My apologies for that; I do have an excuse. Sarah, Griffin and I made a major life change this week, officially selling our apartment in Brooklyn and moving into a home in Pleasantville, New York, about 40 minutes from Manhattan. We’re in a very particular part of Pleasantville—a community called Usonia, which was created by Frank Lloyd Wright in the 1940s. It’s a fascinating place, 47 homes—three of which were designed by Wright, the rest by Wright devotees—on about 100 acres. The homes are classic Wright: minimalist, tucked into the landscape, facing away from the street. One neighbor two houses down has been here since 1951.

I loved Brooklyn and my time there, and I’ll admit to some trepidation about leaving its energy and culture, as well as its proximity to some good friends. But there are many good reasons to make this change. Since Griffin’s birth in March 2012, we’d really outgrown our apartment at 1 Hanson Place. We have his school situation to think about, and likely wouldn’t be in a position to pay $40, 000 to $50, 000 for K-9 at a Brooklyn private school. And of course the Fort Greene area where we lived is changing rapidly. The addition of the (very) nearby Barclays Center has generally been a positive thing for the neighborhood, but it has upped the level of street traffic and pedestrian congestion considerably. Two huge buildings are under construction or about to be within three blocks of 1 Hanson, and that will add to the concentration of people in the area. I never worried much about safety, but you hear stories: a week or so ago there was some sort of teenage mob at a local park where we often brought Griffin to swing on the swing set. Not great.

So we have now spent two nights in the country; the first, I could not sleep because of the quiet. Last night was better. This is the first weekend. It’s exciting and a little nerve-wracking at the same time. But it is nice to be sitting here at a dining room table—which used to be pressed against a kitchen counter because there was not room to separate it—looking out the 11 (!) windows in our dining room (dining room!) and seeing grass and trees…and hearing nothing. Not a single police car or ambulance or fire truck.

Even when it’s good, change can be a bit sad, though. As I once wrote on this blog, when in the mornings I would take Griffin from his crib, I would walk him to the window and remind him, “It’s a happy morning in Brooklyn.” We would look out at the view—from 23 stories, that remarkable view!—at Brooklyn unfolding beneath us, stretching out towards New York Harbor and Staten Island, Ellis Island, Governor’s Island, the Statue of Liberty. “Look at the cars!” I would say to Griffin. “The people! The buildings! Look at the boats and the planes!” In the weeks before we left, Griffin had learned to climb up onto the chairs in front of our windows, then onto the windowsill and look for himself. When I would move to take him down—for a little boy can’t stand on a narrow windowsill, certainly not one 23 stories high, you worry even when the window isn’t open—he would sometimes start to cry. He loved that view.

My son spent his first year in that apartment; there were a lot of happy mornings in Brooklyn. Even with all the happy mornings that lie ahead of us, I will miss them. But I’m fascinated to be here in this historic place. I don’t yet know what the view is like, but I’m excited to find out, and I’ll keep you posted as I do.