So....the big change is....drumroll...I'm moving. Meh, you say. No biggie. People move all the time. Yes, it's true. But this place....ah, my little place. How can I describe it? In a love letter, of course!
Dear House - I love you. I loved you the first minute I saw you. I cried, in fact. I told my landlord, "I think my late father brought me to this place" as I sat in his kitchen and prepared to move in. (He later told my Mom he saw the ghost of my father sitting next to me).
That said, there were problems. But I tried to overcome them one at a time. There were constant challenges, but it always felt like home. The rent was cheap, too, for Los Angeles. It was my first real little stand alone house, a rental, but I made you my own. My little yard. My private-ness, stuck way in the back. I was in everyone's backyard, it seemed. All four corners of the world met in my back yard. The little tree that hangs over my patio - okay, it dripped sticky goo onto every single thing underneath it, but what wonderful shelter from the blazing SoCal sun! (Dear New Place: I already know you are going to be hot and difficult to decorate, FYI. You are charming but I see through you!)
My lovely kitchen that Marc painted and Maripat tiled with those fab Mexican tiles. The different colored walls. The way the windows faced northwest, so I got beautiful light and shadow without the blaze of the sun (I see you, new place, waving to me, direct west sun and all and that pain in the butt sliding glass door that I've already derailed, after only one opening. I never derailed my current sliding glass door once in 10 years). I felt moments of pure happiness just sitting in my living room, looking out.
And...it's not only the only place I've ever lived while in Los Angeles (all that life happened there! 10 years' worth! So many people, some long gone, have seen that place and laughed with me there! I learned FOUR shows here!), it's the longest place I've ever lived in, period. That's right. Since birth, the longest I've ever lived in any one place is right here, where I'm about to leave.
But...it's time to leave. We both know it. I won't miss not having either a dishwasher or a bathtub (Hi new place! But I still can't fit any of my kitchen appliances on those counters! I already know this!). But I will miss knowing that some of my father's and late dog's ashes are right outside at the base of the angel trumpet tree I planted there 10 years ago. (New place - I'm bringing some angel trumpet tree cuttings to my new garden - please be kind and let them take root).
I guess that's the thing I'll leave with - please be kind and take root. That's what I wish for in my new home. Thank God, I have Dean to help me this time. It won't be as hard, physically. Emotionally, well, that's another story for another day. Wish me luck! Oh and don't get me started on having to say goodbye to Drummer, my neighbor's cat. We just won't go there.
