Feeling At Home

Yesterday, being a wonderfully sunny day, I took Caleb out for a walk down to our management office to pay rent. Yep, it's that time of the month again! As we were walking, we passed a young guy going to his apartment from his truck. When I say young, I mean probably 20ish. He had a goatee and no shirt on. He smiled and said "Hi" as he passed us, a mom and baby-on-a-leash meandering down the path. And at the sight of him, strangely, oddly, I felt very much at home in my neighborhood.

Ok, perhaps I should explain myself before you start getting cockeyed ideas in your little brains. See, East County San Diego isn't so different from where I grew up (except there's a whole lot more people here, and it's greener). I grew up in Yucca Valley, smack in the middle of the desert in the middle of nowhere. Not quite Hickville, but you can see it from there. I grew up in a neighborhood where most of the boys didn't wear shirts most of the time. They wore their hair long, their skin tanned, their goatees curled, and rode their ATVs loud. Sort of hippie wanna-bes, about thirty years too late. Yes, they smoked, swore, and spit tobacco and I was never really friends with any of them, but that was the environment of my youth.

San Diego is certainly a much nicer, richer, greener place than Yucca. But it still has its hippie element, especially here in East County. And funnily enough, that doesn't bother me. I felt at home yesterday strolling through my neighborhood with Caleb, smelling BBQs, watching kids skateboard, listening to the nostalgic music of the Ice Cream Truck, and yes, saying hello to a shirt-less man.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I like my home. I like where I live. Maybe that's crazy, but it's true. :)

Happy Tuesday, ya'll!