Goodbye Tujunga

Well, I'm moving. Despite Tujunga's many charms and pot dispensaries, I am heading out. It's time for me to downsize. I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, no more neighbors begging for money, booze and toilet paper. On the other hand, no more apricot tree, garden or extra room in which to paint. My paintings will get smaller, I will buy apricots at the store and I'm sure I'll be able to find a place for a little container garden. I will miss the kid that walks by every day with the gigantic yellow afro.

My neighbors, the Borrowers, are also moving. They rent the house next to me and the owner is selling it- or rather, has sold it. If I'm lucky, the neighbors will end up living next door to me in my new hood.

So now I begin the task of paring down my belongings.
Shoes. I have so many. I have two feet and a hundred shoes, most of which pinch my broad, hoagie-like feet. Clothes. Millions, ranging five sizes since my body can't decide where on the scale it should stick.
Children's books. I thought I wanted to be a children's book illustrator my whole life, then I had the chance to actually try it and I hated it. God it was boring and stressful at the same time. I have boxes and boxes of children's books that need to go away.
Beads. Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to buy hundreds and thousands of beads for jewelry making? Clasps and jump rings and shiny and matte beads... all gorgeous and untouched. Maybe I'll keep them. Just to look at. And dream.
Knee socks. Tons. All striped. All too small. They sounded like a great idea at the time.
Hello Goodwill.

I guess I'm writing this as a documentary for myself- to sort of keep track of my brain throughout this process.

Wherever I go, rest assured, there will be a diary.

Neighborhood News

My toothless neighbor had a heart attack. With his blue feet and all, and his chain smoking, one wouldn't say he was in the best of health in the first place.

I got home from work last night and Toothless's wife sidled up and vodka'd in my ear, "Toothless had a heart attack". I was like, "WHAT?!" and then I noticed that she was dressed up (aka out of her house dress), and he had eye makeup on. And she seemed chipper. Hmm, dislike your husband much?

She told me it was a mild heart attack and I was glad for that. As much as I make fun of my neighbors, I do like him. He's a sweet man. He's the man who screams at his wiener dog.

I have new neighbors renting the house just to the south of me. A woman, a man and a stepson. The woman is short, stocky and rough- she looks like she should be smoking a cigar and balling up twine on a schooner. The husband looks like a has-been fashion model. He's tall with hair "wings" that bounce and behave as he lopes around the backyard fixing stuff. He wears odd things. I suspect he shops at the Goodwill but not in an ironic way. Think Dolphin shorts.

The stepson mostly stands around in the backyard with a twig or a rock in his hand. Just stands.

So they're digging this hole. It is right outside my kitchen window. It's big enough for a body right now. They haven't dug in a while. Perhaps it's the rain, or maybe they're done and they're just waiting to kill me.

My kitchen sink faces their living room where they sit on the couch and watch TV. So once a year when I do dishes, I essentially look right in at them. It wouldn't be so unnerving if they could tell that I was doing dishes, but the window doesn't begin until about my mid chest. So, for all they know, I'm just standing at the window, watching them watch TV. Ah well. What are they going to do, call the police? Not with that open grave out back.

Maybe Toothless will be back from the hospital tonight when I get home from work. That would be good. I miss his shouts and yips.