I’ve moved again. Yes, it’s getting to be quite a habit. This is my fourth abode since May of 2005. If I can’t get other things to shift in my life—career, finances, social life, health—at least I can pack up and change my abode.
Of the nine places I have lived in Long Beach, this is my favorite. I’m at 666 ----- Ave., Apt. 6. No satanic references please. I refuse to buy into that.
It’s a Spanish-style building with arches over the courtyard, and huge papyrus and big-leafed philodendron planted outside my front door. There’s a vanity with built-in drawers ,a mirror, and a closet between the bathroom and the bedroom. A walk-in closet is off the bedroom, and built-in benches and a table are in the kitchen. There are crystal doorknobs and a space in the living room where a Murphy bed used to be. Outside my back door I’ve arranged the rocks I’ve gathered from special places and a bunch of potted plants. I’m growing parsley and looking into what other veggies might thrive in a few hours of direct afternoon sun.
Best of all, this place is quiet. At long last, no barking dogs. No car alarms. No horn-beepers. No TV-blasters. No loud, angry people
The back of my apartment faces the back wall of a monastery. Almost every day I can hear music from the monastery floating gently over the wall and into my space. Sometimes it’s Indian chants. Sometimes it’s passionate blues, like the other afternoon when I laid face up on my bed and let “Summertime” sink into my heart.
I am so thankful that after 26 years in this city, I have finally found a place that’s right for me. As I plan to leave Long Beach following my separation from Cal State next May, in all likelihood, this place will be my last in Southern California. What better way to depart a place—or a job or a relationship, for that matter—than when one is at peace, rather than in a state of desperation, resentment, or despair. This apartment is my farewell gift from Long Beach. A gift for which I am very grateful.
