Suzy Says

The apartment has finally been sold. Other than the breathtaking rudeness and generally unpleasant personality of the woman who bought it, the most shocking thing about the entire depressing process was the fun-filled discovery that the seller gets to pay the buyer’s real estate agent, too. The grand total for both agents was $35 grand. Grand for the agents, that is.

I can’t help resenting paying the Other Agent, when all he did was make a spacious apartment in Pacific Heights with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the roof garden and beautiful period details sound like a tenement in Hunters Point. A really good agent can make you totally ashamed of your place in under five minutes.

So let’s take a farewell tour of the place I lived in and loved for well over a decade.

Here’s the outside of the building which dates from 1927.

It’s three blocks from Nicolas Cage’s house
and the famous Haas-Lilienthal House, now a museum.

Guess we all just love to slum it.

This is the living room, which I painted a sunny yellow.

You can see the 250 year old grandfather clock, which has been in my father’s family ever since it was made. The rocking chair was made by my mother’s grandfather from cherry wood, with mother-of-pearl inlays. The plant is called Frank.

Another view of the living room, looking toward the kitchen.

The desk was my beloved godfather’s.

The kitchen, showing the wonderful old Wedgewood stove (it’s more than 50 years old and the best stove I ever had).

Behind the stove and sink are the handmade Italian tiles I had put in. The counters were made by my brother from quarter-sawn white oak. I really hate it that the new owner appreciates none of these things. She complained bitterly that there was no dishwasher. Undoubtedly, she’ll yank it all out and replace it with stainless steel everything and never cook in it, just show it off.

The bathroom has William Morris wallpaper (the frieze is called Willow Bough, and the rug matches) imported from England.

The doorknob on the closet is lead crystal, as are all of the doorknobs in the apartment. The tub is a real cast-iron clawfoot, dating from 1890. I painted the outside green and the feet silver.

Last of all, the bedroom, with another Morris rug and the 1920’s dressing table I got at a yard sale 20 years ago. It turned out to be surprisingly valuable.

You can also see the bay window with a glimpse of the garden.

So there you have it. It doesn’t look that bad, does it?