Number fourteen.

It's done. After many a muggy, hot 'n zesty afternoon of looking at apartments we have finally found one. Yesterday we spent a few hours, a few horrible hours, "hoof-n-it" around downtown neighborhoods searching for THE place. The place with the light from heaven shining down on it, and choir of angels singing every time we looked in it's direction, making it abundantly clear that THIS is where we should live. However, all I seemed to discover was a lot of beautiful, quiet, mansion neighborhoods - which would be awesome if we were in that mansion-owning state of life... we are, not exactly there yet. A neighborhood that had a man with a pirate eye, and puddles in the sidewalk where birds were bathing. And a neighborhood with children terrorizing the sidewalks with small bicycles. However, no heaven-light, not even a burnt out heaven-light bulb. Nothing. I left our search, hot, blistery, grumpy, hungry, sweaty, demoralized, disheartened, annoyed, and hot. Also, I was hot. 

Today I received a call from a company where we had put in a rental application. We were finally approved after a little bit of hoopla and they said that they had two apartments for us to look at. After yesterday I was still a bit deflated, and sure that these apartments wouldn't be what we wanted. They were sure to be far inferior apartments. Shoddy. No heaven-light.

Apartment 1. We walked up three flights of stairs through very narrow hallways, and a series of doors. The tenant across the way has some sort of wild car alarm dog that exploded when we reached the end of the hallway. We looked at each other, thinking, "Oh. That's awesome". Apartment 1 was small, but fine. Very small, almost not fine kitchen. Windows that looked out on a parking lot, and to the building next door - not exactly picturesque.

Apartment 2. Not exactly magazine picture worthy neighborhood (read, slightly sketchy).  But it was bigger than most we had looked at. The kitchen was great, big enough for an eat in table. Hardwood floors. Windows facing the street. First floor, only up maybe three or four stairs. These are the things you think of when having to lug your life up and down stairs. Or when remembering, once you got to the car that you don't have your celly. And going back up. And coming back down. Arriving at the car to realize that you left your sunglasses on the table when you picked up the phone. The actual number of stairs becomes important. You're annoyed enough at that point. Really it comes down to a matter of how annoyed, and often this can be measured by number of stairs. Example. I am 4 steps annoyed. Versus, I am 3 flights of stairs, small, hot hallways, and too many doors annoyed. You see? Oh, also, it was the apartment that I had originally wanted. Apparently something had fallen through with the other tenants, or who knows what. Maybe that person was struck down by heaven-light. In either case, they weren't going to rent it. So. We are. We have a new home. Number 14. 

We are within walking distance to our favorite restaurant in Denver, as well as a whole slew of restaurants, pubs, diners and coffee houses. Near a park, near our new best friend, and not far from school. Close to museums and ... not far from the ball park.

I didn't see any heaven-light. But I'm sure it was there. I forgot to look up.