mingarden

I made it across the country in about a week, starting in North Carolina and finishing in a small apartment only a few miles from the Pacific Ocean.

Isn't it strange when home doesn't feel like home?

I wasn't expecting to like the run down, empty corners so much; the highways and dry landscapes; the nondescript streets and rest stops. The great American road trip may be dead, but we can't help but be educated by leaving home and striking out on to unfamiliar pavement. I found myself endlessly fascinated by desert foliage: how can there be so much green where there is so little water? Hilariously, it all sort of reminded me of my first attempts at keeping houseplants; some of them survived admirably in the drought of neglect, though most died. Desert plants are a hearty bunch. They are spiky, Martian, serene. I would surround myself with them if I didn't have such a propensity for losing my balance.

This afternoon I bought crystallized ginger and handsoap. There are few things which make me feel more at home, even in an empty place.