Aside from Anika visitors this week include Marcus (Sweden, France, SF, though you might remember him from Las Vegas escapades if this journal goes back that far), Andrey (encountered most recently in Austin TX but more frequently seen in Saarbrucken), Andreas (stumbled across him in Santa Barbara in January, normally found in various European capital cities), and Mercy Less (Roller Derby, everywhere).
There are scores of people who have just moved here (including Lindsey, Portland, sister of Leslie from Seattle by way of Chicago and Olympia) and an abundant crop of local friends issuing tempting invitations every day. This is just the start of spring - I have houseguests and visitors and events scheduled straight up to the final second before I leave for my summer trip, and a queue of people requesting sublets.
Overwhelming? Why no. In fact, it feels like I pried open a rusty door and stepped back inside my very own life, after seven years of grim exile.
My Portland house functioned as a community centre because I liked it that way. I'm not especially friendly but I love crowds and action and I adore introductions. New, different, and difficult are words I privilege over concepts like comfort and certainty. I want to keep moving all the time, and when I am stuck at home I need that place to bristle with entertainments.
When I moved to Cambridge Don warned that I would not like it. He cautioned me on all the dangers that would prove most lethal, suggested that if I insisted on the course of action I should at least acquire a house suitable for hosting parties.
I listened, and believed him, but what was the alternative? I couldn't afford to live on Portugal Place, and regardless, it was impossible to throw my sort of parties anywhere in that town. Cambridge might have charm in abundance, but as Don said - it wasn't the right place for me.