Being Gone

I do not intend to seem maudlin. But something about moving out of the apartment I lived in for 30 plus years has caused me to think about death. I guess it is because after taking all my stuff out, I have had the chance to see it empty because someone I know, my cousin, is moving in (subject of another story as to how that happened), and then slowly filling up with things she moved in piecemeal, and with which I assisted her.

So, let me step back.

 This is the entry to my old place in the Fairfax District of Los Angeles. This vestibule was where my neighbors and I lurked back on January 17, 1994 after that monster earthquake we all thought might be the "big one."  It's kind of where I met Elwood, the Lionhearted Cat, who is still favoring his life despite advanced age.

Here's another angle, of the fake potted plant.

Oh, and the front entryway.

You see these front french windows?



I remember that I had a little desk in front of those windows, where I studied for the California Bar, while my then new little cat Hollywood, the size of the palm of my hand, sat on my Bar Bri books to prevent it.  That was 1981. Hollywood lasted till 1999, dying at the age of 18, after a long full life.

The living room had many changes of furniture. I always liked the large room and the bright cheerfulness providing by side French windows, although my wall space was then severely limited.The kitchen was only recently, like in April, remodeled from the original 1920's crumbling tile, but I only rarely hated what it was before that change--since I have never been much of a cook. I needed neither much space nor particular beauty in that room.

My favorite space was what had been once in time, likely, a dressing closet/room. When Oscar Rovinsky, the landlord at the time, gave me the keys for the grand sum of $375.00 a month, the little built in table with a built in mirror was falling apart, not really usable. My uncle took it out for me. At first, I used it basically as an ordinary junk closet, and then one day realized I could make it a library. Now, my cousin will use it to store the tools of her avocation, sewing.

So, what's this talk of a "death"? Well, here is the thing. Because I have been able to go back and see the apartment develop with the taste of my cousin, there is this sense that in a small way I am experiencing, with myself, what it might be like to go into an apartment of a loved one, clear it out and see what it becomes, without the former occupant. In a way, the thirty years of my inhabitantcy is wiped away with the removal of my "stuff". It is, as if, I was never there for well over a quarter of a century.

It gives some sort of perspective; I am considering what that is.  There is a book by Stephen Levine, called, "One Year to Live".  It tries to teach the reader to engage in exercises derived from the idea of what would it be like if you knew you had only a year to live. Now obviously this actually happens to people, but not to most of us. We don't get a timetable in advance. Or even close. One of the exercises is to go through a day as if you are not here, on this earth. It has an interesting effect--you become less attached to the self, because the exercise presumes no "self" literally. Since no one sees you, there is no opportunity or reason to be slighted.  It causes you to think about what is truly to be done by you in THIS life, if you were not trying to please or obtain the kudos of others. There was something of that exercise in emptying the first apartment I ever lived in as an adult (I was old when I ran away from home), and watching it fill up with someone else's possessions.

It's interesting being gone while being here. I have been in this apartment for just shy of two months. You'd never know I'd been anywhere else.  Until, of course, I'm gone, again. By the way, I'm in no rush. From my lips to God's Ears.