Before my grandma left to visit my aunt in Belgium, she told me she'd wanted to live in Los Angeles. There was so much more space and sunshine than in Queens, she said; flowers and produce, too. She savored those 9 months helping her aunt. Decades later, my mom took me to see her cousins. It wasn't her first time (and apparently not my own either--we'd visited while she was pregnant) but I remember it specifically because I brought Elmo with me... and promptly forgot him on the shuttle bus. I was devastated as you can imagine. And though watching "
Seepy Booty" did help, it took me another 18 years
to get the nerve to go back myself.
{Leslie & I's Airbnb - Biarritz, France}
Now, when my flight lands this afternoon, I'm returning
to live. I'll first enjoy the weekend with K and her husband. Next, I'll visit my office for the first time, and see my apartment, and meet my roommate. My mom will arrive a few days later. We'll pick up my car and bedroom furniture together, as well as celebrate the Fourth. By then I should feel like a Los Angeles resident, right? Words cannot express how anxious and eager to make myself at home--mostly because this New Yorker is hoping for that
je ne sais quoi... eek! Be in touch as soon as I'm
barely somewhat reasonably settled :).
