Wednesday, March 22, 2006


There's No Place Like Home

Picture me in my sparkly red shoes clicking my heels over and over. I've never really been sure where to find "home". Some say it's where the heart is...then home is often a very dark place. For years, I thought it was Sweet Home Alabama. That is, after all, where I grew up. But it's now been more than a decade since I've been home, and I've only been in touch with old friends via the occasional phone call or e-mail. My parents moved to North Carolina. While they often ask me to come home and visit, again, I'm visiting them - not home. For a very brief time, I thought home was in North County San Diego. During one of our snowboarding trips, I said "I can't wait to get HOME." And I realized I meant it. At that point in my life, that was home. That home disappeared with Discount Movers and a low-rent breakup.

I tried to find home where I used to - downtown. I moved into a hip urban loft with awesome views of the harbor. The wine fridge was stocked with awesome reds and rare ports. The furniture was carefully selected during walks through the local galleries. And all the regulars at the bar downstairs knew Hooch by name. But, as they say, you can't go home again. It just wasn't the same as the REAL warehouse space I had - the unfinished 2000sqft next to the Ben Franklin Bridge in Philadelphia. I tried to drink my way home, yoga my way home, smoke my way home, run my way home, sleep (as in Zzzzz) my way home...It just felt too hard to get anywhere.

Hooch and I moved today. We moved out to what locals refer to as "The Island". Coronado isn't really an island - at least not "unto itself". Keep driving south and you'll hit Imperial Beach. But in another way, it is. I lived here when I was an intern (many island moons ago). At the time, I found it creepy. It was so green and friendly and swell - it was the Truman Show. At that time, I'd just moved from the East Coast. Kids riding their beach cruisers to soccer practice, moms with baby joggers smiling as they ran by, retired gentleman watering their rose bushes...they all waved and said "Howdy, neighbor." Okay, not really. But at that time, It represented everything I feared.

After two years of living downtown...hearing trains, trolleys, planes, garbage trucks...hearing drunks and the local nuts screaming...being threatened, chased, and generally creeped out...having 2 beach cruisers and two mountain bikes stolen from my "security building"...chiseling soot off every surface of my house despite regular dusting...Well, you get the picture. I hereby say, "Howdy, neighbor."

Congrats Stampy! Let's see the new digs!


P.S. I forgot that you were a Southern gal too! Yay for rednecks!
Hiddy Ho Neighbor

yeah show us pictures
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