In my little town...

Today, I walked over to the post office to get my mail & while I was walking the streets of Albany, I was again struck by how different this place looks from what I recall as a child. Yes, folks, I have lived all over the world, only to wind up in this one mile square berg where I spent the first 14 or so years of my life. Yes, yes, I know, how terribly Dorothy Gale of me. On that note, I remember Liza doing a musical number in one of her concert tours that I saw, about some woman who traveled the globe searching for her soul mate, & upon finally meeting him, discovers to her shocked amazement that they have been living next to each other, on Riverside Drive in Manhattan no less, for years. And, if you don't know the Liza I am referring to, give up your gay card! What? You say you don't have a gay card? Well, e-mail me your address & I'll send you one of the ones I created, just for these kind of homosexual faux pas moments.

Moving on . . .the Albany CA I recall from my childhood could very easily have been clipped from a "Leave it to Beaver" or "Here come the Nelsons" episode. You think I jest? Albany in the '60s & '70s, believe it or not, was the SF Bay Area center of . . . wait for it . . . the JOHN BURCH SOCIETY! Yes, indeedy, the local office of American Opinion was still at the southwest corner of San Pablo and Solano Avenues as late as 1981. I remember seeing it, never having noticed it before (hey, in 1981 I was still a self-absorbed teenager) & asking my mom if she knew what it was. I was shocked! In retrospect, however, it explains why I never laid eyes on an African-American unti I was five years old. That's how white bread this town was then.

Anyway, the other misconception I (still) had about this town, which was completely blown away today, was that it was mostly, as in 99.9% single family homes, occupied by their owners. Well, just in the past 48 hours, I have seen more duplexes, triplexes, quadriplexes, and apartment buildings than I ever imagined were actually here! No wonder they can cram 10,000+ people into this teentsy little berg. It also explains the size of the schools. No wonder the preadult population here requires four and a half elementary schools, as well as the middle school and Albany High. And a half, you ask? Well, I am not sure what MacGregor School is up to these days, but when I was a student there, it was K through 3rd grade.

Again, anyway, all of the businesses I was familiar with, some of them quite intimately, are mostly gone now. Zarri's deli, the best non-Jewish deli I have ever had the pleasure to eat at, is still here. But that's about it, when I think about it.

Another thing that I noticed, which has got to be an age thing, is that I get worn out just walking to & from the post office. Now that is just ridiculous to me. It is only a mile and a half round trip; I can't be that out of shape, can I? Oh wait, yeah, that's right, my birth certificate does tell me I am closer to 50 than 40 now, even though my head, not to mention my inner child, refuse to accept that fact.

Again, regarding my didactic memory, just walking the streets brings up vivid childhood recollections, even if some of the landmarks are gone. One of the things I do recall well was that I was a gregarious, outgoing kid, who had little inhibition about talking to strangers on the street; I am not too sure when or where my shyness and reserve developed from. Now, however, there seems to be a grumpy old man surfacing from the shadows, who I am not particularly thrilled to be identified with.

It struck me just within the past few weeks one of the truly striking differences between then & now was my relationship with my neighbors. As a kid, I knew the names of every family on the block, plus a lot within a two to three block radius of the family home. Now, however, I only met one of my close neighbors within the past few weeks, just since I put my house on the market. I have no idea the names of the people who live in the houses two doors down from me on either side. Isn't that sad? I remember when my eldest brother Floyd died, all of our neighbors from within a two & three block radius showed up at our house with food (I had no idea what that was about, but hey, I was only seven at the time). In contrast, when my first partner died, a little over five years ago, the only neighbor who remarked on it was my next-door neighbor Angela, & then only because the ambulance came to take him away, & not her for a change. Did I get food from her? Not exactly; she invited me out for brunch one day not too long after Michael passed, but other than that . . . no, wait, she did offer me a joint, I think, but don't quote me. But that's another big change from my kidhood; an elderly woman in her 70's offering me marijuana?

I did one other thing today, prompted by the initiation of this blog last night; I bought a notebook to write down ideas for blog entry themes. My brain seems to be falling over itself coming up with clever little missive titles, such as: "If raindrops on roses & whiskers on kittens are really high on your list of favorite things, maybe you need to talk to a shrink!" and "What do all of those Harry Potter fans under the age of ten, who are not British, make of some of the terms in those books?" I mean, do they know what "trainers" are, as in articles of clothing? I don't.

Well, that brings me to a close this time. Again, my camomile tea seems to be kicking in. Time for bed. Good night. Come back soon.