When all this is over we will remember the routines we made in these out of the ordinary times.
We will remember the lunches we had on our shaded patio every single day.
How I learned to make Bao, the perfect sushi rice, fresh pasta, Japanese Milkbread, fish tacos, salmon tartines worthy of any fancy restaurant, and how we had Swedish pancakes on Sundays.
We’ll remember how the sun made its way through the ceiling of oak tree branches and created glittering spots of light on the table.
How our collection of serving bowls and platters had to grow substantially because my culinary adventures demanded it- and how fun it was to search for, and then find, the perfect vintage pieces for sauces, salads and potatoes.
We’ll remember the afternoon naps we took on the small patio sofa, entwined ~just so~ to fit. The sound of a leaf blower somewhere in the neighborhood, the wind chimes we’d not been able to locate, the smell of weed drifting over from the girl living next to us, the toddler screaming in the house across, the buzzing of a hummingbird flying by over our heads, and the fighting between the two squirrels that both seemed to have decided they alone deserved to live and reign in these tree tops.
We’ll surely remember the evening walks. Up and down dwindling streets, muffled hellos through face masks to neighbors we didn’t know we had before. The cheery HI! from the celebrity that always seemed so happy to see us even though we’d never met and didn’t know each other.
The street corners where the sun always blinded us if weren’t wearing sunglasses, the hills that raised the pulse, the ugly party house where we once saw an inflatable flamingo that had flown over the wall and onto the street.
We’ll also remember the sandwiches we ate on the balcony after our walks, right when the sun was setting behind the trees. How we could sit out there every single evening and never tire of it.
(We’ll always remember the love we have for our house.)
We’ll remember all the movies we watched (maybe not exactly what they were about- we all know I forget every movie five minutes after the credits has rolled), how it took us forever to choose which 90s action movie we wanted to rewatch that night, and David’s shock when he learned I had not seen a particular film (only to realize 30 minutes into the movie that I had, in fact, already seen it).
How my (already staggering) popcorn consumption went through the roof those months, but movies demand popcorn, and we saw so many; curled up on the sofa, forgetting for a little while that outside roared a pandemic.

The world this year was upside down and the history books will be full of statistics, facts and data that will shape the way we see our future for many many years to come. Injustices came to the surface and people will have too many memories of unfairness and stuff they wish they could forget.
But these things here are for us to choose to remember when the books will not.

We’re getting used to rainy days. I bring my umbrella, because I know I will need it later.
People around me are dressed for the weather in a way I haven’t seen Angelenos before. Prepared.
This morning I opened the bathroom window and saw that our patio had turned into a pool. The rain was pouring down so hard and fast it was almost impossible to see anything through the water.
Five Lyft drivers gave up on their way here, but the sixth one made it. I was just about to give up and call it a rain day, when Alejandro drove up next to our house and took me through the flooded streets of Hollywood trafficked by Angelinos who are learning how to drive in heavy rain.
And believe it or not, right now the sun is shining through thick grey skies and the pool on our patio is more of a puddle.

We had a visit from a mountain lion early yesterday morning. He jumped over the stone wall, ran smoothly across our garden and took the stairs up the hill. Security cameras are great for spotting wildlife and mailmen.
Magnolias and Camellias are in bloom all over town, and it’s so green it surprises me every day.
The other week I was out walking when I suddenly had to stop; it smelled just like Sweden in the summertime. It hit me so hard, in the most wonderful way. I stood there and sniffed the air for a good while, laughing and trying to remember what exactly it was that made it feel like Sweden. Lush green plants, soaked through grounds after heavy rainfalls, a nearby lake, sunshine on wet asphalt, and a whiff of seagrass.

I miss the warmth.
We have a lot to long for right now. It’s going to be a once in a lifetime kind of spring, by the looks of it.
The things I long for the most though comes after, when we have time for Sunday afternoon naps again, entwined just so to fit on the narrow couch, breakfasts in the sun at our favorite cafe, walking to the sushi place for lunch, and hanging around our house together- just being.
The small things, are the important things.

We wake up before the alarm goes off.
We sit down to eat our breakfast before the alarm goes off.
It’s a nice novelty; feeling awake in the mornings.
There are people running around our house fixing stuff, and I don’t know what to do with my body. Where do I place it?
The AC is dismantled due to construction, and LA is currently in the middle of a heat wave, so indoors isn’t any better that outdoors.

But our house is wonderful.
We’ve lived her for a little over a week now and I’ve felt at home from the moment all of our stuff was inside and the movers had gone.
We drive by the old apartment sometimes, and isn’t it strange how it already feels like a life time ago? There’s not a single trace of home left in that building.
The brain moves on so quickly. Sometimes.

We live in the treetops, our kitchen gives off some serious summer cottage vibes- it’s the light, I think, yesterday a bird sat down on the open window ledge just to sing for a little while, my plants thrive, and the afternoon light in our living room is just magical.
It’s more than we could imagine.
Will this ever feel normal?

We came back mid May.
We reveled in being home. We stayed in. We ate sushi. We walked around the neighborhood, marveling about the blooming trees and the fragrant jasmine bushes.
It felt so good to be home.
We went to the mountains for our yearly trip. We stayed in a cabin in the clouds. The fog was thick as it rolled in at a speed I didn’t think possible. It looked sped up. I got a surreal feeling that maybe we are miniature people in a miniature world, and a giant is smoking right into the diorama that we call L I F E.
It was a great weekend. The perfect mixture of relaxation/boredom/creative recharge.
And now we’re once again back home and it’s So Good.

LA feels right. I can’t describe it any other way.
Sometimes I think that I shouldn’t like it here. I’m not supposed to love this strange city. But I do.
It’s not something I can, or would want to, change.
I’m just a bit surprised, is all.

Things are brewing, I have my toes in the water, getting used to the heat.
Soon I’ll dip my entire body in there.