My Footprints

I’m a lucky guy. I’ve left my footprints on sandy ocean beaches and the languid back waters of the old Mississippi. I’ve hiked mountain trails looking for mountain goats and viewed spotted owls while traipsing through state forests up North.

The migration to California has been going on since the great depression and continues to this day. For the snowbirds, it’s like watching the seasonal migration of the wildebeest in a Disney nature film; clean, sanitized and kid-friendly. Despite its roller-coaster economics and progressive politics, California continues to attract old and young alike.

For some reason the state seems to hold fast to its long-held moniker that ‘whatever happens first on the coast will eventually move to the Midwest and then the other coast.’ Whether it takes the form of massive housing developments, movie magic, new computer technologies, solar initiatives, fashion trends or otherwise innovative, surprising new trends in all sectors of our lives, many of them seem to happen in California first. Perhaps that’s why I like the place so much. California speaks to me in a voice that is fresh, exciting and at times provocative.

Years ago, upon my return to the desert, I tried to capture the tabloid/soap opera drama of some of the folks I knew or imagined living here in the desert. The results were my ‘Debris’ trilogy of books.

More recently I’ve been lucky enough to have two of my plays produced here and another one (I hope) is in contention.

There’s a quote I love that goes something like this: “At some point in one’s journey, you realize it’s time to head back home. It doesn’t matter where you are in the journey, the Gods begin calling and you must return home.” I think there is something about that mysterious force called ‘home’ that calls to all of us. It happens twice a year for Sharon and I.

In Minnesota, there’s a new advertisement running from a local grocery chain. Their ads remind us that they are a local brand; home grown. ‘Born and Raised in Minnesota’ they like to say.

When I first saw that ad my first response was typical of someone who has been a ‘local’ home grown boy here all my life. “Like who cares?” I asked myself. Turns out upon some reflection, I do care, because to a degree, Minnesota also defines me and the person I’ve become.

I’ve always seen Minnesota as a nice state, a safe state, a pleasant place to live and a great place to raise kids. Three out of the four seasons are pleasant enough. But let’s face it, the winters can tough even for a lifer such as myself.

Our tenure in the state has been pleasant enough. We’ve raised our kids here, now watch two out of five grandchildren every chance we get. My career and extra-curricular activities grew in the state and my version of retirement takes place here six months out of the year.

But gradually my tenure in Minnesota became challenged by the West Coast drawing my other half. Now that I’m part-time Californian, my perspective about my home state has changed. I love California. It appeals to my restless youth, errant and wandering mind, free soul, sometime corrupt and tranquilizing imagination.

I have a long and storied history with California. It’s like Leonard Cohen’s Hydra calling me back once again. Its part delusional, part opportunistic and part magical. But mostly it’s a comfortable relationship that seems to bring out the flip side of me that a lot of folks never see. It is at once my friend, advisor, irritator and councilor. It forces me outside of my Midwestern comfort zone.

My venture (that I can remember) to the Golden State was in 1964. Fresh out of basic training, my first assignment was at the Presidio of San Francisco. Life at the Presidio was a Camelot-like existence that ended all too soon eight months later.

The second time to bask in that warm California sun came years later in 2000. Sharon and I were staying at a friend’s condo in Palm Springs. It was our first introduction to desert living. Thus began a twenty-year intermittent love affair with that diverse community and all of its surrounding amenities.

I live in two different worlds now and I’m comfortable in both. One is progressive, adventurous and sometimes a bit outrageous but always leaning forward. For half a year, I wear my Southern California flip-flops as comfortably as any other seeker. But I also live in the Midwest and I’m darn proud of that too.

I’m born and bred Minnesotan with a strong streak of California to taint my mind. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Both states have become home in more ways than one. They’re like a cradle upon which my imagination gives birth to creative, frivolous, silly and sometimes enlightened ideas, concepts and storylines. It’s the flip side of that routine called your average lifestyle. If ever there were a balance in my life, it would be called the Minnesota-California connection.

I’m home now for the summer but that warm California sun will soon be calling me back. What can I say; it works for me.