We're Off to Quincy!

The boys are going stark raving mad this summer so I am glad we have an "activity" (as my son always asks for) planned: We're off to Quincy, California, in the Sierra foothills above Truckee, where I'll be guest artist in residence for the week at Oakland Feather River Camp.

Travel is always a great deadline for home improvements, so my husband got busy making the most awesome, albeit expensive, fence for our driveway. It's pretty impressive, with a welded, suspended iron frame that rolls to one side. The fence itself is redwood with tongue and groove boards and lattice details. Emilio looked hilarious building the fence in sandals, shorts, a tank top, welding mask and knee pads. "You look like you're going to the beach, but with knee pads," I told him. "I don't think OSHA would approve those shoes."

We have been meaning to fix the fence because of the constant assaults on our cars. Now we're down to just one car and the other day someone broke the window apropos of nothing. So now we can park it off the street at night. That said, I want to reiterate how much I adore my house and yard and neighborhood.

My bro pissed me off earlier today by saying that "Life's too short to live in Oakland" (actually he was quoting someone he'd met, but he agreed with the sentiment). He's unlikely to read this so I will rant away. It's somewhat my fault, because I have complained a lot about the increase in property crime in the last two years. But I would not trade the great weather, cultural diversity, and nearby woods and ocean for a temporarily pristine suburbia. That sentence is terribly inadequate to describe the jewels of Oakland -- it's just home to me. The gritty areas down around the tracks, and the far-off whistle of trains at night. The airport. The zoo. The lake. The libraries. The Blues. The Port. Old Oakland. Sometimes, at night buying tacos at a stand on International Boulevard, it feels like Mexico City: dangerous yet delicious, and always friendly. In the very same city you can ride your bike along Mountain Boulevard and marvel at multi-million-dollar Normandy cottages with magazine-perfect landscaping. If I had enough money, I could live a much less crime-inflected existence here in the same city, but I'm doing pretty well as it is, despite my complaining.

Anyway, I remember my bro bitching about how his neighborhood association took him to "trial" for his barking dogs. One advantage that comes with our neighborhood is we can pretty much do as we like with our property. Paint the house lime green with pink stripes, no one would complain. There are no front lawn nazis here. Someone down the street has been slowly building a beautiful stucco tower on his tiny house over the course of years. At first I thought it was strange, but it's so gorgeous, I find myself wanting to copy the architecture.

It's an Oakland thing, bro. You wouldn't understand.