No.
Now apparently we’re on the brink of invading Greenland. Will that be enough for people to turn on him? Will anything? We’ve been asking ourselves this question for ten years. TEN YEARS. Someone pointed out that young people have barely known a world without Trump. They don’t know what it’s like to go from one benignly ineffectual president to the next, mildly annoyed when he’s not on your team or mildly enthusiastic when he is (always he, of course). I say we elect the Latina in charge of Newsom’s socials.
In other news, we did the BIG CLEANUP around here - several boxes of discarded electronics spanning decades plus a bit of old paint (not as much as I had hoped - the H tossed multiple cans in the garbage not realizing you’re not supposed to do that) went to the city hazardous waste place on Saturday. It also means an official end to many of the boys’ childhood things - the mini iPads they used when they were smaller, a whole box of cheap electronic toys the H bought them, also tons of cheap holiday decor I got at the dollar store over the years (my buy nothing group has been great for this - lots of daycare and preschool teachers). I remember doing a purge like this once the kids were no longer toddlers; SO MUCH plastic crap that I put on the street. It’s psychological, for me, to need to move on to their next phase of life, which is teenager hood. In two months we’ll know if Theo got into the gifted program at Bobby’s school; in five I’ll officially have a high schooler and a middle schooler. Crazy. I got notice for Bobby’s graduation today - June 4, our 4th anniversary. Hopefully Theo’s is close to that date so my sister can attend both.
We’ve had a lovely summer run of weather the last week - it must have been like that when I “visited” in January of ‘93 and never took my flight back to NY. These winter heat spells get me all riled up and aspirational. On Sunday I went to the open house of the Victorian I saw online when I was in Florida - it was as expected, completely thrashed and non-sensical, with a warren of tiny rooms and half-finished amateur renovations on the verge of collapse. The woman running the open house was a friend of the realtor who didn’t know much about the place - I commented on the lack of outdoor space (it looked like there was just a tiny cement patio out back) but went out to investigate, only to find a small staircase leading up to a giant overgrown yard that backed up to a hill, part of Debs park, perhaps. I could never buy that house now - my taxes would jump up too much, and they’re asking too much (I think you’d need at least a quarter million to fix the place up), but boy what a fun project that place could be if I had the money. The idea that I *could* start thinking about moving when I turn 55 and can take my tax rate with me (although I realize it wouldn’t be what I pay now, just my rate, or something) is somewhat tantalizing, even though of course the smart thing to do would be to just stay here forever. Then there’s the idea of my sister and I pooling our resources to buy something really fabulous together years from now when the husbands and children are gone. At least we’re of the same mind about what we like - having been raised in New England, it’s just a given that you buy some rambling old beat up Victorian and slowly, painstakingly restore it. I don’t think I could ever sell the H on this dream, but he’s a native Californian, why would he want that? For now I need to stop looking at real estate and settle in. I’m not going anywhere; I can’t. And I’m extremely privileged that I have a place to live in LA at all, and I never forget that, not for one minute.
No comments:
Post a Comment