May 18 2002
What a difference a Bay makes
After work yesterday, I jumped on BART and crossed under the Bay to see Carrie’s new place. You may recall that she had to leave the beautiful old house she shared with her roommates due to what amounted to a divorce. But Carrie, unlike me, takes adversity in stride, and it didn’t take her and her friend Nancy long to find a new place.
The new place is actually older than the old place, a pink Victorian cottage near Lake Merritt in Oakland. The neighborhood is interesting, to say the least. While there were minor drug deals going on across the street, there were also kids dressed up for their prom having their pictures taken by their (justifiably) proud parents, and an ice cream man, complete with the bells of childhood, went by twice during the evening.
My brother had come to the city to help the girls move with the help of his big green truck and Jed the wonder dog. As we were making dinner, there was a knock on the door and we met the utterly charming Karen, the next-door neighbor. She stayed for dinner and filled us in on the local drug dealers and peeping Toms, and then left for her African drumming class. During our conversation, it turned out that I was the only person in the room who owned a TV, which is surely exceptional. I was also the only one who owned property and had a corporate job, and despite the undeniable charm of the Victorian cottage, with its jasmine vines and high ceilings, I would never live in a place like that. I felt very old and very white.
Comments Off on What a difference a Bay makes