**I just bought a ticket back to California to visit with friends & family (yay!) and thought it was time for another post on the places I consider to be my ‘hometowns.’ Consider it an impromptu and slightly disorganized mini-series. ;) **
‘Home’ is such a loaded word. It has at once vague and incredibly specific connotations… is home your house? Is it where you grew up? Is it wherever your partner or children are? It can be a feeling or a scent or even a sound, like foghorns sounding over the ocean or coffee percolating. The concept of home can be comforting, or it can be an unattainable tease of what once was and can never be again.
My grandma- Tutu, as we call her, which means ‘Grandma’ in Hawaiian (why, no, my family’s not Hawaiian… but we do enjoy a good nickname) and Grandpa (he’s just called ‘Grandpa’) bought their house in the 1950s for $36,000. It’s about 1/3 a mile from the ocean, and when they purchased the house, it was surrounded by nothing but wide-open fields. Since then, the fields were transformed into ritzy enclaves, and our family stayed pretty much the same.
My grandma’s is That House. You know the one- with the slightly overgrown lawn and the unruly kids setting off fireworks in the street (holla!) and the beat-up car parked in the driveway with duct tape holding on the rear view mirror. Yup. That’s us. And my car. Surrounded by retired people in McMansions. My mother and her three siblings were all raised here, and my sister and I lived there for about half our childhood, too.
However I choose to characterize home, the definition must include Tutu’s house in Palos Verdes.
Day #11,171, the day before Thanksgiving 2012: Tutu & I take our morning walk down to the corner Starbucks, amidst the tennis-skirted housewives that now populate Palos Verdes. The lady in line in front of us has an absurdly massive diamond ring and orders the longest sounding coffee concoction I’ve ever heard. She receives said monstrosity, sips it, and makes the poor barista remake it… the first one “didn’t taste right.”
Sister S arrives at Tutu’s house an hour or so later, and Mr. M shows up soon thereafter. The three of us decide to visit the huge luxury resort that was built over our old stomping grounds. Back in my day, Terranea Resort & Spa used to be a huge empty parking lot dotted with broken pavement and weeds. Sister S & I learned to drive stickshift there. At the edge of the lot, you could slip past a bent-up chain-link fence and follow a rocky dirt path down to a cave by the ocean.
We park in a nearby residential area and walk along the beautifully manicured cliffside trails that wind along the multi-million dollar homes and the brand spankin’ new golf course. The resort itself is massive and presides over a convoluted stretch of California coast.
Mr. M & Sister S & I turn down one of the wide, groomed paths leading down to the ocean- and our old rocky cave. But this time the rocky beach is accessed via a little wooden walkway, and there’s a line of colorful kayaks up on the groomed beach.
We three climb up to a rocky point to watch the pelicans and think thoughts of home.
It’s beautiful. Sister S & I aren’t sure whether to love this new wonderful place in our backyard or to be a bit sad that it’s been gentrified so.
Time makes things change, ebb, evaporate.
Sometimes the passage of time makes me nervous.
After winding our way around Terranea and sneaking through its beachy lobby uninvited, we decide to stop for a late breakfast. We’re seated overlooking the pool, outside in the overcast California morning. We order steaming bowls of coffee from our blond & bubbly server. Sister S, ex-barista that she is, remarks on how tasty the coffee is, and the next time our carafe is refilled, Blond & Bubbly has written down the name of the roast for Sister S. She reminds me how I miss friendly people. New Yorkers are much more guarded with their smiles & compliments & good morning’s, for reasons I still don’t understand. I smile all the time, and my neighbors think I’m a deranged imbecile.
We three chillax in the warm November sun over Belgian waffles and buttery croissants. We unanimously decide that Terranea passes the test.
Tutu’s house will always be home…. despite the passage of time and the gentrifying of our old cliffside stomping grounds. Even if home isn’t exactly the way it once was, we humans are an adaptable bunch.
A good cup of coffee with the people I love certainly helps the process along.
Details of the Day:
The Best Starbucks I Know: The Starbucks in the Rancho Palos Verdes Golden Cove Plaza, at the corner of Hawthorne and PV Drive, is spectacular. My sister worked as a barista here during her high school years, and I came to be spoiled by the outdoor fire pit, and the massive patio with fancy shmancy outdoor couches directly overlooking the sparkling Pacific Ocean. Whether you’re addicted to Starbucks or think it’s the Devil Incarnate, stop and marvel at this location.
Take your coffee on a little seaside walk down Via Vicente and the Seascape Trail that runs along the Vicente Bluffs (I had no idea our trail had a name til I researched it just this second). Walking the bluffs is a Must Do Daily Activity whenever our family is back at Tutu’s house.
Also- thanks to Sister S for some of her beautiful pictures that she didn’t know I was going to steal. I’m sneaky that way.
**So I’m curious… how do you all feel when revisiting your childhood stomping grounds? Is it strange? Smaller than you remember? Does it make you feel older or young again or both?**
I am always homesick when I go back to the city I grew up in. The area I lived in is exactly the same, but the outskirts of the city are nothing like they once were so that makes it seem very strange. I can't help but feel old, I have been gone from home for almost 10 years. Great post!
Thank you! It's so strange feeling that twinge of homesickness when you're supposedly back home, isn't it? Things are just similar enough to feel vaguely familiar, but not quite right.
Oh man, I would love to visit that Starbucks! Well, I'd love to visit that area in general... I've never seen the Pacific Ocean, and I really want to! What an amazing place to grow up! I grew up in Montoursville, Pa. It's a small town pretty much in the middle of Pennsylvania. Nothing too exciting. The closest famous place is Williamsport right next door, which is home of the Little League World Series. I used to miss it so much... but the past two times I've visited have felt weird. Things have changed so much, but not in a good way. I stopped by the Sheetz my best friend used to work at to order some MTO. I was surprised by the number of dirty, obviously drug addicted people who were there. It's the same everywhere I visit now... it's just gone downhill, and it makes me sad.
Depending on your Alaska itinerary, the Gulf of Alaska kinda-sorta counts as part of the Pacific Ocean! (At least until you can get to the west coast proper. :) ) Montoursville sounded so familiar, and when I looked it up, I realized Mr. M & Charlie & I were right around that area on a weekend hiking trip we took last summer. It IS so sad watching a place that you love change, especially when it's for the worst. Druggies ruin it for the rest of us. (I totally had to google Sheetz (& MTO)... I don't think I've ever seen one before!)
I fully expected to see the Pacific while in Alaska, but I finally looked a little closer at a map and realized it was the Gulf of Alaska. Boo! Oh well. It'll still be the West Coast! One day I'll see the pacific proper ;) Where did you go in PA? There are lots of awesome State Parks in Pennsylvania! Sheetz is an amazing place. I should have explained that a little better, haha. For the record, Wawa is Jersey/Eastern PA's version of Sheetz ;)
The Gulf of Alaska technically counts as part of the Pacific Ocean! You're right, it's not Pacific proper, but it's a step in the right direction. :) There was so much good hiking on our weekend Tour de PA! I can't remember everywhere we went, but I know we hiked in the Delaware Water Gap Nat Rec Area, in the forests near Watsontown (which I think is where I saw signs for your hometown), and in Bear Creek Preserve... and we stayed in Jim Thorpe and took a detour to visit Scranton because Mr. M & I love "The Office." :} Ah, I know I've seen a Wawa while driving through NJ. I'm slowly learning... we didn't have anything like Wawa or Sheetz back in CA. Clearly, I need to take better advantage of these places on our road trips! :)
I LOVE the picture of you and sister S with your mom and dad. Little M is the cutest thing ever. Fabulous writing and photos as always!
Sarabobeara! :) Thank you for the lovely words, friend! I love that picture, too... it's the only full family portrait I've ever been able to find.
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