In the score-plus of years since I've been on the West Coast, I've had five addresses. One in San Francisco, a bunch at Chico which I count as a single place because I was there for college, two in San Jose not counting a "this is until we find a home" apartment, and this one up in Puget Sound.

My grandmother won a name lottery to get her apartment at a complex for independent elderly back in 1984 or so. It had many activities: gardening, games, a shared kitchen, a large-screen television in their recreation room.

Because of the language barrier, my grandmother stayed in her apartment, or traveled to Chinatown, or visited relatives. Chinatown was a single bus ride away. Relatives were either in nearby independent elderly housing, or someone would pick her up. She kept to her culture. She also smoked.

When her mind starting to fail, my mom moved in to care for her. It was a hard decade or so for her. After my grandmother died, my mom 'inherited' the apartment -- she qualified to stay there, and the management treated her as if she were the surviving spouse of a couple.

So, for a majority of the score-plus of years I've been on the West Coast, that apartment a single bus ride from Chinatown was the closest thing I had to a home, never mind that I don't think I've spent more than seven nights there.

This weekend I had to fill out the 30-day termination of lease notice and ask my mother to sign it.