What is basically our backup pot — used when our regular pot for boiling potatoes or pasta is dirty or otherwise unavailable — is what I used for making spaghetti back in my single days.
I don’t remember if I got it and a pair of smaller pots at the local Salvation Army store, a friend of my mother’s or the neighbor’s lawn sale, but they were inexpensive and served the basic purpose of giving me something to cook in so I could feed myself.
Basically, one big pot, a couple small ones, a frying pan and a microwave were enough to meet all my dining needs.
“I think every person gets to a point in their life where they feel like they have accomplished something. And by buying this table, I feel like I have accomplished my first, real steps into some form of adulthood. I know it sounds strange, all I did was put £40 down in exchange for a (very adorable) table. But I think everyone’s ‘adult’ moments are different and this is mine.”
— Asher-Lee Tulip Downer, “One Small Step Into Adulthood,” comeandreadwithme.co.uk
My first apartment was a studio near Washington Park in Albany, New York, in 1994. It was on the top floor of the building, and the whole thing may have been about the size of my current living room with maybe a little dining room thrown in.
But that was fine. I was only paying $335 per month as a first-year graduate student, and it was a fairly short drive to campus and around the corner from the grocery store.
It didn’t need a lot. The stove, refrigerator and “dining room” table and chairs were included. There was room for my desk — the one I still use today when I’m working at home — and computer, and I brought my entertainment center for my TV and stereo.
I didn’t have a ton of clothes back then, so the tiny closet was enough.
But I didn’t have a bed, or a couch … and given the size of the apartment, I was going to need something that could be both.
So my parents and I trekked to the city — which where I was from, meant Albany — to look for futons at a couple furniture stores. We saw a couple interesting options, but nothing that called my name, especially for the price.
We went home … where we found our neighbors having a yard sale.
And in that yard sale was a small futon, and a chair to boot. They were both mostly foam; the futon was basically a folding mattress that had arms and a back attached. They fit what I was looking for, and even better, they were a total of $20.
Perhaps the only disappointment was my father wishing we had seen it earlier, as he hated going to the city. (My devotion to New York City is absolutely not genetic.)
The chair may have lasted longer, but the futon only lasted to the first move. It was to a larger apartment — a full one-bedroom — so there was room for my bed from home (it’s in our guest room/office today) and to buy a proper futon, which is now in our sports room.
My accommodations have changed significantly since that first apartment, but that little foam futon then, like Asher-Lee’s table now, was an early milestone in what is now called “adulting” and what we called “getting your own place.”
Before you go, I wrote several months ago about walking a 5K to benefit the school for children with autism where the instructor for my exercise class works. That 5K is Sunday, and if you wanted to make a donation, I’d think that was really cool and appreciate it a lot.