Ode to a Home

Well the packing continues, and we’re almost done. Painters and carpenters, realtors and workmen have been constantly coming in and out of the front door as I have packed and hauled boxes and things out of the attic and basement. Opening boxes of stuff I haven’t seen in years, giving stuff away and holding an estate sale which got rid of my record collection and most of my movie poster collection and my comic book collection. Yet there is so much left in this house!

When I first moved into this neighborhood called West Adams or Kenny Heights or Western Heights, a historical neighborhood just west of downtown Los Angeles, the neighbors called my three story, 65-foot-wide house built in the Spanish Mission Arts and Crafts style – the Hacienda because it looks like a Spanish Hacienda. And that name stuck not only as a nickname but as a reference to our house and also as the name of the business that grew out of having four extra bedrooms and other living spaces that this piece of property provided.

It’s hard to watch furniture that you’ve had in your life for 20-30 years, and in a few cases since I was born, being carted out the front door and loaded onto a truck by two men who really don’t care about the furniture at all. They are junk man and I have hired them to clear my house after on an estate sale that really didn’t get rid of a lot of things. I also don’t have time to hold endless garage sales to try in make this stuff go away. My house has 17 rooms. Why 17 rooms you ask? Are you an idiot? Well my first wife and I bought it for a song and then it became a business and I’ve run it as a guest house and an AirBnb since 2005. Literally hundreds of people have stayed at my house as guests. I’ve made friends with people all over the world. I met my second wife here. We’re no longer together but for a while she helped me run this place and also helped me write a one man show about my experiences of running a guest house where people from all over the world stayed.

But it’s time for me to move on. And it’s hard to see furniture that you care about being taken out and just thrown on the back of a truck with no attempt to protect them. You hope that they will end up going someplace where somebody cares for them but you’re not sure. It’s part of letting go. It’s not easy but it’s necessary.

I wonder if furniture has karma? Whether tables and chairs, sofas and antique desks have feelings and wonder where they’re going and what their outcome will be? Will they end up with someone that cares about them or will they end up in a junkyard?

I know houses have that because I felt it. My house and I’ve had a symbiotic relationship for 20 years. When I first bought her, she was in terrible shape and no one had lived in her for six years and over the past 20 years I have replaced the plumbing, the wiring, the roof, the furnace twice, painted the entire interior of the house all 17 rooms except for the dining room (I just never got around to that), sanded all the floors and made her beautiful and livable again. All during that time she has taken care of me by providing me with an excellent side income. Yet it is now time for us to part ways. I can’t afford to do the repairs that she needs to have done that will elevate her from just a comfortable house to an amazing house and that’s something she deserves. And my time in Los Angeles has ended and it’s important for me to go somewhere else. I will miss her. She has taken care of me and watched over me and provided me a place of comfort and retreat when the outside world got too tough. But as we part ways, I am hopefully she will be reborn as the magnificent house she deserves to be.

I miss my furniture, but I knew by taking it with me it would just weigh me down and I needed to let a lot of things go both materially and spiritually. I’ll miss my beautiful old house. She’s been my constant companion for 20 years. The place I could always come back to and be rejuvenated. I will miss my magnificent lady, my Hacienda, my house, my home!