Sometimes you’ve got to get out of the city. One of the things I love most about San Francisco is getting out of San Francisco. It’s surrounded by great places to escape to for a day or two and for me, one of those places is home. I’ve been known to make fun of where I grew up because it is suburbia to the max. It’s a land of “little boxes on the hillside” and strip malls and soccer moms. (Thankfully, I’ve never heard a woman refer to herself as a “hockey mom” there.) But after living in the city for a while, when I return home, I now often find myself reveling in its simplicity.
On Friday, I got in my car to brave the weekend traffic. Once I was beyond the bulk of it, I was reminded how just being able to drive for a bit with some good tunes on can be so freeing and relaxing. As I got closer to home I enjoyed the rolling hills and open land. I drove past my old high school where a crowd of kids were on their way to a football game. They seemed so young in comparison to the city youth I work with who have dealt with a lot of hardships and strife. It made me wish that all kids could have a chance to be that innocent. I saw deer, cows grazing, and smelled a skunk that was, well, actually a skunk.
There’s no denying that towns that appear to be prim and proper and perfect typically belie a multitude of hidden problems. But it’s nice to get away from the issues of the world that tend to weigh on your mind more in the city where you are confronted with them on a daily basis. So now I am back in the city and caught glimpses of the Folsom Street Fair on my way in. I’ve never been to San Francisco’s annual “grandaddy of all leather events”, but I have seen the aftermath of it more than once. Many people in police costumes, some in thongs, some wearing ass-less chaps– all casually walking down the street on a Sunday evening. It’s a wonderfully absurd, only-in-San Francisco type of event.
The grass is green on both sides.