Pretending We're a Travel Blog, Again.

Part I: Baseball and Meat.

I had intended to update the blogotron a little more regularly these past few days, fire a warning shot or two, but clearly scheduling and my circadian rhythms have been aligned against this idea. The upshot is, Friday evening marked the beginning of a week's vacation, five days of which I will be spending here, in my hometown of (surprise!) Fort Bragg, California. In case you doubted the inspirations for Book Two of Not Providence.

Saturday, the official beginning of the vacation, was started in what might loosely be termed style: my family and I (father, mother, sister, and aunt) were in attendance at AT&T Park for the game between the Giants and the Phillies.

I have never been more than a cursory baseball person, gathering enthusiasm by proxy from my father's own, well, fanaticism; but something about being in attendance yesterday, with the Bay in the background, fans all around, my father explaining rules calls and muttering about the monstrosity of Howard's slugging average, brought me around to the joy of the game. I don't get the strategy yet, but it meant a lot to me to share a little something with my dad besides dreams, and I'm glad to have something new to learn about. I blame Tim Lincecum.

After that was an early night; a foggy, mostly-sepia goodbye to Dad as he headed out to Boston for a gig; and a dream about a friend living along the Muni line and hopping zombie children on Halloween. I woke up somewhere about then, and moved on with the trek to Fort Bragg via Highway 20, which was more threatening than you might expect for a two-lane highway full of redwoods and curve; and then it was into Fort Bragg proper and the lovely, misty, overcast skies I grew up with.

Fort Bragg is one of those curious towns, with a life and voice of its own which is largely not meant for people my age. It is a town for families and retirees and those who oil the gears, with the young population mostly focused on accelerating away from it as fast as they can. It's a very artistic community in its way, a very individualistic one; and it's only now that I'm really, wholly coming to appreciate it.

It's easy to miss Fort Bragg, because Fort Bragg is emblematic to me of a lack of responsibilities; it's where I was when I was younger, sheltered, my needs taken care of, and the tendency of my parents (as with many parents) to take fiscal charge when I visit only enforces it. It's easy to imagine coming here and just writing, just thinking, losing myself in the vibes and the winds and the whole Indian summer feel of the place; but fortunately, it's also easy to remember the vortex effect I often speak of, and how easy it would be to tell myself going nowhere is really going somewhere. My equally potent addiction to San Francisco probably helps.

I am tired, I'm afraid, all my earlier ideas about editing tonight gone to dust; but, I tell myself, I need these days. I needed two days of baseball, and driving, and Polish sausages, and Kobe beef, and discussion of politics and jobs and dreams and the constant chorus of people clamoring for my attention. It is these things which will recharge my batteries; these things which make up the mist that will fill my soul and come home with me to the heat. But for now, what I need most, more than anything, is to sleep.

Part Two comes soon; but right now, my vocabulary is rusted, and my eyes are full of sand. Goodnight.