Homesteading

Random Thoughts on Our First Few Weeks In the Far Burbs

Feeling guilty about the increase in my carbon footprint. Gotta drive everywhere (and oh wretched SHATNER do I hate driving), the city doesn't do compost (so we're back to throwing out food scraps as garbage, which feels like a terrible step backward, until we can get our own compost thing going), I've had to buy a bunch of new plastic-wrapped stuff to get the house set up. On the plus side, the driving adds up to less than what Mr. Gleemonex alone was doing before, so that's actually a net reduction (just feels like more to me personally).

I fear that we have stumbled into a nest of Republicans. Our neighborhood is beautiful, lots of "mature" (meaning built in the early 70s) houses, extremely well-maintained, with aggressively manicured lawns (my kid calls this one neighbor's topiary'd trees "head trees"). And we like the pretty. But ... instead of four (4) Priuses on one block like our old shambly street, everyone here has Trucks. Big Trucks. Our neighbors across the street have two Suburbans and one shiny pickup. I think two people live there. It's weird. And EVERYTHING was closed on Easter Sunday -- even Banana Republic, which I know for a fact is open on Christmas Eve and Thanksgiving Day. The only store in the metropolis that was open was Gucci (which clearly favors making a buck over honoring the Risen Christ, and bully for them). I just ... I get the feeling our Obama signage next summer may stand alone on our street, dig?

We have so far been invited to church thrice, by three different neighbor persons, and have been brought baked goods by one. (My reactions: No, No, No, and Awesome, thank you!) Everyone has been super nice so far -- that's pretty cool. We lived at our old place for seven years, and only ever spoke to the people from one house. Oh, and Mr. Gleemonex talked cars with the creepy psycho-killer from the other end of the street once. But here, we've already met people.

You can make protected left turns and U-turns ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE here. Now THAT'S being organized for the automobile. I don't like it, the car-orientation, on a philosophical and moral level -- but, you guys: LEGAL U-TURNS. If you gotta drive, best you get to U-turn like a mothafucka, am I right?

I love my commute. I don't love getting up at 6:00 sharp, and it's a bit of an ass-pain to get to the train, but once I get there ... there's this beautiful station, built in 1935, with immense high ceilings, wooden benches golden with age, inlaid floors, old signage and murals, a tiny snack bar nook that smells of fresh coffee in the morning and absolutely heavenly fresh-popped popcorn in the evening. Passing through it is a high, every time (and so much better than that hideous depressing ugly windswept pigeon-shitted Soviet-bloc-looking BART station in the cold that I used to have to use). And my fellow riders -- Caltrain patrons are Commuters, man. No Krazy there. It reminds me of the LIRR, which I will continue to love till the End of Days, and it's an hour each way that I get to sit and write the book that will eventually make me too goddamn rich and famous to need to commute anymore ... but I'll still do it from time to time just for fun.

I love our palm trees, our pool, the view, the space, the feeling that this is ours. It's been exhausting, this move, and there's no end in sight ... but we are home, y'all.