Briefly, regarding my last post, my trees got damaged pretty well with a bizarre streak of below 20 degree lows out here in the desert. It is not pretty. The leaves are mostly still green but are completely shriveled up and brittle. They fall off the trees if I brush by them. My singular lemon turned to mush but the grapefruits seem to be fine. I did cover each tree according to my neighbors instruction — which was maddening on a cold and windy afternoon — but I think we were too late and underprepared for the temperatures. I am not too concerned about the damage to the lemon tree, at least not yet as I don’t know much about caring for formerly frozen plants. I was already planning on cutting a lot of it off this spring for a fresh start and some definition anyway. It has no trunk and no direction. It’s still wild, even with as much as I’ve chopped off of that poor damn thing. Sounds kind of like me.
As for indoors around here, I have replaced two more cartridges in the faucets to alleviate incessant dripping. I had my sons help me with it a little bit. It was not quite the bonding moment that I expected it to be, but they did what they would. I have also screwed a little tiny box of wires back into the wall in the living room. I have no idea why it is there. I have resolved to replace the wooden threshold of the front door and the weatherstripping around the door as I can see light coming through it during the day. The dial to turn the water on and off in my sons’ shower dramatically snapped in half as my eldest son was turning the water on one morning. Naturally, I bought completely the wrong replacement piece and have yet to return or exchange it. Good thing we have pliers. Lastly, my temper has cost me all the time and materials I spent repairing the first kitchen drawer that broke several posts ago. At least now I have experience.
And to finally address the title of this page, I drove past my old apartment complex today. For some reason, every time I pass it, I look toward my former patio. I am honestly looking for my 20 year old self to be standing there perhaps talking on the telephone. When I look I get a calm feeling, as if I am remembering that those were the days, when I lived there, when I had everything together and I was the best version of myself. It was the first apartment that I paid for by myself every month. I came into my own as I lived there and at first memory I feel serenity. Truthfully though I’m sure I felt more afraid and indecisive than I do now. I panic all the time about bills and food and “making it” and something breaking in this house. It is a much better pot for me in which to grow, though. With my babies. Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen when I realized that this is where my sons will learn to cook. This is where they will surpass me in height. This is where they will learn to drive. Damn this house and I are lucky.