Coming Home

I moved to California in August 1985, the summer of my 27th year. Coming home to a place I'd never been before.



I love California. She is not the state of my birth, but she is the home of my heart. She and I have been together for a long time now. We have a high state income tax rate, but that sunshine tax is worth every penny to me. I could live anywhere, and I choose to live in California. Oh sure; we have our problems, fiscally and socially. But I still love her. We have had colorful governors like Ronnie and Arnold and now Jerry Brown, for the second time around. I love that no one can light up a cigarette in even the smallest bar. I love that you can buy raw milk in the supermarket and that farmers are required to treat those who give us meat, milk and eggs more humanely. I love wearing a tank top, shorts and flip flops when the rest of the country is shoveling snow. I love understanding a word here and there when my neighbors speak Spanish. I love that we appreciate and respect other people's cultures, even when we don't understand. And while we don't give gay people the same rights as straight people, not yet, I believe we will soon get there.

People think we are all Hollywood and Berkeley, but we are also Placerville and National City and Barstow. People think we are all tanned and botoxed and blonde, but we are also brunettes and redheads who wear our wrinkles proudly. California is not perfect, but she is perfect for me.


Susan