Kelly K
The day started like any other. Not. Instead of being tucked into bed attempting to sleep, at midnight I found myself driving from Attic Brewery to Mount Airy to drop a friend off at his house before going to a tertiary location. John Mulaney would not approve of my lack of STREET SMARTS.
Let me rewind a bit. May 31 was the graduation for the school I used to work at. I’ve had a rather circuitous career. When I graduated college, I did a two-year service program in Dublin, Ireland working at a Catholic church. Once that finished up, I did another two-year service program/Master’s program similar to Teach for American except in Catholic schools. I taught 5th-8th grade language arts, technology, choir, and 7th grade religion in Tulsa, Oklahoma during the height of the pandemic. Yes, it went about as well as one would expect. Tired of living far from my family, I moved back to the east coast in 2021 once I graduated from grad school. I got a job teaching theology at a high school in North Philly. I quickly realized teaching was not for me. I worked at the school for another year doing attendance and tuition. I finally stopped gaslighting myself into believing I should stay in education. I got a job in HR at a trading firm last August. I’m a lot less stressed.
Even though I said goodbye to the education world, I still miss the students and my old coworkers. That’s why I went to graduation. I hadn’t seen anyone since I left at the beginning of August, so it was lovely to catch up with people. Typically, after graduation there is a school-sponsored after party for the faculty and staff. Then there’s the not school-sponsored after after party at Attic. THEN there’s the definitely not school-sponsored after after after party at someone’s house. During my two years working at the school, I never made it to the after after after party. That changed this year.
Around midnight we left Attic to go to someone’s house. I volunteered to drive my friend home so he could avoid taking the train. It was partly a selfish move because we hadn’t gotten much one-on-one time earlier in the evening, and I wanted to catch up with him. As always, I enjoyed our conversation.
It was nice driving so late and being able to avoid the craziness that can be Philly drivers. I listened to Taylor Swift as I made my way south after dropping my friend off. I’d never been to the house where the last party was being held, so I did call someone to confirm I was parked outside the right house. There was no way I was going to walk into a random house at 12:30 in the morning without being 1000% certain it was where I was supposed to be.
I spent the next couple of hours talking to old coworkers and meeting some of the new staff. At one point a group of us stargazed on the roof. It had been over eleven years since the last time I just hung out on a roof, and it was a great feeling.
Eventually, I lost the battle between my desire for socialization and my desire for sleep. Another friend asked for a ride home, so I dropped him off in Manayunk before heading to Spring Garden. Kelly Drive at 2 in the morning is a lovely drive. I highly recommend it.
I walked through the door to my apartment just after 2:45. I stepped out on my roof deck and snapped a quick photo of the view. My roommate and I haven’t taken advantage of the space as we should, but hopefully that will change with the warmer summer weather.
I stumbled through brushing my teeth and getting changed into my pajamas before flopping into bed at 3:00. I tried to sleep for the next several hours.
Around 10 I finally accepted the fact that I would not be getting any more sleep, so I left my room and set up shop on the couch. My original plans for the day included organizing my bookshelf. Spoiler alert: it did not happen. Instead, I enjoyed a lazy Saturday, catching up on emails and reading. I texted some friends to see if they wanted to get together in the evening. Even though I was exhausted from my late night, I was still feeling social. As luck would have it, they were all busy or out of town. So, I embraced the solo Saturday life by making (read: heating up) a pizza for lunch.
At the end of April, I got a manicure for the first time since July. I realize this makes it seem like I get frequent manicures. On the contrary, I do not. I think I’ve gotten maybe five manicures in my life. I used to be embarrassed to let someone else work on them because I had short, stubby nails from biting them. Over the last few months, however, I finally seemed to get over some mental block and was able to start growing them out. Maybe it has to do with my lower stress levels? Anyway, I got a manicure in April, and it has been exceedingly clear as of late that I needed to get my nails redone because it has looked grown out the last couple of weeks. On a whim I booked a manicure and pedicure appointment at a salon on Fairmount.
While I waited to leave for my appointment, I had a moment of panic when I realized I hadn’t read (or even secured a copy) of the most recent book for the fast-approaching June 5 book club meeting. So, I hopped on the internet and bought the Kindle version of Powerless by Lauren Roberts. I figured I could start reading it while I was getting my nails done.
I was proud of myself for remembering to wear flipflops to my appointment. Did it take me a few minutes to find a pair? Perhaps. Because I was wearing flimsy shoes, I elected to drive to the salon instead of taking the 15-minute walk. I wasn’t about to get blisters right before getting a pedicure.
Finding parking was surprisingly easy given that it was a Saturday. There were so many people out and about enjoying the weather. Some restaurants had the Phillies game on TVs outside for their customers to watch while enjoying their meals. Overall, it seemed pretty idyllic.
There was only one other customer getting their nails done when I walked in. I spent an embarrassing about of time picking out a color. Does anyone else feel such intense pressure to pick the *right* color of nail polish? I knew this would last me at least through the wedding I have in two weeks, so I wanted to make sure I got something that complimented my dress. I ended up going with a dark red/berry color that the technician complimented me on.
When I sat down in the pedicure chair, I got right to work taking out my Kindle and preparing to read. The girl who gave me my pedicure was super friendly. I only got a few pages in when another girl came over and started working on my manicure. I was pleasantly surprised that the nail appointment I thought would take an hour and a half only took 45 minutes.
Near the tail-end of my appointment, a couple came in for pedicures. At that point, my pedicure technician was finishing up with me, so she showed the couple to the other two chairs. As she was pointing out the massage controls, I mentally face palmed. There I was, almost finished with my appointment, and I had completely forgotten that pedicure chairs are massage chairs. If that wasn’t a sign it had been years since my last pedicure, I don’t know what was.
Upon leaving the salon, I took a picture of my nails to send to my book club group chat. We’ve been trying out different nail salons for manicures, so I wanted to update them with the results.
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. I saw my roommate when I got home. I read a decent chunk of Powerless.
When dinner rolled around, I continued with my unplanned “Treat Yo Self” day and got Dig for dinner. There is something so satisfying about their bowls. I’ve only eaten Dig a handful of times, and it has never disappointed.
After dinner, I switched from reading on my Kindle to reading on the Kindle app on my computer. When I opened up my laptop, I saw that I had two calendar notifications: A Year in Philadelphia and Grandmom’s Birthday. Grandmom was my grandmother on my dad’s side. She and Grandpop lived about 15 minutes away from my family, so we would visit them often. During the summer, we would always spend time down on Long Beach Island at “Grandmom’s Beach House.” To this day, I don’t know why we didn’t include Grandpop in the moniker. It’s something I wonder about every so often.
Grandmom’s beach house was one of my favorite places on Earth. A cape style house sitting on a double lot, it was like the TARDIS—a lot bigger on the inside. My Colorado cousins would come for two weeks each summer, and, in more recent years, we would squeeze over 20 people into a house that technically only had three bedrooms. When I was a kid, it felt almost magical spending summer nights there. We would stay up far later than we were normally permitted playing cards with Grandmom and my cousins. Grandpop would be in the den watching the Yankees games and doing the crossword. The beach was three blocks away, and you could watch sunsets from the back patio while sitting on the swinging bench.
Grandmom died one week before her 92nd birthday on Memorial Day in 2020. I had arrived home for the summer after driving for two days nonstop from Tulsa in a pandemic-stricken country. My dad and I were the only ones home. The rest of my family was down at the beach. Wearing a mask as I walked through the door, I heard my dad say hello and then explain how Grandmom was in the hospital getting fluids because she was dehydrated. The next morning, she was gone.
I’ve never really felt like I got to properly mourn Grandmom’s passing, or Grandpop’s for that matter. Grandpop passed away a little over two months after Grandmom. I was already back in Tulsa at that point and couldn’t attend his funeral. Today, though, I took the time to mourn. I thought back about my summers at the beach and listened to some of Grandmom’s favorite songs. I cried, but it was cathartic.
When I first saw that I was assigned my journal entry on June 1, I thought it was ironic. Of all the days to have to record what I did, what were the odds I would be assigned Grandmom’s birthday? Upon further reflection, it felt fitting. Grandmom was always supportive of my creative endeavors. She would take me to see musicals at the community theater. She loved listening to me sing. She encouraged my writing. She, a girl from Upper Darby, would have loved the idea of recording a year in Philadelphia. So, Grandmom, this one is for you.
Kelly is a New Jersey native who has found herself in Philly for the last three years. When she's not helping people start their jobs, she can be found reading for her two book clubs or commuting to NYC for choir. Kelly also has a running side quest for the best bagels in the city. Please send any and all recommendations via Instagram to @kkoer_1515.
