Here in my new home, I am most reminded of where I came from in the oddest of places -- like the wine aisle at the grocery store. I was grocery shopping tonight and I cut through the wine aisle to get to the front of the store. It took me 15 minutes to get from one end to the other. I just crept along, reading the names. To everyone else they are brands of wine -- to me they are places...Mondavi, Valley of the Moon, Kenwood, Domaine Carneros, Kendall-Jackson, even Rosemont Estate -- which I think is Australian, but my hated ex-roommate Denise worked there. I was trying to describe the castle near Kenwood to someone recently and found it on Google. (Imagine my surprise to learn the old gothic mansion was built the year before I moved there!) In all my years there I never knew it's name, but I would hold my breath when I got to that part of Highway 12 and try not to crash while I stared at it out the window. www.ledson.com
Lately a lot of people have been asking me if I miss California. My answer is always the same -- I miss my friends, but not really the places. In my heart I know that isn't really true. Every day the Bay Area is on the news with more tales of rain. I feel like I'm still one of them, even though I am so far away and I was there so long ago. I guess that's what it means to be a native of someplace -- it will always be a part of you.