Falling

Dear J—

Here in northern California you can almost see the mercury falling in real time. I suppose it’s not cold like how it gets cold in Cheney or Boston, but still, you know, cooler than soCal by sure. Or at least soCal as I remembered it, but didn’t I have to face cool temperatures and jackets and gloves and frosty windshields there too? My memories of San Diego are fading and I wonder what the kids would think of it now.

There’s a new mural up by the train station and I keep meaning to take pictures of it: before much longer, I think. The old one was a stagecoach racing the train and the new one, which seemingly went up overnight or at least as far as I can see, soon thereafter, is far more abstract but I’m deciphering elements of San Mateo in it, specifically downtown and Central Park, which makes sense: if the train station is your gateway into the city, then why not brag about all the stuff we have here? Who’s got it better than us?

Going from living in San Diego (really, the suburb of Claremont Mesa, which used to be well outside the city when it started and still exhibits all the dead-end planning and lack of charm and walkability of most post-war developments) to here were we should walk but don’t because it’s too cold or windy … what has changed?

Mike

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