blast, when temperatures sank into the single digits, my first thought upon awakening each morning was: "At least I'm not camping."  

Cold comfort, as my living space was frigid.

I wore (and still wear) a hat to bed and for most of the day inside my place. I'm wearing it as I write this. During the day, I typically wear three layers of clothing.

Oh, sure, I could crank up the thermostat, but with the super-high ceilings, the billowy blasts of cold air coming through the windows and walls, with the registers affixed to the high ceilings, and electric heat pushed up such a long way through vents that are quite possibly lined with a thick layer of dust plaque - from a furnace of unknown age - which is way down in the basement of this old building, to which I have no access, thus I can't check the filter ("We change the filters twice a year!" say the property managers, as if that's a generous amenity) - and a bill that could easily hit $250 for just one month, I started out with a 65-degree thermostat setting before frugalizing even further by dropping it to 63 degrees.

Since the leaden cold has descended, I don't see my charming outside views because I've covered my windows with two cold-air barriers in addition to the blinds already installed: Plastic sheeting and fabric curtains, and for some windows, Reflectix, too. Against the walls below the windows, I've pushed bulwarks of boxes and pillows to block the cold air swooshing in through the frames.

My charmless winter decor to repel the cold. February 2024. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Other cold tales:

Rustavi [Caucasus Georgia]: Warmth Strategies

[Caucasus] Georgia: Cold

[Caucasus] Georgia: Warmth

Birmingham, Alabama: An Annoyance of Facts 

My winter in Birmingham was the very same that hit Houston so hard in 20/21. My winter in Birmingham is when I bought both an electric mattress pad and an electric throw to put on my bed.

The year I wintered in Ferguson, Missouri, in 2018, I said this: "No, no, no, no. I am finished with winters in cold lands." I made this proclamation after it snowed on Easter. In April. 

Yeah, and now look what I've gone and done again. 

At least I'm not camping.

 

Mobile, Alabama: My Tornado Alcove

 

Building staircase. Mobile, Alabama. August 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

I moved into my Mobile apartment in the midst of the hurricane season. 

I'm on the fifth floor of a building that does, actually, have a basement, but it's the kind of basement that most certainly houses the undead, always on the ready for their close-up, Mr. DeMille, in addition to all sorts of electrical and gaseous and plumbing apparati that I would not want to be near if the shit really did hit the fan. 

For awhile there in the fall, the gods really told us how mad they were at Mobile, and I skedaddled down to the first floor on several occasions. I took my camp chair, laptop, and phone with me. My spot was under the building's main staircase. 

I prepared both a sheepish shrug and grin in case a neighbor walked down the corridor and saw me.

 

Related posts or pics

2012: On the Road to Alamogordo, Day #1: Faith and Fury [in Joplin, Missouri]. Caution: Two disturbing events referenced: the recent burning of a mosque and of a devastating tornado the year before. The video of people sheltering from the tornado in a c-store storage room is terrifying (and I don't use that word lightly), so beware.

After the May 2007 tornado in Greensburg, Kansas. October 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.

Fifteen years later, here's an update on the 2007 tornado in Greensburg, Kansas. 

 

After the May 2007 tornado in Greensburg, Kansas. October 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Mobile, Alabama: It's Baaaaaack

 

Banksy rat. Source: Infrogmation via Openverse via Creative Commons

 

Eek? 

Back here, I had a likely critter in my kitchen, as circumstantially-evidenced by slashed bags and spilled spoils. Took defensive measures with my inelegant elegant solution. 

A few weeks later, I learned that another resident had an, erm, visitor. All of a sudden, it seems. 

I commiserated with her, of course, all while being grateful that it was now SEP. 

Until a recent night.

I was at my 'desk,' facing the kitchen. The louver doors to the kitchen were open, the kitchen light on. Suddenly I saw a critter move sprightly across the kitchen floor. And, no, it was not a cute little mouse, like that one in El Paso. No, it was a rat. Not as large as one imagines in major metropolises. But bigger than a mouse. A longer tail than a mouse. 

And when I yelled out, "Hey!" it didn't scamper away as fast and as appropriately respectfully as a mouse would have. I'm pretty sure it almost paused. Took a moment to consider whether it would comply with my implied command to exit. 

On one hand, I'm glad to have closure on the open case of the nefarious goings-on in my kitchen. 

On the other hand, this is yet another example of how ignorance really can be best. Typically, I keep my kitchen doors closed and the light off. It happened that on this night, the doors were open and the light on. I'm sure the rat's been poking around every night all along and I simply didn't know. 

Couldn't it have waited til I left in just a few weeks?

 

Note: For anyone without the cultural reference for "It's Baaaaack," I take you back in time to 1986. Poltergeist II:

Mobile, Alabama: Living Rooms Present and Past

 

My living room, office, bedroom. Mobile, Alabama. Credit: Mzuriana.

My living room in Mobile is also my bedroom, office, and exercise space. What comes in through my living space windows is my art. Soothing light washes the walls and floor in the mornings and evenings.  When the afternoon sun gets belligerent, I taper the shades to gentle its attitude. I'm at eye level, so to speak, with the live oak; its arms almost touch my windows, and in histrionic storms, they tap on the glass. A mansion is my neighbor. Vivid sunsets. Theatrical clouds presage storms. Curtains of rain.

Over the 10 years of my rootlessness, the minimalism of my furnishings has maximalized. It used to be that when I landed in a new place, one of the first items on my to-do list was to visit the local thrift store. There, I'd pick out a comfy living room chair, an office chair, a floor lamp, a bedside table and a side table for the living room. Back at the very beginning, I bought a bed (even two!). 

At the end of my yearly tenure, I'd advertise the bulky items for resale or I'd donate them to Goodwill.

However, it occurred to me - in Tucson, I think - that I could get double duty from my camping gear, and that's what I did, beginning in Birmingham last year. 

• Living room chairs: Two* backpacking canvas sling chairs
• Side table: Compact, molded plastic folding table
• Bedside table: Stretched-fabric, collapsible camp table 
• Office chair: Molded plastic folding chair
• Ottoman: Camp kitchen storage bin
• Laundry basket: Repurposed styrofoam cooler
• Kitchen wastebasket with a lid that snaps firmly shut: My Luggable Loo

 

My living room, office, bedroom. Mobile, Alabama. Credit: Mzuriana.

Demanding dual duty from furniture saves me shopping time upon arrival, money, and off-loading time (selling or donating the furnishings) at departure. 

 Some past living spaces

In my rooted house circa 2005

My living room in my rooted house. Missouri, 2005. Credit: Mzuriana.

My living room in my rooted house. Missouri, 2005. Credit: Mzuriana.

In Opelousas, Louisiana in 2015

My living room in Opelousas, Louisiana. 2015. Credit: Mzuriana.

My very, very Spartan living room in Birmingham

My living room in Birmingham, Alabama. 2020. Credit: Mzuriana.

The above picture of my Birmingham living room made me laugh. That was utilitarian, indeed. But my ottoman-slash-camp kitchen bin did its job just fine! 

My office was behind me when I took the picture. Same set-up as always, from Alamogordo, New Mexico, in 2012, through today in Mobile, Alabama in 2022.

So, let's look at my El Paso living space as the final retrospective

My living space in El Paso, Texas. 2016. Credit: Mzuriana.

In revisiting the El Paso space, I see items I've released since then: 

• The good-looking hat that gave me headaches. Literally. Practicality finally overcame vanity and sentimentality. 
• The apple green bendy table lamp. 
• The tabletop radio and CD player

 

**I've had one of these chairs for quite some years. This year, one of the legs split, so for now, I just use it as an ottoman, as it can't bear the weight of an entire human. When I leave Mobile, I'll harvest the canvas sling and the velcro strap, and toss the frame.

Mobile, Alabama: Bathrooms Present and Past

 My bathroom in Mobile: 

Mobile bathroom. Alabama. July 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

I remember how joyous I felt about the light and space of my bathroom in Ferguson after a year in El Paso's coffinesque shower and converted-hall bathroom. 

 

My shower in Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017. Credit: Mzuriana.

My bathroom in Birmingham had the charm of a 1980s small-town medical clinic. No toilet paper holder. It did offer the dubious benefit of a window, street level, smack at breast-level in the shower, with the view of the boarded-up building across the street (before it was demolished), then the plowed earth after the violence of demolition, and, in time, a rather pleasant rolling green.

My Birmingham bathroom. Alabama. July 2020. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

My Birmingham bathroom. Alabama. June 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

As my bathrooms have gone over the years, my Mobile bathroom falls in the Land of Not. Meaning, it's:

1. Not unpleasant, with the light that comes in from the west-facing window, and with the old-school, recessed wooden medicine cabinet and shelf above the sink
   
2. Not too small
3. Not surprising to have a clunky hose-and-shower-wand retro-fit kind of set-up because the building is a centenarian and showers weren't a thing back then
4. Not surprising that the new shower wand holder, affixed to the wall at a height appropriate for most tenants, fell off in short order because Mobile is the rainiest city in the entire continental U.S., and the adhesive used for said affixation was not up to the job, which meant I slid the shower wand into the former shower wand holder, which had been thoughtfully kept installed (because it was screwed into the wall), which was lower on the wall, which was 90% not terrible, because I am rather short, although the loss of the new holder left a wound on the wall where the new holder had been, resulting in rather an esthetic insult. 
5. Also not surprising that when it rains or when the humidity is high, there are moist blotches on the bathroom walls
6. Not expected at all that I have not even once had to employ the toilet plunger I bought in Birmingham, to which I granted precious real estate in my Prius during relocation, and which is a testament either to the good design of the Mobile toilet or the pipes or to the mystical power of the mere presence of the plunger in the space
7. Not pleasing that I need to flush out the iron water for a few seconds from the tub spigot before taking a shower
   

Mobile bathroom. Alabama. July 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

Related posts

2019: A wilderpee and a big bug: Tucson, Arizona: Humane Borders Water Run: July

2018: Mexico City: Toilets I Have Known, Including This One

2014: "The need to empty one's bladder can lead to unexpected encounters." In Louisiana: Broussard's Happenin' Goodwill

2012: Dubai: Eating a Camel and Sleeping on a Table

2012: An attempted wilderpee: Kazbegi, Caucasus Georgia

Mobile, Alabama: My Doors

 

Doors. Mobile, Alabama. June 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Normally, I wouldn't think about the quantity of doors in my living space, with the exception of security issues that I've got to be mindful of. You know: minding the perimeter. 

In my Mobile apartment, despite its petite size, I have seven doors!

 

Doors. Mobile, Alabama. June 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Golly, I remember the time in my Birmingham apartment when I suddenly saw the doorknob of my front door turning. I called out assertively, "Hey!!!" And the person on the other side mumble-said, "Oh, sorry, wrong door." 

No, I did not buy that. It wasn't a confident turn of the knob, the kind of turn where the person knew they had rights of entry. Nope, it was a slowish turn, a quiet-like turn. He did the same to my neighbors. 

But being in Mobile over this hot and humid summer, with only a window a/c unit, doors are my best friends. 

I can cool my small sleeping/living space efficiently by closing the doors to the kitchen and to the alcove and bathroom. 

Doors. Mobile, Alabama. June 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

The "alcove" is what I call the squarish not-quite-a-room and not-quite-a-corridor piece of real estate between the foyer and the bathroom. It's the space I hunkered in over the winter when scary tornado-alert storms blew through, when I didn't bounce down the five floors to the building's street level to squat in a corner behind the staircase landing.

My kitchen temp will climb into the 90s, while my living space can get down to about 83 with the a/c on. When I have the a/c on, I close the louvre doors between the kitchen and living space so I can corral the coolness close to me.

Doors. Mobile, Alabama. June 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

When I don't need the a/c on, I can open the solid front door to reveal a louvre door that faces the hallway outside my apartment. It may only be my imagination, but it seems that I can draw the hall's cooler air into my apartment, especially if I place my little desk fan just so, in order to invite the air in. 

The ol' open concept is over-rated, is my thought. I like my doors.

A couple of doors of my past

Lizard at the front door. Birmingham, Alabama. December 2020. Credit: Mzuriana.

Door to my flat in Dubai, UAE. January 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

Mobile, Alabama: Kitchens Present and Past

 

My kitchen. Mobile, Alabama. December 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

My kitchen in Mobile is at the corner of sunrise and sunset.

It pleases me to push up my blinds each morning to beckon the sunlight through the south-facing window. 

When the wind blows strong, a live oak branch taps on my west-facing window. 

 

My kitchen. Mobile, Alabama. December 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

My kitchen. Mobile, Alabama. December 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

 

 

My kitchen. Mobile, Alabama. December 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

Some kitchens past

Oddly, I can't seem to find photos of my kitchens in Lafayette or my pre-rootless house. Maybe I'll come across them later.  

 

My kitchen in Birmingham, Alabama. July 2020.

 

My kitchen in Tucson. May 2019.

 

Shared salt in communal kitchen, Mexico City, Mexico. November 2018. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

 

My kitchen. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

 

 

My El Paso kitchen. September 2016.

 

 

 

My kitchen in Alamogordo, New Mexico. October 2012.

 

Kitchen in Old Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. September 2011.

 

 

Kitchen in New Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. July 2011.

My kitchen in Playa del Carmen, Quintano Roo, Mexico. November 2010.

 

 

 

Mobile, Alabama: A View From My Window

Mobile is lush. 

Live oaks, magnolias, rain, crepe myrtles, ivy, rain, azaleas, rain.

A view from my window

View from a window in Mobile, Alabama. September 2021.

Views from windows past

View from my apartment before the tear down. Birmingham, Alabama. August 2020.

View from my apartment after the tear down. Birmingham, Alabama. November 2020.

View from Tucson apartment. May 2019.

 

View from apartment terrace. El Paso, Texas. September 2016.

View from my Antigua host's house. Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

View from Opelousas apartment window. Opelousas, Louisiana. March 2015.

View from apartment. Lafayette, Louisiana. November 2013.

View from apartment. Alamogordo, New Mexico. October 2012.

View from apartment. Alamogordo, New Mexico. October 2012.

View from my bedroom in Old Rustavi. Caucasus Georgia. September 2011.

View from my bedroom in New Rustavi. Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

My bedroom window at Azeb's house. Nazret (Adama), Ethiopia. February 2011.

View from Playa del Carmen condo. Mexico. November 2010.