I pick Sam up from school today. My teenager whose life has been redesigned in way that only Dr. Frankenstein can appreciate. He gives me the sad-eyed look that cues me in that he’s homesick. He tells me that during his first two classes, he felt down, but the rest of the day got better. Symphonic band was good, as was Brit Lit. He describes his day as he plugs his iPod into the car iPod enabler and shows me his new playlist, entitled “Sad.” With a big grin, he tells me that “Sad” is actually the playlist that perks him up. With levity—my only effective method of dealing with this other than pulling my hair out in clumps and throwing myself into oncoming traffic—I tell him that dirges are also good for bringing one’s humors into alignment. He pushes play and “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” serenades us out of the school parking lot.
My children didn’t think they’d make it. Sixteen and eight, they shook their fists at me, struck bargains, vowed to be better people, and yelled. I sent one to a great therapist and one to a better teacher and within five months their pallor was pinker and their outlook rosier. Friends were made. Relationships with nearby aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents were forged. Day trips softened our break from the past. Weeklong vacations were spent in San Francisco. They still yearned for California and so did I. My husband spent most months working in the place we left. He missed being with us, we missed everything.
It never occurred to me that a point on a map could be a lifeline. I had, after all, lived in other places before arriving in the Bay Area and had never felt anything but excitement at relocating. For the first time in my life, I required that certain something from a specific location. A list formed in my head—I missed our annual barbecue, “Wall of Meat,” where forty-plus friends converge to eat mounds of smoked pork ‘n beef magic created by my husband, devoured only after slurping Johnson’s oysters drenched in Grelch’s swamp water. I wanted uphill climbs through Sibley Forrest’s trails that open onto views of Mt. Diablo and offer access to labyrinths made by local hikers. I missed our local sushi chef’s on-going joke with Milo asking for chocolate collected from last years Halloween.
I wanted to open my screen-free windows to the warm afternoon and cool evening breezes. New Years Day with long-time friends celebrated by eating fresh Dungeness crabs bought on Valencia Street washed down with bottles of champagne, circles of homemade corn bread and followed with competitive rounds of Dominos. Eating a picnic dinner at the Orinda Shakespeare Festival and watching the Bard played out on a stage nestled in the ocher-colored hills. July 4th on the Russian River, watching the water parade from Monte Rio’s beach while shooting potato guns at friends on nearby blankets.
