It’s funny that as much as I want to get home now (am bone-deep aching to sleep in my own bed again), this life that I’ve built here in Pasadena will not be an easy one to leave. The solace of wandering the grounds of the Huntington during the early morning hours, the quiet rhythms of working deep in the recesses of its reading rooms, and the network of friends in its environs will be sorely missed. And while I can’t believe that I’m saying this now, I’ll even miss those long late night (or early morning) drives up the 5 or 57 as I schlepped back and forth between here and Orange County to spend time with my children (oh, Prius, how I love your sing-along-able stereo!)
Pasadena is now coffee meetups at Busters, morning light on the sunporch with a purry Tigris-kitty, working dinners at the Novel cafe, deep evening conversations on overstuffed white couches, dissertation sprinting until my fingers ache, pumping iron at the Y, flannel robes & snuggly-soft blankets, your poetry, cheeseburgers stuffed with potato chips and extra pickles, sharing favorite vistas at the Huntington, sweet-smelling care packages by snailmail, collegial conversations, the corinthian column of Christmas, wearing cons & jeans nearly everyday, and the sound of rain on rattly-old glass window panes. But perhaps most memorable is meeting people who don’t know of me as John’s wife or as my children’s mother–who know me only as Jana. And who like me just that way.
My pilgrim soul has found so much delight in these steps of my journey. Thank you.