Tolly’s post on Hyde Park (and if you don’t follow Austin Eavesdropper, you really should) made me pause a bit today and consider the places that are, well, my places.

I have a habit of falling in love with places. Everywhere I visit, there’s always some reason to stay, to figure out its story, or what my story would be if I did stay. Who would I be, what would I be doing if I were in San Francisco, Monterey, Chicago, Charleston, London or Paris? What would things be like if I were still on my street, the street I still haunt in Portland, O-R: Hawthorne Boulevard.

Hawthorne has Imelda’s, my shoe place, The Bagdad, my theater, and JaCiva’s, my bakery. My favorite bakery/deli, Bowers, has since closed. I wept when I found out. They had the best cinnamon swirl bread on the face of this green earth.

But what would have happened if I had missed out on Austin? Would I have ever tried to act or perform in improv shows? Would I be writing comedy sketches? Would I have ever had a truly exceptional margarita?

It’s true; I’m still looking for my “Hawthorne” in Austin. Maybe I’m already there, tucked away in my little neighborhood. Maybe I can turn my condo into a corner of Hawthorne…

An apartment in France…

A studio in London…

A townhouse in Charleston…

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