JUST LIKE THAT

You come home, check email, and there it is: news your home is being sold.  Home=house+heart.  Twenty-two and one-half years.  The apple tree which all by itself is a life’s worth of juicy memories; the triangulated view from the living room: Mount Tamalpais out one window Mount Diablo out another.  Thanksgiving dinner.  Every step in the garden triggers nostalgia and little moans of lamentation.  That gets old pretty fast.

The first night you have trouble sleeping.  Who asked for a wake-up call?

You thought you’d be immune, that the faultline running through the city, the pressure of dotcom wealth, would somehow spare you.  Denial is a good drug. Do people living in the Marina reflect about Loma Prieta?

Earthquake.  A few cracks in the plaster.  Is the foundation stable?

Many scenarios of change possible, from nothing much to a bulldozer. No way to know, but there are things to do, learn about your rights as tenant.  Like Jill and Camla next door did.  Talk to lawyers.  Where are Jill and Camla now?  I don’t know.  I saw Jill a few weeks ago driving by in her rust bucket of a pickup.  She had come by to pick up the last of her stuff stored in a friend’s garage.  “They beat me down,” she said bitterly.

You think you’re immune, still.

Friends hearing the news react as if hearing of a death.  Or at least, that’s what you hope.  You watch carefully, ready to defriend those who are blasé.  (Insert smiley emoticon.)

A somewhat suspect side of you is drunk with the prospect of upheaval.  Without earthquakes, no Himalayas.  How about dragging out that dusty TEFL certificate and getting a job teaching English is some provincial Italian university?  Be the envy of your friends stuck in the rut of their comfortable lives.  How do you say rut in Italian?

But then, what’s wrong with comfort?

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8 responses to “JUST LIKE THAT

  1. Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
    Please say it isn’t you and yours.

  2. Marcia Donahue

    Every crisis an opportunity—-but jeez Louise, WHAT a bummer! You won’t sink, you’ll swim. But i’m with Anita, hoping hoping it isn’t you and yours.
    Marcia

    • In Faro's Garden

      You psychic you. How did you know that Louise was my landlady?
      I’m fine. Whatever happens it will be a good excuse to finally have the garden party I’ve been meaning to have for years. Kisses, to you too, Anita.

  3. Louis Bixenman

    This lesson on the impermanence of all things is easier in the abstract. It’s always hard for us to let go. Having said that, is this a good time to begin my campaign to lure you to the Land of Enchamtment?

  4. Kristen Brochmann

    There is a house in Lawrence available. Want to trade Mt. Tam for Mt. Oread? Seriously, if you want a place for a while to contemplate your next step, looking at the enormous cottonwood tree you planted as a sapling, you are welcome to it. And the garage is emptied out, almost, for your stuff.

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