No, I’m not
talking about a tattoo, I am talking about the wave of love I felt today, as I
drove around Berkeley knocking the final pre-flight errands off my list. No one
comes up on their own two, and it took a city with a culture to make me. Sometimes
I dream of New Orleans, my family’s old city- but the Bay has a culture so
unique and strong that I feel it all around me, shining off of the water,
lifting me up.
I have gone, in a few short months, to putting
my hands into the earth of a food desert to teach children how to grow their
own food, a place that I grew up miles away from but had only before visited
once, a terribly impoverished neighborhood created by the western terminus of
the first transcontinental railroad line by the hopes of the Pullman porters,
and their children, to this couch, staring at the bag and boxes into which I must pack my life, in the form of these objects I have spread out in front of me on the
rug. And I had better get to it. 6/1/12
