Revisiting one's childhood can be a fun thing.
When I moved away from California at the age of twenty to go to College on the East Coast, I never expected to live in California again. My family moved up to Northern middle-of-freaking-nowhere-Idaho when I was seventeen and I had no one left out on the Left coast to lure me back. But that's not the whole story of my separation from California. Before moving back here I lived in Virginia, Montana, Idaho, Utah, Las Vegas and Mississippi, with long stints of time spent at sea/in Florida and in foreign countries. I have in my head routes to internet cafes and grocery stores for hundreds of different places. I can find my way to an airport by train or cab or metro easily in most any language. There was a lot of time and space, education and mileage and growing pains and picking myself up and pressing on done in the years I was not in California.
And when I arrived here again I was different. And it felt like I'd passed entire lifetimes away from here. And yet (nearly five years ago now) I moved back to Northern California, and in a strange little twist of fate or irony or serendipity, whatever you want to call it, I now live about 15 miles away from the city I grew up in. And believe you me, I think that surprises me more than anyone. Because... of all the gin joints in all the world... here is where I ended up. (Not to stay permanently, mind you. I've always known that. I have many, many more miles to travel in this daily-growing-older model body I'm sporting.)
Sometimes a déjà vu sense of strange familiarity slash completely unknown washes over me when I encounter the places and things around me, here near my childhood stomping grounds, and it surprises me. After all, I live just far enough away from my childhood haunt to completely blaze new trails through the days of my life here. Yet, I still wander back to the old neighborhoods and establishments from time to time.
Last weekend I revisited a couple of places I've wanted to see (again) for a while but hadn't yet made the time: Lachryma Montis and the San Francisco Solano Mission in Sonoma, California. And while the feature at the home of General Vallejo that I remember the most of anything - a large arbor of hanging multi-colored fuschias that were so profuse that they covered an entire porch (As a visiting twelve year old, I was enraptured by the sight and still picture it in my mind today as one of the loveliest flowery sights I've ever seen.) - was now gone, the trip was well worth the drive.
More on Sonoma soon. (Meanwhile, you should really go and visit.)
Here's a peek:
When I moved away from California at the age of twenty to go to College on the East Coast, I never expected to live in California again. My family moved up to Northern middle-of-freaking-nowhere-Idaho when I was seventeen and I had no one left out on the Left coast to lure me back. But that's not the whole story of my separation from California. Before moving back here I lived in Virginia, Montana, Idaho, Utah, Las Vegas and Mississippi, with long stints of time spent at sea/in Florida and in foreign countries. I have in my head routes to internet cafes and grocery stores for hundreds of different places. I can find my way to an airport by train or cab or metro easily in most any language. There was a lot of time and space, education and mileage and growing pains and picking myself up and pressing on done in the years I was not in California.
And when I arrived here again I was different. And it felt like I'd passed entire lifetimes away from here. And yet (nearly five years ago now) I moved back to Northern California, and in a strange little twist of fate or irony or serendipity, whatever you want to call it, I now live about 15 miles away from the city I grew up in. And believe you me, I think that surprises me more than anyone. Because... of all the gin joints in all the world... here is where I ended up. (Not to stay permanently, mind you. I've always known that. I have many, many more miles to travel in this daily-growing-older model body I'm sporting.)
Sometimes a déjà vu sense of strange familiarity slash completely unknown washes over me when I encounter the places and things around me, here near my childhood stomping grounds, and it surprises me. After all, I live just far enough away from my childhood haunt to completely blaze new trails through the days of my life here. Yet, I still wander back to the old neighborhoods and establishments from time to time.
Last weekend I revisited a couple of places I've wanted to see (again) for a while but hadn't yet made the time: Lachryma Montis and the San Francisco Solano Mission in Sonoma, California. And while the feature at the home of General Vallejo that I remember the most of anything - a large arbor of hanging multi-colored fuschias that were so profuse that they covered an entire porch (As a visiting twelve year old, I was enraptured by the sight and still picture it in my mind today as one of the loveliest flowery sights I've ever seen.) - was now gone, the trip was well worth the drive.
More on Sonoma soon. (Meanwhile, you should really go and visit.)
Here's a peek:
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