Beppe's Boho Bungalow

On February 1, 1977, I moved from my parent’s home into a sweet little house in the Hillcrest area of San Diego, with my then-boyfriend RR. (The rent was $275 a month. Which RR thought was “highway robbery.” He talked like an old man even then.)

 We later married and lived in different homes in multiple areas of San Diego, Washington state, Huntington Beach, CA., and here and there in our RV, which we named Walter.

In December of 2017, we moved into a little beach bungalow on the bayside of Mission Beach in San Diego. On September 17, 2018, I suddenly found myself widowed and living alone for the first time in my life. 

 Talk about a double-whammy. (That's a polite way to say how I really felt.)

 Anyway, after bouncing around two welcoming places (in Ramona I lived in a pretty room with a view of the hills and with my youngest sister in Monterey, CA where I lived with my fun, wild family) I found my own haven.  

In March, minutes before COVID-19 stopped the country, I moved into my 420-square-foot one-bedroom bungalow in a senior apartment building (not a fancy one with a cocktail lounge AND nurses to wipe your butt. That’s hopefully way, way down the line. I do however have a button I can push if I fall and can't get up) in East County San Diego.

Not my first choice of towns, but its a gated community for the price of $1000 a month PLUS free cable and seven weed shops within walking distance; how could I turn it down?

 FYI- there is a five-year waiting list here- as most senior, low-income housing units in San Diego. I jumped first in line because I can walk upstairs without a walker or assistance. 

 Do not take walking upright for granted, kids. 

 Because I was in such shock at my husband’s death, I gave or threw away almost everything I owned right after he left the planet. When I moved into my new apartment, a few of my family and friends kindly returned some of my items. 

 I am a free spirit in case you don’t know me. A bleeding-heart, aging hippy who still enjoys nice things which, I have acquired at a very bougie Goodwill in another part of town. I bought a new bed and unearthed some of my mother-in-law’s tchotchkes as well as my grandmother’s china which I use for everyday use—because why not? I purchased at least a dozen fans to keep cool and I painted my patio fence and turned my backyard it into a little oasis—mosquitos included. 

My ‘Boho Bungalow,' is complete.

My neighbor downstairs is 93 and I learned not to ask her how she is feeling. (Seriously, you DON’T want to know.) She is feisty and funny though, and I have other neighbors who smile and check up on me and some even text me the daily newspaper cartoons. 

 I knew that one day I would be alone, being that RR was 10 years older, but he always told me how strong I was and that I would be “okay.” And it’s true. To tell you the truth, it’s getting to be that I am doing better than “okay,” here in my own space, in my own home for the first time in my life. It’s a process that I hope you never have to experience, but in the words of Mick Jagger, “You can’t always get what you want…” 

 Thanks for reading. Ciao for now!