Longing for Love at the Casa del Sol Motel
A tale of half-measures
In 1991, I worked at the Casa del Sol Motel, pictured above, in Carpinteria, CA. It was probably the seediest place I’ve ever worked, and I fit right in. I was 19 years old, and beginning to get drunk too often. This particular time in my life illustrated my budding problem with alcohol consumption.
I could get into the bar without an ID. I lived in a studio apartment next door to the motel. I had other conveniences, like befriending motel guests who offered me free liquor and companionship. I met a guy there who liked to party like I did, and we decided to hang out during his long-term stay.
The following poem is merely a glimpse into who I used to be. I share what it was like for me at Casa del Sol, which means “House of the sun” in Spanish. I’m grateful I finally found the sunshine of the spirit, decades later — clean, sober, and serene. This poem shows how far I’ve come.
Long ago, in the land where I was raised
stood a seedy motel, with a sign of the sun ablaze
I checked them in, and I checked them out
especially one dude with whom I had no doubt
would saunter over one day
because I looked at him that way
