I was perched on a stool at the bar of Intelligentsia, a
coffee shop on East Randolph St. in Chicago. While I waited for my decaf to be
brewed, I pulled out a notebook that I had recently purchased in Los Angeles at
Muji, a hip Japanese retailer that sells clothing, furniture, and stationary.
While my small ritual was taking place in the city of my
birth, and where I have lived for a majority of my 75 years, my mind travelled
to the Intelligentsia on Silver Lake Blvd., in Los Angeles, where my daughter,
Jill, and her family live. Both the shop, and the notebook -- which was opened
to a blank page -- seemed to be omens of a possible new future.
It all started a few weeks ago on a four-day trip. My
17-year-old grandson, Isaac, and I were seated at Sqirl, a breakfast spot in
East Hollywood. I was eating "Crispy
Kokuho Rose Brown Rice Salad, Lemongrass, Mint, Cilantro, Ginger with a fried
egg," while Isaac chose the Sweet side of the menu, "Brioche Toast
with Guittard Chocolate Ganache, Nut Butter, and Fleur De Sel."
My fashionable
grandson had selected Muji and Sqirl for a morning we were spending together. I
was relishing his company -- and wasn't even miffed when he recoiled as I
combined our leftovers into one take-home container.
"Grandma, you
can't do that!" he said, as he watched me place the egg concoction and
sugary bread in a Styrofoam nest. Isaac looked appalled, as if I were a peasant
who had wandered into this chic spot.
"I can't leave
them behind," I said. "Besides, you don't want your brioche, and I'll
be eating both of them."
"Use two
boxes!" he said, and closed his eyes at his gauche grandmother.
Isaac shook his
head and didn't press it further, but our affectionate repartee made me realize
how much I missed him and the rest of his family. And during that particular
visit to L.A., I not only got to see Jill's crew, but also my other daughter,
Faith, and my 12-year-old granddaughter, Betsy, who were visiting from Boston.
For me, those four days on the West Coast were precious, something to be
savored as much as my meal.
Isaac must've felt
a similar tug, because during our walk to his car, he said, "Grandma, why
don't you move here?"
"I did consider it last year," I told him, "then chickened out. Maybe this time I'll
experiment, rent a place for a few weeks and see how it feels to live here
independently."
He brightened.
"That sounds like a good plan."
And with those
words, wheels began to spin. "I'll come for the whole month of
February," I told Jill. "Rent an Airbnb that'll be walking distance
to your house. This way, I'll miss part of Chicago's horrible winter."
Both of us went on
the website where people lease their spare rooms, coach houses, or furnished apartments.
"Here's one just seven minutes from me," Jill said, in an email that
accompanied a neighborhood map.
Although other L.A.
sections would likely house people nearer my age, I like Silver Lake because
it's similar to Chicago's Wicker Park -- with restaurants and boutiques in easy
walking distance. Any eventual move wouldn't make sense if I couldn't easily
trot over to Jill's, or to Intelligentsia.
After I researched
her pick and was about to book it, another communiqué came from my co-conspirator.
"Why wait until February?" she said. "Come sooner."
"How about two
weeks in November, with Thanksgiving included?" I said. "The holidays
are hard without family."
Jill gave the idea
her blessing. And then the experiment
seemed to morph into something more permanent, with each of us positing
advantages: "I've already downsized," I said. "It'd be one truck
load going cross country."
Then, "If I
lived close enough and you get delayed at work, I could go over and start
dinner."
"You're an
early riser," Jill said, warming to the concept. "I can sleep in and
you can come over in the morning to start Felix's breakfast." The image of
my 5-year-old grandson's sleep-tussled head upped the ante.
So is it Chicago's
past brutal winter that sparked this second, more serious pull to sunny
California? Or, is it the realization that the luscious visit with Isaac and
his family could be repeated weekly, rather than three times a year?
And maybe Faith and
Betsy would move to L.A.? Perhaps my Chicago friends would be frequent visitors?
Maybe I'll adopt a dog, lease a Honda? Oh, there's no end to positive scenarios
I can dream up.