Stop One: Los Angeles
Home. Strange concept. Born and raised in LA, yet I feel very little attachment to it. In four years, Claremont felt more like "home" than Los Angeles ever did (and yes, I know lots of people who consider Claremont part of Los Angeles). But here I am referring to the city. Disregard these comments when we talk about my mother's house...that is "home" or at least what "home" means in this transitional stage of my life.
Home is where I can do laundry for free. Home is where I get fed and can sleep for free. Home is where I get hugs from my mother. Home is where my stepdad makes me a martini at the end of a very long day.
I have yet to start my "vacation." Today I pulled together a brand new cover letter (third job opportunity at the same institution demands originality). My mother just happened to have some beautiful linen ivory stock on hand so that was absolutely fortuitous. Our printer ran out of black ink (yes, we brought our printer with us!) so again, mom came to the rescue and I used hers. I updated my c.v. and will send it out to the dossier service tomorrow. These are all tasks I had not anticipated worrying about on my trip. But, opportunity, I realize, is RARELY convenient.
Part of me feels that we should have spent the weekend doing "LA" things. As it was, we did hit the first Trader Joe's that ever was (in Pasadena). I suppose that counts. But most of the weekend was spent revising the rest of our trip, pulling my job application together, shipping a box of stuff off to Somerville, and figuring out how to repack the car.
On the other hand, I did read an entire mystery novel from cover to cover--something I haven't done in a VERY long time. Well worth it. It was Peter Tremayne's Act of Mercy (1999). My mother and I both enjoy his Sister Fidelma series...what could be cooler than a 7th-c mystery-solving Irish nun?
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