Here’s how this week’s arts and culture column begins:
Since 2016, I’ve lived in a large Craftsman bungalow in Pasadena that’s been divided into eight apartments. All we residents of course have our own space, but we also constantly see and run into each other. Our property manager lives next door, the landlord also owns three more houses around the corner, and we all share a giant back yard.
This makes for an extended community of adults and children.
Recently I conducted a mental inventory and realized that together we have roots in Puerto Rico and Santa Barbara, Venezuela and New Hampshire, Indonesia and Orange County, Africa and West Virginia, Mexico and the Bay Area, El Salvador and Florida.
We’ve spent the last three months together in what basically amounts to lockdown. Harmony has reigned. The time has been marked by innumerable acts of kindness, generosity, good cheer and forbearance.
“Hey I just made a bunch of masks—do you want one?” “Hey I picked up this sunhat the other day—I thought of you in the garden.” “Hey, I made a huge batch of cauliflower-cheese soup—can I give you some?” “Hey, I just got back from Costco and bought this six-pack of antihistamine spray—I’ll never use it all, ya wanna couple bottles?”
READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.