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katekatwhat's home like? funny that the simplest questions sometimes send me into a bit of a tailspin. It's just that, because my parents got divorced so early in my life, I've always felt like I've had multiple homes, and adulthood has only confirmed that.
So first off, home is a 500 person town in the California foothills, where rednecks can still be rednecks, but you're only a 3 hour drive away from San Francisco. Small town, small school, small kids, growing up firmly entrenched in outsiderdom from 3rd grade, bitingly cold winter mornings that get warm as long as you stand in the sun (but still mean your breath is visible when you step into the shade). Trees that change color in the fall, but no snow. Springtime when everything gets wet and green again, for about 3 months, and then summer when all the grasses dry and every hillside becomes this pale blond golden color except for the trees. Not knowing the meaning of humidity. Truly. But being hot enough in the summer (without an air conditioner) that I woke myself up thirsty and parched and decided to sleep in the backyard with the crickets and the stars.
But home is also weekends spent wandering around my dad's house in Sacramento, no matter which house it was, that gets blisteringly dry and hot in the summer (but only on the outside, where we all tried to stay near the pool) and cold and rainy in the winter. But those weekends were always spent freezing because they kept the air on all the time (you just can't turn it off, not in those places) and then nearly dying of heat stroke as soon as I walked out side. And fall never seemed to be quite ready to turn the leaves of the trees, even though I know they dropped because my dad spent forever raking them. We lived by the river during my jr-high years, and so I spent ages walking the partially sandy, partially dirty, walking trails with the dog, and dipping my fingers in the snowmelt water that never warmed, no matter what season. I remember one fall night where we couldn't get out of town (and I couldn't go back to my mom's) because the rains were enough to flood the levies (is that how you spell that). I spent the evening crying and terrified the water would come up to the door of the house. Luckily they were on a little hill, and the water never rose that much.
But home is also LA, because that's where I grew into my 20's (hell, that's where I spent my 20's). Overcast sky that's always blue in Beverly Hills (and almost blue in our neighborhood, because it's adjacent). Seasons that change as gently as turning pages or making a bed - oh, sure, you can tell, but only because you need to wear a thicker coat at night, and you notice they're pruning the trees along Olympic. There's never enough heat in West Hollywood to truly make it unbearable (not like the Valley - which is NOT home, not for me), but there's never enough cool to really require bundling up either. Except almost every night you *always* want a jacket. You'd think a city that's in the temperate zone would stay warm in the evenings, and there were some that were, during the indian summer that came every year, but most of the time it reverted to desert cool at night, regardless of the millions of people making their own heat with cars and factories (and hell, talk). So every night was a night you grabbed some kind of jacket when you went out. And no night was ever truly dark, because there were always the city lights around you - and always a kind of brownish glow in the sky. And none but the brightest stars. But seriously? Killer food.
Finally, home's Austin, a place that's probably more like what you're used to, with actual humidity in the summer and rain in the winter. Sure, the school closed down for a frost a couple of weeks ago, so they're not exactly dealing with heaps of snow, but it does get cold enough to want to light a fire and curl up, and need real slippers when you go outside. And warm enough in the summer to forget the damn jacket and just wear the silly tank top that's so wispy it might fly away. Strangely to me, though, here it's spring that is the rainy season, with March the biggest rain month, and everything gets so bright and green and grow happy that it's like we're living in a bit of a rain forest. Thunderstorms cover the sky, and look amazing, and the rain is *warm* (although, not all the time... just when we're lucky).
So first off, home is a 500 person town in the California foothills, where rednecks can still be rednecks, but you're only a 3 hour drive away from San Francisco. Small town, small school, small kids, growing up firmly entrenched in outsiderdom from 3rd grade, bitingly cold winter mornings that get warm as long as you stand in the sun (but still mean your breath is visible when you step into the shade). Trees that change color in the fall, but no snow. Springtime when everything gets wet and green again, for about 3 months, and then summer when all the grasses dry and every hillside becomes this pale blond golden color except for the trees. Not knowing the meaning of humidity. Truly. But being hot enough in the summer (without an air conditioner) that I woke myself up thirsty and parched and decided to sleep in the backyard with the crickets and the stars.
But home is also weekends spent wandering around my dad's house in Sacramento, no matter which house it was, that gets blisteringly dry and hot in the summer (but only on the outside, where we all tried to stay near the pool) and cold and rainy in the winter. But those weekends were always spent freezing because they kept the air on all the time (you just can't turn it off, not in those places) and then nearly dying of heat stroke as soon as I walked out side. And fall never seemed to be quite ready to turn the leaves of the trees, even though I know they dropped because my dad spent forever raking them. We lived by the river during my jr-high years, and so I spent ages walking the partially sandy, partially dirty, walking trails with the dog, and dipping my fingers in the snowmelt water that never warmed, no matter what season. I remember one fall night where we couldn't get out of town (and I couldn't go back to my mom's) because the rains were enough to flood the levies (is that how you spell that). I spent the evening crying and terrified the water would come up to the door of the house. Luckily they were on a little hill, and the water never rose that much.
But home is also LA, because that's where I grew into my 20's (hell, that's where I spent my 20's). Overcast sky that's always blue in Beverly Hills (and almost blue in our neighborhood, because it's adjacent). Seasons that change as gently as turning pages or making a bed - oh, sure, you can tell, but only because you need to wear a thicker coat at night, and you notice they're pruning the trees along Olympic. There's never enough heat in West Hollywood to truly make it unbearable (not like the Valley - which is NOT home, not for me), but there's never enough cool to really require bundling up either. Except almost every night you *always* want a jacket. You'd think a city that's in the temperate zone would stay warm in the evenings, and there were some that were, during the indian summer that came every year, but most of the time it reverted to desert cool at night, regardless of the millions of people making their own heat with cars and factories (and hell, talk). So every night was a night you grabbed some kind of jacket when you went out. And no night was ever truly dark, because there were always the city lights around you - and always a kind of brownish glow in the sky. And none but the brightest stars. But seriously? Killer food.
Finally, home's Austin, a place that's probably more like what you're used to, with actual humidity in the summer and rain in the winter. Sure, the school closed down for a frost a couple of weeks ago, so they're not exactly dealing with heaps of snow, but it does get cold enough to want to light a fire and curl up, and need real slippers when you go outside. And warm enough in the summer to forget the damn jacket and just wear the silly tank top that's so wispy it might fly away. Strangely to me, though, here it's spring that is the rainy season, with March the biggest rain month, and everything gets so bright and green and grow happy that it's like we're living in a bit of a rain forest. Thunderstorms cover the sky, and look amazing, and the rain is *warm* (although, not all the time... just when we're lucky).
no subject
Date: 2005-12-29 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-29 04:51 am (UTC)I've only been to Oregon 1ce, and it was summer, so it actually didn't rain. But yeah, no lightening. There's no lightening on the West coast, at least none to really speak of, sadly.
where's your hometown?
no subject
Date: 2005-12-29 05:12 am (UTC)The surrounding countryside is much more interesting than the city itself as we live in the shadow of the Appalachains and only twenty miles west of us is Cherokee National Forest, an expansive federal park that includes the Ocoee River, which is where the 1996 Olympic whitewater events took place. My dad grew up there in the 40s and 50s and I've been up there a few times and it looks like the land that time forgot. I make jokes about Dallas, the city I am in now, being Mayberry but Mayberry is a metropolis compared to the hamlets found in that direction.
The seasons there are pretty distinct with summer days over a hundred not being uncommon and winter nights getting down into the tens and, sometimes, single digits. Snow isn't very common since it's in a valley and an inch or two is sometimes enough to call off school and close dozens of businesses (a "blizzard" of maybe two feet made us declare a state of emergency and had the city shut down for a week in 1994) but rain and thunderstorms were pretty commonplace with no real seasonal bias that I can remember. We also got tornado watches every fall but the last tornado that ever hit us was in the seventies, before I was born. I've never seen one.
That wasn't so hard after all. I guess you are my muse. :p