Porches, welcome committees, etc
Hi, my love.
Pasadena is really, really great.
(just… very great.)
I finally got our Wi-Fi to work a few minutes ago, so I am on top of the world / basically the Mark Zuckerberg of the California mountains.
Also, a bish has a porch.
A porch, my love. A! Porch! I am happy-stunned.
(Not dealing too well with said happiness, to be honest, because I legitimately have lost the muscle memory for being happy)
(I immediately unpacked clown-car-Iris and arranged / rearranged / double rearranged the preposterous amount of tea sets I own instead)
(Also my friend Ian was holding a 5 quart mixer for us like the world’s largest mensch. No time to just sit and be happy, had to go pick *that up* of course)
(But then my mixer color choice of matcha, though glorious, was the wrong color, so JJ and I had to scour LA until we found the right choice, blue velvet, in a mall in Glendale)
The mixer is the right color now (and I love it beyond reason)!
The tea sets are arranged.
The Wi-Fi is set up.
I guess I just have to look around happy stunned.
I’m writing you from our new mattress, which is on the floor.
The mattress is on the floor because the moving truck doesn’t get in until Thursday or Friday.
(or something.)
Every day I get cutie updates that make me squeal like a happy little rodent.
It appears the squeal inducing moving truck is taking the same route we did across the country. I’m tickled by the reminder of our own exhausting 9-12 hour drive days.
(I insisted on doing all the driving, of course, because José doesn’t love to drive, I do love to drive, and mostly because I am a silly human who panics when I lose control)
Control, my love. An endlessly silly illusion that I struggle with always.
Every day I’d worry that we’d not get there in time.
Every day, despite little to no planning, we’d land at exactly the right time in exactly the right city.
And every day José would find an even better road food option for lunch.
This time around we went through the middle of the country. Past farms and Trump signs and corn fields and mars-esque landscapes and incredibly kind human beings.
I couldn’t believe how lovely everyone was the entire trip. Even in spaces where neither of us felt safe we encountered nothing less than a delightfully wholesome welcoming committee.
In Des Moines, Iowa, I had a lengthy conversation with a man named Michael about asparagus ferns and why I was carrying one across the country in my clown car. He had been to New York a couple of times but was way more excited to discuss asparagus ferns. I happily obliged and then piled Walt in to go to Denver.
In Denver we stayed with José’s magnificent aunt and uncle Darcey and Etai. One of my absolute favorite parts of life with JJ was discovering he had family that felt like my own long lost kin. Darcey and Etai are some of my favorites of that clan - brilliant, unpretentious, fun as fuck. Darcey ordered a staggering/hilarious amount of food and we talked late into the night.
When I told Etai we were headed to Arizona early the next morning he raised an eyebrow, which is about as shady as that gentle thoughtful soul can go. Etai was right, Arizona was way out of the way. I reassessed my hastily created route and set a course to St. George, Utah instead.
In Utah we booked the hotel about 3 seconds before arriving late at night. I showed up bleary eyed, confused, and powered only by the Pikachu happy meal I had had earlier that day. Kayla and Jenna at the front desk were angel people, upgrading us to a king room and admiring Walt’s luxurious fronds. They told me I was going to love LA.
I agreed.
Then, of course, we drove here.
A 6 hour drive which felt like an absolute breeze compared to the 12 hour ones.
Got to see the greatest street name in history en route.
And now we’re here.
The perfection house remains empty because I packed Iris full of all of my fragile precious treasures rather than furniture or clothing like a normal human.
Thankfully this house, built in 1924, has ample / epic space for showing off fragile precious treasures.
Some treasures are here, the rest is en route. As the moving truck cycles the same drive we just did I smile and hope he/she/they are meeting similar humans to those who carried us across the country.
While I wait I walk around this perfect house with my jaw sort of on the floor.
Every so often I have a meltdown and José is very patient with me.
The house is perfect and the only things in it are a mattress, a mixer, whatever I could fit in 12 square feet of clown-car-ed Iris and us.
I suppose that’s all we need for now.
We eat our meals on the floor.
Wait for text updates about the rest of our house following us.
And slowly, slowly relearn what being alive feels like.
(Three and a half years ago José sang me that song at our wedding)
(Sondheim’s perfect opus to love)
Somebody crowd me with love
Somebody force me to care
Somebody let me come through
I'll always be there
As frightened as you
To help us survive
Being alive
Being alive
Being alive
After three years of our belongings and experiences and feelings packed up in storage, it’s a prickly and powerful experience, being alive.
But I’m ever so grateful for it, for him, for you.
More next week.
t
ps: the albums that carried me across the country, for your own potential future cross country listening pleasure:
The Rhythm of the Saints, Paul Simon
RENAISSANCE, Beyoncé
All Things Must Pass, George Harrison
Ten New Songs, Leonard Cohen
Now That I’ve Found You: A Collection, Alison Krauss
I Want You, Marvin Gaye
Ella and Louis, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong
Streetlights, Bonnie Raitt
Illinois, Sufjan Stevens
The Age of Adz, Sufjan Stevens
Lemonade, Beyoncé
The Idan Raichel Project, Idan Raichel
Kintsugi, Death Cab for Cutie
Echolations: River, Andrew Bird
New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh, Erykah Badu
Fields (Deluxe Edition), Junip
pps: I love you.
How many great songs were written on a porch?! Let's gooo