I left my home of 12 years (on Sunday, July 14) some three weeks after my landlady returned from the hospital with a new hip. And a rather hellish three weeks those were. Hellish due to the brutal woman who came: a) to take care of my landlady, and b) to secure her own position as inheritor of the property. My previously tranquil residence went ghetto... quickly.
I blame the bullying caretaker for my departure, but looking back I realize that my landlady was a pea out of the same pod. During the 12 years she lived upstairs, before the landlady came to occupy what had been my office there on the first floor (graciously yielded by me for her recovery) I never interacted with her very much. People are different up close.
There in early July, searching for a new abode, I reached out to a number of people. One of these, a generous friend, J, who was living all alone in a large house, up on the northern edge of town, kindly invited me to come live with him... rent-free. I've always thought of San Luis Rey (technically, colonia Insurgentes) as remote. It certainly is less central than my previous home in San Antonio (or most anywhere else in town for that matter). However, when I saw the place, bordering as it does on thousands of acres of federally-protected country-side, I jumped at the chance to live there. The Jews have a word m'chaya. It means something that gives life. J's situation, with the countryside pouring in the windows, was life-giving, especially in contrast to the urban density of San Antonio.
J made me feel right at home, in his home and in San Miguel. He could do the latter by virtue of the fact that he is part of one of the first families, historically and otherwise, of the State of Guanajuato. The first documents assigning original land deeds in the state bear his ancestor's name.
J's house from my new new home *
J is a genius. Artistic, charming, inspiring, he burns very brightly. His points of view, shared in our frequent, lengthy conversations, are fascinating: scholarly and iconoclastic. Amazingly well-connected, I expect some of J's acquaintances will be instrumental in expanding my Lokkal project, especially now that our proximity has afforded the opportunity to convey my vision of local internet (the Yellow Pages robustly reborn for the new millennium) to him as never before.
Another contrast, as great as the difference between living on the open northern frontier of San Miguel and living in the crowdedness of San Antonio, marked my move. This is that, I went from living very much alone, isolated in almost monastic seclusion, to sharing a home with someone burning with creative passion.
J is a film-maker, actively involved in developing more than a few projects. He hosts numerous face-to-face meetings each week. He has extended, animated phone calls daily. It's all very inspiring.
Still, to make a metaphor from his industry, while I'm happy to watch the movie, it wasn't easy to be around the often over-exuberant process of making it. Don't get me wrong; I'd be happy to play a role (were one offered me), except that I am already deeply involved in my own often over-exuberant, creative, backstage process.
Publishing (13 articles and two newsletters each week, an event calendar and a social network/Community Wall daily) takes up all of my time, day and night. Living with someone, especially someone as interesting as J, required too much shifting of gears. It was hard to stay in the publishing zone. I grew jealous of my time.
The view out the livingroom window *
A closeup of the same *
I could blame it on my turning 67 at the end of this month. But I think I would have had a similar reaction at half my age. No matter how magnanimous the individuals involved, living together has its trials. Ironically, it was the easy sociability that J and I shared that proved my biggest challenge.
I wasn't sure what to do. Then, another friend told me of an apartment available on the next block, literally a stone's throw away, just across the empty lot in front of J's house. It was the best of both worlds, my cake and eating it too. It's smallish, but big enough. It's pretty, modern and clean. I told the Mexican caretaker, the white floor tiles make me feel as if I am walking on clouds in heaven. There is lots of light, and multiple views: a panorama of the city stretches out in front, and the campo opens up out back.
I packed up my car and made multiple 90-second drives to the new place, the new new place. Lastly, just two evenings ago (Monday, August 5), I carried my cat, Fellini, over on foot, in a covered, padded milk crate and we spent our first night.
J's place has two cats and a dog, a lovable lug of a dog, who didn't care at all about cats, but whose presence on the patio kept Fellini in the house. Even after three weeks there, Fellini spent most of his time on his pillow under my bed.
Here he's got the run of the apartment. He loves, as do I, looking out of the multiple, floor-length windows at the great world. Like me, he's used to living solo, but once he gets used to the downstairs neighbors, I'm sure that he'll venture out to the front patio and beyond.
I had a very pleasant parting with J. When I told him where I was moving, he pronounced our continued close proximity "perfect." I thanked him profusely for the refuge he provided. Later, when he noticed the few gifts I left him in his refrigerator, he messaged his thanks. Living there, I was somewhat in the role of personal chef, and I'd like to continue that tradition, having him over once I settle in, and maybe going over there to cook before I do.
Moving is stressful. Moving two times in three weeks is off the charts. So, it's good to be home, to have found a home. There's no place like it.
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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, our local social network, the community online and off, Atención robustly reborn for the digital age. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.
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