C is for Change

It’s interesting to think back to two, three years ago….no, even just one year ago, and to imagine myself in Los Angeles. Now, here I am in the land of Hollywood and smog, of sunshine and traffic, in my little two-bedroom abode in the neighborhood of Brentwood, and I have to say that I feel quite at home.

It’s been nearly three months since my father and uncle spent an entire summer’s day loading up my u-haul in Scottsdale with my starter furniture and odds and ends, and now, here I am! For those of you who I have not been as in touch with as I should have been, I’ll fill you in…

I live in an older building, a charming building. I’ve decided that it has the loudest plumbing system in Los Angeles, and I wake up promptly at 6 a.m. each day when the kind neighbors above me decide to take a shower or flush the toilet. But its home, and I love it. Until the weather took a turn tonight for the cold, I’ve been keeping my bedroom window open each and every day, and in drift bit and pieces of the conversations of passersby, neighbors and cars. Patterns have started to emerge here. At night, I’ll overhear my German upstairs neighbor chatting loudly on his patio. Dusk, the Cat Lady neighbor making conversation with others on the sidewalk (she takes her cats out every day to play). And, sometimes, I’ll hear the girl who lives just over the way arguing with her boyfriend: “Don’t you KNOW how much I LOVE you? No, Don’t TALK to me!” Ah. Peace.

My roommate couldn’t be more perfect, nor could her boyfriend, who proceeded to unload my entire truck after he met me on the sidewalk outside my new place the day I moved in. They both have the pleasure of walking to work every day; he, to San Vicente and she to Wilshire. You’d be amazed at just how many people walk in Brentwood. Brentwood is like a happy little bubble, protected from the rest of the city. Everything we need is here, within a few blocks: grocery, dry cleaners, coffee shops, restaurants, hair salons—even a neighborhood bakery and dim Italian-style pizzerias. I live just short of two miles from my office. I told myself that I’d be walking to work at least several times a week, but after taking the drive through a few very “interesting” blocks just south of Brentwood, I decided against the idea and opted for the safety of my car.

I work in an office not too unlike a flower shop. It’s not unlikely that on any given day, the office will be brimming with fresh-cut flowers, unused vases and peculiar objects used in background photo shoots for flower ads. About once every other week or so, the receptionist will shout “PRODUCT!” and all of us will make way like a cattle herd toward the lobby, where trays and buckets and arrangements of flowers will be waiting to be taken home, or perhaps given away. The people are eccentric, funky, genuine and colorful in every way. The work is challenging. I can’t complain.

I hope that this blog documents my experiences as I delve into the new. This move has been like a fresh of breath air for me, and I realize now more than ever how important this time in my life will be for me. I know if I can do this here (move), I can do this anywhere. I know I will grow in Los Angeles and these experiences and memories will be looked back on for a lifetime, like a wonderful secret, something uniquely my own.

Goodnight, family, goodnight friends. Goodnight, LA.