Coming Home, Sort Of

When I first got to San Francisco, I had the usual reverse culture shock. (Or is it just straight culture shock now since most of my life is away from the states?) The stores were mesmerizing. I thought Amman had everything. What it has, I understand more clearly now, is a lot of stuff I don't want. The corner grocer in the Noe Valley neighborhood where Sara and Brandon live was dreamy -- all food you'd want, nothing you don't want. "The perimeter of the usual grocery store," said Sara. Fresh organic produce. Good cheese. Creamy yoghurt. Lots of choices of freshly baked bread. And the baby store wasn't overwhelmingly large; it just had the soft, natural fabrics; the chic designs; the chew toys you can feel confident about AND that the child will actually chew on.

On the streets, there are a mix of people: old and young, gay and straight, preppy, sporty, hippie; Asian, Latino, Black, White. Not that many headscarves, come to think of it, though I did see some. And it's not like there were a lot of African in African dress. But I was impressed by the age range. You don't usually see a lot of hip youngsters at the same place you see mothers pushing baby strollers and retirees doing their coffee/paper/dog-walking thing. Maybe that's just a city thing. You walk. You see everybody, and not just for a brief moment in the car next to you at the red light.

Generally, people are being themselves, openly. The vote's coming up and they have their "propositions" about various local issues, and they talk about them on the radio. Should a teenager have to have their parent's permission to get birth control or an abortion? Ahh. Public discussion and debate. And about things that are important to me.

 

And, I have to confess, it is so refreshing to be around a majority that feels the same way that I do about a lot of things. I am so used to being a minority. Whether it's a non-Muslim in Sudan or Jordan or a Democrat from a red state. Talk about freedom. I could almost be a flag waver if I lived here.