Mermaid Cove

I’m in my Enya phase—-again. A wispy, cloudy, bubbly, dream state of being. 

Honestly. Honestly. Honestly.

I am living my dream, a dream I’ve held onto through all, the ups and downs, the beginnings and endings and now I’m in the Now. The Now I’ve imagined in pages upon pages of journal entries. I have, at long last, a room of my very own, a studio; a bed, a small kitchen and couch, a tiny bathroom, my English china and three-tier Willow pattern afternoon tea platter Mom gifted me in my early thirties. I’m here in my Cambria, my heart, the music wrapping around my toes and threading up my spine, suspending me from the twinkling lights I have hanging above my desk. It is magical and perfect and the place I will accomplish the writing that has tangled up inside me patiently waiting to escape.

After toying with buying a place here, I decided it was wiser to lease, let my artist-landlord be responsible for big ticket items like a new roof and bad plumbing. Mermaid’s Cove, as I have christened this 600-square foot castle, will be my respite, my writers-in-residency shelter where I have vowed to finish a novel I’ve been piddling about with for a couple of years, a home where creativity will once again flourish. Here I’ll read, paint, write, of course, cook healthy meals, walk along the beach at dawn and sunset and melt into this delicious chapter of my life. 

I am so immensely blessed.

Before I left the South Bay yesterday morning, I drove down Prospect Avenue, past the middle school I attended and taught at for 18 years. I said goodbye to my high school, Redondo Union, and as I approached our family home on Paulina Avenue, thought of my mom in her crisp green hospital uniform walking to work at 4:30 a.m., an hour before her shift officially started, no doubt sneaking a smoke and mapping out protocol and tasks ahead as she served her South Bay Hospital patients with pride. 

All the childhood memories flooded back, trips to TG+ Y to buy Yardley’s frosted slicker lipstick and blue eye shadow—without my parents’ knowledge or permission—and counting out nickels and pennies to buy Cup of Golds and Big Hunks, destroying the evidence before getting home.

When I turned north on Paulina, I could see myself and sister in her velour striped shirt racing down the hill on our FlexiFlyers and Sears skateboards, wiping out and me and my scrapped knees vowing to never do it again.

But I did. 

I could see our English setter, Major, pulling the leash to lurch at a sparrow, and Grandma Elizabeth wandering down the street months before her “forgetfulness” was diagnosed as hardening of the arteries or what we call today, dementia. When she almost set our house on fire after leaving napkins near the stove, Grandma set up new residency at a board and care facility where she died at 91.

When I stopped in front of our family home, my van packed with dusty treasures retrieved from my storage unit in Torrance, thinking of Christmas’ past, the Jackson Perkins roses my dad planted, the pond, our refuge of warmth and imagination, I realized The Paulina House is now just an abandoned-looking structure with its cold angles, its stark black and white motif, the absence of landscaping, apart from weeds. I realized it is an IT, belonging to someone else. 

I puttered down the street, tears in my eyes, feeling immensely grateful that this place, this community, my family and friends, the sadness, joy, frustrations, discoveries, first boyfriend, death, new life, shaped me into the brave woman I am today. My mother, grandmother, aunties, cousin, sister, nieces, friends, my beloved dad and God, are in me, with me, as I launch this next chapter.

As I drove toward my future, filled with emotion and love, I called my son: “Remember this day, Ryan. At 68, your mom fulfilled her dream.”

It felt like a movie. Dave Matthews’ “You and Me” (one of my favorite songs) randomly clicked on and when the bane of my existence—-L.A. traffic—thinned out past Magic Mountain, an illuminated sign announced, “Fresh Start”. I’m surprised my grin didn’t break the side windows: I knew in every fiber of my being, I had made the right decision at exactly the right time in my life.

The sun is out. I am writing. I’ve already danced and taken the trash out and made a pot of coffee, hung up my wrinkled dresses, placed the china in the cupboards and am in the process of nesting. I have to run out and pick up some shelf lining and a few colorful rugs and odds and ends. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. Other dreams await. But for now, I’m living my Josh Groban over the rainbow bucket list—check—dream.

I am home.