I live in a sleepy mountain town with an air similar to Denver except that yesterday I sat on back patio in a tank top and admired the luscious lemons exploding from a tree along the fence line.
Every morning I drive through Kirker's Pass, up and down a curving road that sensually grazes the sides of Mt. Diablo like a lovers fingertips across my lips. The view, oh the view. In Kirker's Pass the car tires flap against the pavement, gripping the road with nervousness. Sonny pushes to accelerate along the dangerously beautiful terrain, up the steep hills and then braking too suddenly as this drive is not yet an oblivious habit. Both sunrise and sunset are stunning distractions, so much so that I am compelled to go to work before dawn and leave mid-afternoon as to keep myself from plunging off the road and into a great abyss.
Yesterday was suppose to be a day of adult to-do's: open a local bank account, make copies of house keys, buy cleaning supplies...and while I did accomplish most of those, my soul grew restless for excitement. San Francisco proper is a 45 minute subway ride from my cozy little suburb and I'll go this weekend once I'm entirely settled in, but for now, I am consumed with solidifying myself in this commitment. In doing so, I spent a ridiculous amount of money on the softest bed in existence. Once it was delivered and set up (a 7-minute process in which the delivery driver, Hugo, prides himself), I headed to downtown Concord to explore. What I found was a smorgasbord of thrift shops filled with the treasures of the world. For those who haven't heard the tale of "Big Trash Day 2009," I'll give you a brief synopsis. Ryan, Eric & I piled into my SUV and toured Overland Park block by block collecting diamonds in the rough off the curbs of the overly-privileged. That drizzling day is one of our most fondly recollected memories and from that day I had a black clothing trunk with stamps from the 20's and 30's. This trunk had been across continents and for the past 2.75 years has cradled my clothing and sandalwood incense. When I left for California there was no way to transport the trunk. In a moment of bravery I offered it to the new neighbors across the hall. The two school teachers in their early 20's with only a futon, enormous box television and papasan chair to their names were delighted at the donation. They turned my beloved trunk into a coffee table as I stifled the sadness of losing such a cherished possession. I've never been much of a material person. Even yesterday as I unpacked, I was laughingly confused as to the importance of some of the items I'd considered important enough to travel across the country with. It's all the in memories I suppose...but I digress.
Yesterday I sought out a few pieces of furniture: lamps, a tv stand, something to store my clothes in (I hate dressers for some bizarre reason) and as I was digging through piles of miscellaneous goods at "Treasures" in downtown Concord, I found this:
I paid half of what they were asking for, but made friends with Ronnie and his mom, who only recently opened the store. I was glad to pay. This trunk is now tucked in my closet, guarding my t-shirts, reminding me that home is where you make it. Home is where your heart is. My heart is in Chicago, Miami, Kansas City and here, where I make my own way one day at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment