Entering the first stretch of the Big South, just below Carmel Highlands, the first eye-catcher for me was the different coloration: brilliant orange field poppies against the deep blue-violet Pacific waters. After all the green-mansions of our new home, that pallette seemed to signify a flag of entry: "You are now entering Southern California!"
Our meandering way down the Sur was accompanied by many fingers of coastal fog, as the ocean tried to mate with that beautiful land and was constantly repulsed by the Sun-god who rules the Golden State.
As we drove into Santa Barbara in the late afternoon, I realized that I knew this part of the world in the depths of my memory. It seemed odd to be navigating the off-freeway roads without any thought or pre-planning; just so, it has seemed very strange in our northern home, these past couple of months, to need to seek carefully for every road's turning as I've driven about the valley and the Santa Cruz coastal towns.
We find life in the old Trailer Park environs to be, well, same-old same-old. This morning I hear the garbage trucks lumbering about, and the roar of the 101 Freeway in the distance.
Melissa has made us very comfortable and welcome; Frank came to join us for dinner last evening; and we slept as well as one may in a new bed-environment.
Later today we will be heading to Pasadena for the big Soule Clan Reunion; stay tuned. Later this weekend I will post photos, either herein, or in a virtual photo album with a link for you here. Right now John and I are headed for a Starbuck Pickup and a planning (yes, list-making) session to start the day.
3 comments:
I think returning to a place you once lived is one of the oddest, most resonant feelings there is. Memories and reflexes shimmer. The connections remain but you...you are now different. And yet it IS you.
More reflections on this, Ma?
When we used to return to Santa Barbara from Europe, I always found it was like visiting a postcard. It seemed unreal. But this time, since we've found a permanent home at last, my reflection is that SB seems .... well .... flat. One-dimensional. But not like a postcard; more like an old photo of my life in the dim past. Since it's only been two months since we left, that may sound rather facile; but it's how I feel, nonetheless. And I can't wait to go back to the mountains.
I always feel like I have amnesia when I go there. And the postcard description is appropriate for me, even when we lived there. I never felt comfortable, ever, in California. I know that's weird, but it's the truth.
I remember the houses I lived in and the schools I went to. La Cumbra Plaza, Fiesta, the old mall downtown, and the mission. the Arlington Theater. The beach and the cliff park near the green house. UCSB. Oh, and the kiddie pool downtown with the blue mushroom.
That sounds like a lot, but I have no memory of the connective tissue, the roadways or streets, and I have no map in my head of the place, except as an adult from my last visit there, and from looking at Google maps.
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