Jan. 7th

Balboa Beach day after I arrived

Jan. 7th – I’ve never before lived in a city that snows. One of things I brought back from LA is my grandmother’s wool coat from the ’50s. She bought it when she moved to Detroit in her early 20s. It has a black, rabbit fur collar and feels like it weights about 30 pounds. They don’t make coats of that quality anymore. It’s in perfect condition. My mom held on to it all this time, probably thinking no one in our family would have use for it. When I tried it on for my 91-year-old grandmother, who had long forgotten about the coat, she said, “Well I’ll be darned. Does it smell like moth balls?” It does not.

I spent the 3 weeks between LA and Orange County with a quick trip down to San Diego. Somehow, I didn’t have time or the chance to see all the people I wanted to. And now I’m back in Berlin where I have like 5 friends, but it’s cozy and excellent weather for writing. Visiting home was grounding and invigorating alike. It rained off and on most of the trip, but when the sky cleared, the air was crystalline and everything sparked, washed of smog and city dust, it bounced with color. The sunshine was warm on my face, coming through the looping vines of the veranda, on those mornings when I sat on Emily’s back porch sipping my coffee, Clifford the cat beside me.

I stopped by my LA apartment to pick up a few books and things and realized that I miss nothing about it. What I miss are my dog and my cat, my friends and my yoga studio. But, driving around that first day back, I was overwhelmed by how beautiful it is in LA. By afternoon I was already tired of the same old neighborhood, the same old streets, the same views. They aren’t mine anymore. Newport Beach living, however, is easy to get used to (except for all the weird republicans and unfriendly wasps).