My excellent friend Mary recently mentioned being curious about what this place of Redlands is like for me, not only as a place different from NYC, but just basically as a place I now live. Interestingly, it coincided with the arrival of a whole lot of home movies digitized from film found in my dad’s shed. Footage of me as a toddler and up into an awkward pre-teen. California Christmases, Easters, and vacations. My childhood here on the west coast. Watching these short clips, I’ve been having that surreal sense of Wow, I remember that chair, those patchwork jeans, that bathing suit, that house, the lemon tree, sunshine, and backyard. Being amazed at how many friggin Christmas presents I received: A bike, a pedal car, Matchbox cars and track, every iteration of Barbie (OG. Malibu, and Skipper–Barbie’s little sister) that ever was introduced from 1964 to 1967, plus a Ken or two. As an only child, I was showered with presents (&love) from parents and grandparents. I seemed happy. Even my geeky pre-teen wander-alone moments, while slightly cringe-worthy to watch given I’m sure I was talking to myself, seemed fine, not excessively tortured. I saw the moment at one-year-old when I apparently became enamored of magazines and music, not to mention the first sign of really wanting someone to help me (down some stairs), but not really wanting to accept that help (pushing away hand, shuffling feet in frustration). And the outfits!?!? Man, some of the pleated dresses and bloomers are adorbs. For Easter there were actual bonnets and gloves. And I wore them. Although in one harrowing sequence an errant rose bush grabbed my hat, which had an elastic band under the chin, while I was reaching for a hidden easter egg and tried to strangle me. Not altogether life threatening, but confusing as hell for a four year old.

And so here I am, back in the place of my birth, teenage-hood, youth, college confusion. I’m not actually in Pasadena, Newport Beach, Irvine, Long Beach, or Huntington Beach, all the places I lived until I moved in 1984 back east, but even an hour-and-a-half-ish inland, the air, the foliage, the plants, birds, vibe, are all very familiar. It couldn’t have been weirder to move back on the cusp of a pandemic tho (duh. I’m betting almost every one of us couldn’t have had a weirder last year), but yet, wandering around Redlands on the regular has brought a sense of connection to the place that has more to do with the structures than the people. I see folx walking, biking, wandering, shopping, but there’s been no dining-in or connecting at yoga or what-have-you. Not gonna lie, I’m perfectly happy connecting to surroundings by making up stories about the people who live inside the houses I walk past. This area used to be all orange groves and some of the houses are just stupid with history and a kind of grandeur that suggests old-school wealth. Even the ones that are falling the F apart have levels and cupolas and detailing aching for Miss Haversham to step out and start screaming about. And then there are the basic Cali bungalows. Stucco. Acres of it. There are also quirky moments of street art—some of it chalk drawings on the sidewalk most likely made by kids and also some much edgier graffiti from taggers that may get done after dark.

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The difference between the streets of NYC couldn’t be more stark and if there hadn’t been a full on go-inside-immediately scenario, not to mention FaceTime/Zoom connections with my back-East pals, I suspect I’d have had a much more severe sense of culture shock. People did keep asking if I’d had that. A jarring from one environment to another, but except for missing the parade of people-watching fun NYC had to offer, and given that there wasn’t a chance of that happening in 2020 anyway, I’ve not felt a lack. Again, this last year offered it’s own very special distraction, but letting the sensations of I-know-this-place hook&eye into my here&now has been a kind of great merge. Sometimes I go through the photos I take on my walks and realize that discarded masks are the most photographed item in my album. That’s not to say there aren’t actual human beings around, it’s just that, well, I’m only seeing half their faces (if they’re being kind and doing the right thing), so there’s a kind of freedom in just wandering people-free. Plus, pedestrian traffic is pretty light. It’s not lost on me that when I see a sign telling me the neighborhood is under some sort of protective cop-watch, I understand I have white privilege in being able to wander through without fear of the police being called because there are some areas where that would absolutely be the case.

The curiosity is that as everyone ever-so-slowly comes out of their homes, if only to get their vaccinations, I might be introduced to the neighborhood from a more inside perspective. Restaurants perchance, back to the amazing AK Smiley library, some author talks at the University of Redlands, but until then, I’ll keep wandering and snapping.