The Apartment

"We're passing the American Embassy," said our cab driver.

I looked out the car window and scanned the whole landscape through a really foggy window. I saw the washed out outlines of a car wash, a hotel, and what was that - a park gate? No building looked official in that sense.

"Oh yeah, I see it, " I lied.

"I'll bet you don't see it," he paused a second. "It's McDonalds! Heh heh!"

OK, I needed that. Amy and I had just spent 20 hours in airports and planes, the last half or so crammed into a 767, trying to find some position that would be sleep conducive. There isn't any of course. And now we were in Edinburgh, sleep-deprived representatives of the Land of Corporate Fast Food ... trying to get acclimated to the landscape as tourists do. It's a reflex, and now it's just annoying, because we have 6 months to get used to this city.

The Castle of Edinburgh loomed on the horizon. "That's our AirBnb," I pointed at it.

"Oh good one," the cab driver replied. "You should know that the people of Scotland are funny and friendly."

"You drive on the wrong side of the road," Amy inserted.

"If it'd make you feel more at home, I'll drive on the other side. That's how friendly we are." he replied. "I don't think you'd like it."

He dropped us off at 21 Ainslie Place, the corner apartment of a three-story building that encircled the block. We spun the combination onto the lock box, grabbed the three color coded keys ... and attempted to unlock someone else's door. It was the first failed plan of what are sure to be a million. Fortunately there was no one home to accuse of us breaking-and-entering, sending us back after less than 2 hours in Scotland.

At the top of the winding staircase was our apartment. We walked in. It was absolutely, positively the flat of the 13 AirBnb pictures we had memorized over the last year except for two things:

• It was twice as tall
• It was oriented 90 degrees to the left

Why is this blog not an Instagram feed? That is why. In the end, a photo is a perspective on a situation, but not necessarily the correct one.

I will have a lot to say about the apartment over the coming months. I don't know that for a fact because the future hasn't happened yet, but sometimes you just know.

For now, I will say this. It's tall. The crown molding is 15 feet off the floor. I cannot over-emphasize how important that is.

Back in 1999, my first wife Kathy had Multiple Sclerosis, she could no longer walk, and her arm strength was diminishing. Refitting a house for accessibility turned out to be grossly expensive, so we ended up building a house from scratch. It was small, the smallest plan that Ryan Homes had, and you choose a bunch of options from a premade list, as if your house was a Tapas Menu.

One of the last options was a cathedral ceiling in the living room. Kathy said, "I want that."

The price on it was $7,000. Gaaah. But the one with the chronic illness calls the shots. We got the cathedral ceiling, and skipped the deck and other things that Kathy would never use.

That turned out to be one of the best decisions we ever made. Kathy spent the better part of 11 years in the living room, and I was in there with her for a good chunk of it. The room was small, but it didn't feel like it. That extra space was good for the imagination ... I know that sounds hokey, but imagination was one of Kathy's best features. It was the one she got to hold onto, even as the disease progressed. It kept her a human being. And me, I felt it too.

It was 25 years ago that happened. Walking around this apartment in Edinburgh, I felt that cathedral ceiling all over again. Like my brain has some room to breathe.

Last night, Amy and I were in bed. From beneath the covers I looked up at the ceiling and I honestly couldn't remember what it was like to sleep somewhere else. It was weird.

Amy's phone rang. It was Ithaca, where Amy's son Terry and his long-time partner Krys are babysitting our house. "Uh Mom, Krys says the dining room ceiling fell in. She's freaking out."