I have been lying low since my wonderful 3-week trip to the UK in September and October. A number of personal things, both good and bad, have kept me from even posting photos on here, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my anniversary of moving to San Diego. It happened exactly 20 years ago today on Dec. 1, 1998.
It was a dark and stormy night. I flew into San Diego from Pittsburgh, PA on a USAir flight (remember them?). My surviving cat, Ollie (there used to be a Stan, too, thus completing the namesake movie duo), got lost for a half-hour or so as they unloaded the plane. We made our way via taxi (remember them?) to our new home in the Gaslamp District. I lived in that building for the next 17 years, albeit in three separate apartments.
San Diego has become my one true home. Pittsburgh is a dream to me now, something that pops up every now and again in my head (I still sometimes say Pittsburgh when I mean to say San Diego, but that just might be my advanced age). My hometown of Tamaqua, PA is just a box of (mostly) warm nostalgia, filled with childhood holiday, vacation, and school memories. I still marvel at where I live now, especially since I moved to Coronado a year or so ago. Warm weather, clear blue skies, undulating palm trees. What’s not to love?
I’m about to tackle one more move, down the hall into a larger apartment. I hope this will be my last move, but I really feel like I’ve found my space here on Coronado island. We can debate if it’s really an island or not later, but there’s no debate when it comes to how much I love it here.
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