golden memories

Saturday morning, early, I drove over to the Bob Jones Trail and walked the out-and-back all of it, about five miles. It was cloud-covered along the way, and as a weekend day, a bit of a feel of Boston Common – walkers, hikers, moms and dads pushing strollers, joggers and runners, folks on old-fashioned pedal bikes and a few on their electric cousins. People in solitary and a bunch of large family and extended friendship groups.

I was making memories, as one of the twins said in, “The Parent Trap.” The forecast is for most of a week of rain, it’s raining now, and while it’s likely I’ll have one more chance to honor that place with my devoted presence, I was wide aware of maybe saying goodbye. I have walked the Bob Jones nearly every single week since I discovered it the beginning of May.

As I type this there are 12 days remaining of my time here in San Luis Obispo – and as a resident of California. That’s a thing. I have lived in California six months in 1977, 18 months in ’06 – ’07, three more the tail end of ’08, and now more than four and a half years from July ’21 before I’ll point north in my circus-like-packed Camry the last day of this month.

Venice Beach, Santa Monica, Berkeley, Oakland, Encinitas, San Diego, and San Luis Obispo – there’s been mail delivered to all those places, save VB, where I was briefly before SM. I’ve worked at a pizza place on the Venice boardwalk, for a youth program in downtown San Francisco, with a Down syndrome couple just over from Encinitas, and as a job coach for folks in Logan Heights, Hillcrest, and Ocean Beach boroughs in San Diego. And now as a most cheery welcomer at the YMCA here.

Already a whole bunch of California memories, and sqeezing in a final few.