I’m winding down my time in San Francisco. At the end of next week, I’ll be moving back to the East Coast. I am looking forward to it, for many reasons. San Francisco was an interesting year — I met some lovely people; I learned some new things. And I’ll miss having a bountiful and endless supply of Meyer lemons in my yard. But it’s time to go back.
I want to devote myself to writing and thinking for a while. It helps that I have a beautiful 170-year-old living sculpture of a house in which to work, full of artists and friends who inspire me. I have an apartment crammed with vinyl records and super8 cameras and ancient Singer sewing machines. I have friends who miss me, and I miss them too. I miss Brooklyn. I miss Boston. I miss Berlin. There aren’t many Meyer lemon trees to be found in the Northeast, nor much in the way of exotic tropical foliage, but we do have a grand old apple tree in our rambling garden. The garden, you see, has a mind of its own.
Here are a few snapshots of my house: