They're Going to Have to Carry Me Out!

Those of you who know me live and up close and through this blog, know that I do not much like change. This is a foolish rebellion in that change is in the very nature of life and often is a door toward growth. Oh, yes, change has been thrust upon me in some things, the death of my mother and other relatives and friends, at far too young ages, the loss of my job in the last 18 or plus months, and the like. But volitional change, I have avoided assiduously, no doubt my effort at controlling the uncontrollable universe.

Forced into change, I cope. That's a good thing as I have seen many of those with whom I am acquainted not able to do so readily. The last major change I initiated, though, was probably my move to California, which was 31 years ago. And for all that time, very nearly, I lived in the same apartment. It was only the third place I ever lived, the other two being in New York, as I grew awkwardly to adulthood.

Pretty much the consensus was, and I include myself in the consensus, that I would be in that apartment near the Grove and Fairfax Avene until I kicked the proverbial bucket. There were many who felt, and said, to me, and to one another (I speculate) that it was a shame I did not buy a big house commensurate with my professional status as an attorney. I thought about it. I even looked at a place or two over the years, but I was comfortable where I was, in a broken down (for most of the years until my new landlord did work on the place and I did some of my own) apartment building, with its often seedy back yard (the neighbors and I improved it some over the years; for me it became a garden of paradise; anyone who comes back there probably thinks I am delusional). If I had a big house, I'd still cozy up in a room or two. I am at heart a New York bedsitter dweller.

Looking back, I am glad I did what I did as I did. My job was always precarious, for the whole 25 years I navigated the tides and eddies of changing administrations and inadequate understanding of what an ethics prosecutor actally did, but having survived for so long, a little like the fake imbecilic Claudius avoided the family political massacres of ancient Rome into old age, I was still a little stunned and surprised that it was not my idea to cease public service. (Claudius ultimately met his end from poison mushrooms provided by his loving wife). My not expanding my life turned out to give me the wherewithal to survive and begin to do those things I had always wanted to--those creative things that don't usually bring in an income unless one hits it big. It also made possible the expense to renovate the bathroom and kitchen of the condo in which my father lived and which I inherited, a condo I couldn't sell after the crash of 2008 (just when my father died).

Losing my job severed the last thread to the life I had been leading for 31 years. The page was partially turned for me, and it was now mine to turn the rest of the way.  Oh, not crazy big, admittedly, like those among my friends who have moved from state to state, have bought many a house and sold them again, who travel with ease and delight (I like being places, not the transport to them, which I find almost intolerable),  t for me, a self propelled and big enough change. I decided to move into the condo once the renovation was done rather than to try to sell again. While my property is now chock full of amenities, the building itself is 1957 crusty, with concomitant problems of roof and plumbing in the common areas, and a too low reserve; I 'd likely still have trouble selling. 

The anticipated 10 week or so renovation took five months, with various glitches popping up and driving me to distraction and near regret that I had even tried to effect any change of my own accord.

I had wonderful movers in Starving Students, taking a piano up two stories with sharp turns on the stairwells. My old apartment still has remnants of my old life, and it has been heavy and dusty work in bringing "stuff" over here and paring other stuff (putting much of it by the "magic tree" as I call it, where people come and make my old treasures their new ones). I am cleaning things up, the refrigerator, the bathroom, the carpet, which I'd do even if my cousin weren't moving in there to be closer to her ailing father and caretaking mother. Yes, the old place will be staying in the family thanks to a negotiation with my kind erstwhile landlords.

As for me, they really are going to have to carry me out of here. But I'll tell you, I find this an amiable place to focus on the writing that I have always claimed is my dream--so I have the opportunity to put my money where my mouth is.

I might even do some travelling, despite my wish they could beam me there rather than make me take a plane and wait at airports and go through security and worry about my containers. I see all this as Chapter III, Reinvention.