(The old living room)
Moving across the country alone is a leap toward Mars. My friends, my routines and even my standard of living were left behind. Ohio is a relatively cheap place to live, but I was headed to Seattle, now in the top ten of most expensive places to live in the US.
(The new living room)
Shortly after I arrived I purchased
a one bedroom condo for almost the same price for which I sold my three bedroom
house on half an acre. I traded the comfort of an attached garage, washer and
dryer, and well manicured lawns for outdoor parking, coin-op laundry and a view
of the parking lot in the front and a senior trailer court in the back. But I
knew ahead of time I was trading comfort for culture. Plus, I’m close to the Pacific
Ocean.
One strange phenomenon is nobody in
my neighborhood knew my name. There was no chance of running into someone saying,
“Hey, Moe, how’s it going?” at the grocery store, or waving at a friend as they
drove by during a walk. Back in Ohio I knew enough people I frequently ran into
friends, neighbors and students, and my social life was fairly busy.
Luckily for me some of my family and
a couple of friends live in the area, so I was not totally isolated. I was also
proactive in obtaining my library card and finding a book discussion group. I
tried on a couple of writer’s groups, but nothing seemed to fit. Initially my
social life revolved around friends I’d made in two book clubs. I maintained a parking-lot-greeting
acquaintance with my immediate neighbors, but didn’t “know” anyone in my complex.
This gave me a lot of time to write.
In order for me to do laundry and
pick up my mail I need to wander through a labyrinth of narrow, shrub sidewalks
behind several ground floor residents’ patios. During the winter rain drizzled
almost daily and very few neighbors ventured outdoors. As the weather warmed up
early in spring I met Robin, who spends a lot of time tending the lovely
flowers extending way beyond the boundary of her single patio. When I first looked
at my condo, I commented to my realtor that the grounds were nicely landscaped.
It turns out the section I remarked on was largely due to Robin, and she and I conversed
frequently whenever I walked by her place.
One afternoon I was trekking back
from my mailbox. My friend Leslie was driving up for the weekend from Portland
and I expected her any minute. I said hello to Robin, and she introduced me to
Frankie, who lived across the courtyard. (It turns out Frankie had also contributed
much of the interesting landscape in the complex.) I remarked I had a friend
coming from out of town and wondered where we should eat. They recommended a neighborhood
restaurant I hadn’t heard of which featured a 5.99 steak and egg breakfast
served all day.
Have you ever watched the Love Boat?
It’s a terrible show from the 70’s about a cruise ship, and every episode ends
in a predictably outcome. But there’s a character on the show, the ‘social
director,’ whose job it was to make sure everyone had a good time. Frankie is
our condo social director. Shortly after meeting him, if I was doing laundry or
walking to my mailbox, he’d wave me over to meet another neighbor. Soon, I was
regularly invited to barbecues at Frankie’s and met even more neighbors and
friends of Robin and Frankie’s. Since then I’ve dined out, gone to the movies
and bowled with some of these folks, and I occasionally run into my new friends
and acquaintances at the nearby grocery.
(My little social animal)
Writers tend to hole up behind our keyboards
and pages, yet man is a social animals, so it’s good to go outside. Breaking
bread, discussing books, and sharing movies with people helps me feel part of a
place. I’ll always feel part of Zanesville Ohio, and vice versa, yet I have a
second “family” here in my new home,
too.
Writing prompt: What makes you feel at home?
