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Not at the end of Lonely Street
It’s 1:15 AM and, exhausted, I toss my panties on the bedroom floor. They land on the current San Diego Reader, which is lying on top of yesterday’s socks. Kiki the Cat is desperately trying to get my attention. Her paws reach out from behind the door, swatting, hoping I will play with her.
A silver belt is thrown on the bed, joining numerous empty hangars and a smelly sweat shirt. The bed is unmade with the pillow I hugged last night forming a long lump, like a small person under the white, IKEA spread. Moving days are like that.
Welcome home. “Since my baby left, I found a new place to dwell.”
How did a girl once kissed by Elvis end up in South Park? After all, I was a day dream believer. Elvis was my sexual awakening. Another story. Now I spend my Golden Years watching moths procreating on a kitchen window sill older than I am. Is this how the dream ends? Or is this merely the space between the dreams?
The move from the House of Marital Bliss in Point Loma to this, Just-for-Me House in South Park was 10 years ago A.D. (after divorce). I’ve lived in this funky little 1928 stucco on a wide street longer than at any other address. Actually, I thought I had moved to North Park. It was the North Park Community Association that set me straight. They informed me that I couldn’t volunteer on one of their committees since I live one block south of Juniper Street and officially am a resident of South Park. Actually, its east of Balboa Park. So, why is it called South Park?
It’s not Heartbreak Hotel. It’s a great place to dwell. I’ve adjusted to the commute across Juniper to North Park for a hand-scooped ice cream cone. A return trip across the street to South Park allows me to enjoy one of Rebecca’s famous scones. There is no coffee shop in North Park near 30th and Juniper and you can’t get hand-scooped ice cream in South Park. But there’s no rule about carrying either across the Juniper border. As would be expected, a Mohita or a beer can be obtained on either side of the street, thereby eliminating any illegal inconvenience of border crossing.
It’s hardly an inconvenience though. Traffic here is polite and the businesses on both sides of the street ignore that they are in different communities. The ice cream shop won’t sell coffee. The owner says she doesn’t want to take away from Rebecca’s, a popular neighborhood coffee stop years before the ice cream place opened. I have wondered if the knitting circles at the Grove Bookstore, on the north side of Juniper, ever get together with the monthly knitting circles that take place in the Whistle Stop, a bar on the south side. Do they share patterns and techniques? Do they ever have a beer together? Do they listen to old Elvis songs together? Or does the north and south draw the line on this activity?
Now, this crossing of communities can get confusing on South Park Walkabout nights, a popular, quarterly neighborhood event. Since everyone loves a party, on those evenings, the businesses on the north side of Juniper become South Parkians. The shops down on Cedar Street also claim South Park on those occasions. They’re in Golden Hill. It’s kinda like on St. Patrick’s Day when everyone wants to be Irish. Non-Irish folks even come from La Mesa for the Walkabouts.
South Park, North Park, Golden Hill, Wherever. I’ve found a piece of peace here. It’s hardly Lonely Street. The bed is made and hangars filled. Sweat shirts and socks are washed. Elvis’s guitar pick is safely stashed away. My boots stand in the small, outdated closet. From my mini-Graceland verandah, Kiki the Cat and I daydream over another sunrise illuminating the Chocolate Mountains. Those are way far east of South Park, by the way, which is east of the park, as is La Mesa.
Not at the end of Lonely Street
It’s 1:15 AM and, exhausted, I toss my panties on the bedroom floor. They land on the current San Diego Reader, which is lying on top of yesterday’s socks. Kiki the Cat is desperately trying to get my attention. Her paws reach out from behind the door, swatting, hoping I will play with her.
A silver belt is thrown on the bed, joining numerous empty hangars and a smelly sweat shirt. The bed is unmade with the pillow I hugged last night forming a long lump, like a small person under the white, IKEA spread. Moving days are like that.
Welcome home. “Since my baby left, I found a new place to dwell.”
How did a girl once kissed by Elvis end up in South Park? After all, I was a day dream believer. Elvis was my sexual awakening. Another story. Now I spend my Golden Years watching moths procreating on a kitchen window sill older than I am. Is this how the dream ends? Or is this merely the space between the dreams?
The move from the House of Marital Bliss in Point Loma to this, Just-for-Me House in South Park was 10 years ago A.D. (after divorce). I’ve lived in this funky little 1928 stucco on a wide street longer than at any other address. Actually, I thought I had moved to North Park. It was the North Park Community Association that set me straight. They informed me that I couldn’t volunteer on one of their committees since I live one block south of Juniper Street and officially am a resident of South Park. Actually, its east of Balboa Park. So, why is it called South Park?
It’s not Heartbreak Hotel. It’s a great place to dwell. I’ve adjusted to the commute across Juniper to North Park for a hand-scooped ice cream cone. A return trip across the street to South Park allows me to enjoy one of Rebecca’s famous scones. There is no coffee shop in North Park near 30th and Juniper and you can’t get hand-scooped ice cream in South Park. But there’s no rule about carrying either across the Juniper border. As would be expected, a Mohita or a beer can be obtained on either side of the street, thereby eliminating any illegal inconvenience of border crossing.
It’s hardly an inconvenience though. Traffic here is polite and the businesses on both sides of the street ignore that they are in different communities. The ice cream shop won’t sell coffee. The owner says she doesn’t want to take away from Rebecca’s, a popular neighborhood coffee stop years before the ice cream place opened. I have wondered if the knitting circles at the Grove Bookstore, on the north side of Juniper, ever get together with the monthly knitting circles that take place in the Whistle Stop, a bar on the south side. Do they share patterns and techniques? Do they ever have a beer together? Do they listen to old Elvis songs together? Or does the north and south draw the line on this activity?
Now, this crossing of communities can get confusing on South Park Walkabout nights, a popular, quarterly neighborhood event. Since everyone loves a party, on those evenings, the businesses on the north side of Juniper become South Parkians. The shops down on Cedar Street also claim South Park on those occasions. They’re in Golden Hill. It’s kinda like on St. Patrick’s Day when everyone wants to be Irish. Non-Irish folks even come from La Mesa for the Walkabouts.
South Park, North Park, Golden Hill, Wherever. I’ve found a piece of peace here. It’s hardly Lonely Street. The bed is made and hangars filled. Sweat shirts and socks are washed. Elvis’s guitar pick is safely stashed away. My boots stand in the small, outdated closet. From my mini-Graceland verandah, Kiki the Cat and I daydream over another sunrise illuminating the Chocolate Mountains. Those are way far east of South Park, by the way, which is east of the park, as is La Mesa.