Ajo to Altadena: Recalling my Hometown

Of the ending, we were never certain but always dared to assume the best, that the years would see our eventual passing but our home, the strong center of our lives, would remain long into the future. But we were wrong. When last I heard, the block where I grew up during the 1970s and 80s was incinerated along with many others in Altadena, California--and the old family home no longer stands.   

After my mother died and left me the property, I continued to make frequent visits to Altadena, spending time at local businesses that I remembered from childhood. Eventually, I sold the house to a developer who demolished walls, added rooms, and created a luxury residence, profiting accordingly. I believe it was once listed for nearly a million dollars. Now, the home rests in embers, basking in the countless memories it inspired, of Christmas mornings, birthdays, childhood dreams of the future, and my parents’ many arguments, all things being equal in the end. I consider this surreal truth as I explore the town of Ajo, Arizona, another stop on my nomadic journey through retirement.

Home is very much a collection of memories, an intangible essence that follows us, awaiting a poignant interlude in order to make its return. In short, it remains a part of us down through the years.

If the house has indeed fallen to the flames, it is comforting to know that my mother held the longest residency, remaining from 1969 to 2009, when she moved into a nursing home for her final days.

As I travel, enjoying sunsets and new adventures, the house from long ago is still my home and place of emotional refuge. Even now, my memory sometimes returns to a view of our backyard, when it was lush with grass and flowers of the season, where I played and my child’s imagination flourished, inventing landscapes of wonder and dreaming about days to come. On such occasions, I would often see my mother sitting in our kitchen, gazing from a window as the years unfolded before us.   

This morning, as these recollections come to mind, I pray for the many who have endured unthinkable sorrow and unimaginable pain.