Floating Upstream: nuggets: home

Three months after moving in, I am finally ready to sit down and write a brief note about coming home to Belmont. The pain engendered by navigating the real-estate market in the Bay Area has been mostly dulled by time; we are getting used to the minor disasters of homeownership, such as leaking roofs; the commute is almost a pleasurable habit; and now we are left, for the most part, with the daily wonder of coming home to this:

The photos above, of the three-mile cross-country track across the street, were taken some time in July or August. That is the place where I now routinely run on weekends, and it is also the place where, when we are lucky, the kids come enthusiastically for an evening walk. It is a place that epitomizes, as perfectly as anything, why too many people can't leave the Bay Area. The sheer beauty. Even in a historic drought.

Perched above the East Bay, on one side, and Crystal Springs Reservoir on the other, on a windy hill that Rado affectionately calls Wuthering Heights ("Well, honey, you always wanted to live on Wuthering Heights, didn't you?..."), we now have daily rituals of watching the sun rise above the fog from the kitchen table, and then basking in it as it floods the kids' West-facing bedrooms in the evenings.

Summer days are cool--on average 10 degrees lower than the South Bay, where we used to live--and we find ourselves swaddled in fog every evening by about 10 pm (often earlier). While I have heard people complain about the fog and wind, I can say with unwavering confidence that the weather here--actual weather, as opposed to the sameness that passes for weather fifteen miles south--is a favorite thing about our new home, second only to the running trail. I love waking up and not knowing what I will find outside the window: sometimes brilliant sunshine rising over an East Bay wrapt in fog; sometimes thick fog around us that makes everything glisten with dense moisture; sometimes gray clouds high above that, anywhere else, might signal rain, but here mean simply a cool morning, followed by a warm and sunny day.

The kids, who during the first week complained weakly of the wind, have suddenly turned into hardy outdoors(wo)men who barely even notice the 15 mph gusts.

I fantasize about running the trail with them some time before too long, and in the meantime, they hitch rides on someone's shoulders.

People keep asking us about "the house"--how we "like it"--and we keep responding, "it is fine." It really is. Fine.

We never sought much in the actual house, and we feel that we found everything we wanted: a spacious kitchen, a welcoming, light-filled living room, and bedrooms that offer space for the children to grow in the next decade. More importantly, we feel beyond thankful to have found a home in a landscape our children can love and in a neighborhood that feels like a community. We'd be happier with two-thirds of the available space, as it would mean less cleaning and fewer corners where random stuff might begin to accumulate, but we hope that with time we might find creative uses for the space.

I finally have the kitchen where children can help whenever they feel inspired,

and readers in the family finally have the big bookshelves where the adults among us always imagined displaying the history of our inner lives. The couch facing the large light-drenched window pretty much epitomizes my idea of bliss.

Which is not to say one can't read in other places also--

The kids spend a whole lot of time on the carpet in front of the couch, building and playing, and when she is not on the floor, Raya is almost always at the "art table." She now believes she is going to be "an artist and a sculptor."

Outside, they play with the neighbors' kids and spend a lot of time riding vehicles around the cul-de-sac.

Our favorite climbing tree sits on a green lawn that overlooks the reservoir,

and that lawn is a perfect place to practice cartwheels.

There is the pool,

and there are the lovely new rugs in their rooms, purchased by my grandma:

Last but not least, there is the new 100% electric car which, for all intents and purposes, fulfills every one of Rado's boyhood dreams. Sava's, too.

Oh, and there is the fabulous farmer's market, a six-minute drive from our home, which pretty much fulfills all of mommy's dreams.

In other words, life is pretty good.

*****

Y'all might have thought you'd never see Stuff They Say again, but here it is, while scrolling through a few photos from before we moved:

After a shower, Raya pointed out to her dad that I wrap her in a towel before I take her out of the bath tub, whereas he insists on taking her out first, and wrapping her in a towel second.

Raya: Mommy does it differently.

Rado: I know. And I do it another way. Different parenting styles.

Raya: Well, you should learn the right way!

That's my girl.

Once during the long trials and tribulations of trying to buy a house.

Raya: Mommy, when you buy a house, you can't just say, "Hey, I wanna buy a house."

Me: What do you say?

Raya: I really want to buy a house!

For the record: the house we bought was our seventh offer (but, as they say, it was "meant to be"). We read hundreds of pages and wrote individual letters of appeal to please be allowed to buy the house for over 20% asking price for every single house. Even the kids came to understand that the process distorted our reality (or else reflected a distorted reality).