I wish that I felt happier about being home. Los Angeles trotted out the finest of May-Gray weather to welcome us back and we had ample time to enjoy it while we waited half an hour for the shuttle from the airport to the parking garage ( which passed us once without stopping). We were burdened down with as much luggage as we could carry and running on virtually empty stomachs and just wanted to get home and take a nap, already.

But it did feel good to be home. It felt especially good to be able to nap in our own bed, so nap we did.

The contrast between Chicago and Los Angeles could not have been more stark: Chicago was in the peak of spring growth, decked in an abundance of rich greens shady trees. Rain came and went multiple times every day. Temperatures shifted from high eighties to the forties in the span of a day. If ever the Chicago motto of “Urbs In Horto” ( city in the garden) were true it was true while we were there. There seemed to be considerably more Horto than Urbs.

By contrast, Los Angeles was as dry and brown as ever. Cloudy weather promised no rain. When the sun came out it was twice as bright and fierce as it had been in the Midwest as if it were staring down on California with special interest.

I am still learning to love my adopted city, but letting go of home is hard. Driving around the Chicagoland area, I found myself often disoriented with a sense that I didn’t know which street I was on or which direction I was facing. I can only surmise that the brain cells that I formerly used for this sort of navigation have been repurposed for navigation on Los Angeles streets or reassigned to filmmaking. This is certainly a very natural thing to do: clear out the old to make way for the new, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened by the loss.

At any rate, it feels good to be home.


~ by Gwydhar Gebien on May 31, 2015.

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