[3rd time writing this post. AGH to the back button!]
We both missed SoCal. I missed L.A./Redondo Beach, he missed San Diego. We enjoyed the brief time spent with loved ones, morning jams, though not so much the George Michael’s “Careless Whisper,” (yeah), feasting on good food, bathing in 82 degree winter sun.
There’s no place like home.
But SoCal isn’t SoCal until I step across the border of Torrance/Redondo Beach. I missed Pacific Coast Highway, the stores along the streets, my mom’s old photo shop (now a floral shop), the movie theater, The Coffee Bean, the walkway along the beach, the view of the peninsula, Torrance Blvd. Home…
I’m beginning to understand this notion called nostalgia. I don’t want to go back to my past, not quite, but every now and then, I enjoy stepping into the streets of my past, traveling back in time while staying in the present; I think I enjoy remembering.
I know I will enjoy the memories happening now, in the ghetto, and I hope my husband and I can both look back and reminisce when we’re old and wrinkly. But even then, I think a piece of my heart will be in Redondo.