I am just reporting to say that I am happy. Except for the very dark days following R Man’s death, I was never exactly unhappy, just sad without him and deeply settled into a most comfortable rut. But selling the house and moving down into the Castro, gayest of gay neighborhoods, has certainly slung me out of the rut and I am better for it.
My old house was in this odd little elbow of San Francisco: a canyon almost rural with all its greenery and wildlife, but sort of suburban, all these Brady Bunch houses and living there only possible with a car. Here, I am most definitely urban. The main street of San Francisco roars past my front door and I walk everywhere.
My favorite coffee house is less than a block away and most of my favorite restaurants are within easy striking distance. I will shortly have lived here for two months and have not cooked once. Were it not for Super Agent Fred making tea, I would have no definite evidence the stove even works. I was a good cook for decades and now I am not. I like it.
And I love my odd little apartment. It’s sort of a triangle with every room whatever that geometric shape is where there are no equal lines or angles. It’s only about a quarter as big as my old house and I had to get rid of so much stuff, I thought I would be pining after it all. Nope. I managed to cling to my glockenspiel, what else do I need?
I’m settling in, which is an interesting phase, figuring out where things want to go and making other things work, especially rectangular carpets in pointy rooms. Just yesterday my beautiful blue and white rug got back from the cleaners and fits snugly in the extra room. You cannot imagine the sense of relief after dark nights imagining composing for sale ads for it.
The sidewalks bustle with natives and tourists who obviously regard this as some kind of homogay Disneyland. And cute, cute boys every where. Ah me.
I’ve come to realize the big house was perfect for R Man and me. We had room not to bump into each other, but we never lost track of the other either. After his death, though, the place began to turn more and more into a husk for me. A dead shell that I moved through without even noticing. So I think this new phase of my life is a good thing. I’m happy and so are the cute, cute boys. It’s a wonderful world.
I am supposed to be getting my furniture back from the old house and after I get it tucked in, I promise a photo extravaganza of my new place.