Being There, Doing That

Originally written Friday, December 23, 2005

Just dropping a line to say I’m so glad I took this trip. This is exactly the kind of respite I needed. I hadn’t seen Aunt Elizabeth and Ian in a couple of years, so it’s been nice catching up with them. Almost as nice as it is to be sitting out on Elizabeth’s balcony in this 75-degree (F) weather, logging in from her laptop. She doesn’t have a very exciting view or anything—just a small street off of Ventura Boulevard and all the skateboarders and dogwalkers that go with it—but she’s right around the corner from some good restaurants and shops. I’d be perfectly happy to veg right here all week, but she likes to play tourguide whenever I’m out here. “Life’s short,” she says. “When else are you gonna get to do L.A.?”

I just don’t have the heart, the impatience, or the need to contradict her (about the short life thing). Besides, I may be around well into the future, but places won’t be. Who knows when the Big One will knock the city into the ocean or when global warming will cause it to be engulfed by the rising tide? In the twenty-third century, it would be nice to be able to say that I’d been there, done that (though probably not in such historically specific terms... or maybe so, just for nostalgia's sake).

So later on this afternoon (I’m writing in the morning right now… a beautiful, breezy morning that smells like oranges) we’ll be meeting up with Ian in Venice. It’ll probably be pretty chilly by the beach, but it’s still a fabulous area, one of the last bastions of bohemia. There’s something about the gritty funkiness and the breadbasket mishmash of tourists and locals, the putrid public restrooms and the food stands—pizza, hot dogs, fajitas, falafel—that got an A for sanitation next to sit-down restaurants with Bs (I really do like how restaurants’ grades are posted publicly here, and it would be great if they did that elsewhere), that makes the salty air that much sweeter. And no, it’s not the smell of weed. It’s a metaphorical sweetness. Or maybe it’s incense.

The cat wants attention. And I told Liz I’d make her scrambled tofu for breakfast. So I’d better go. But I just want to add that I brought the charm out here with me. The other night, I was about to write that I was feeling anxious about leaving it there. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t need to. I know it only seems to support Patrick’s suspicion about how attached I appear to be to it, but what the heck am I supposed to do with it here? Its conduit is two thousand miles away and MIA. The worst thing I can see being said is that I’m over-protective. But I don’t believe there is such a thing as over-protectiveness when it comes to this particular item.

You may wonder why I don’t just leave it out here when I go back home. Or maybe you wouldn’t have. But it crossed my mind, so I thought I’d share. As I’ve mentioned before, the three charms can only be destroyed when they’re all put together to form what—according to Bella—is supposed to be some sort of amulet. Separated, they’re inexplicably indestructable (believe me, I’ve tried to prove that story wrong). Likewise, they were only actually supposed to be useable when they’re together, but apparently that was an exaggeration, as we’ve seen throughout the Moshe chronicles. It may be that the fullest extent of their power will only be realized when the parts are unified. Keeping in mind the nature of immortality and amortality, if someone wants one of the pieces, he or she will be able to track it down eventually. Whether it’s tomorrow or a century from now, I want to be there when it happens. So if my midwestern college town happens to be the place, and soon happens to be the time, then so be it. There’s no reason to believe I’ll be more prepared at some indeterminate moment in the future.

Goshdarnit, but I was trying not to get all caught up in that crap this week. OK. I’m gonna go fry up some bean curd and cuddle with the kitty. And for a short period of time, the charm will be nothing but an offbeat accessory.