I have been fighting a wicked cold. The sucker started in my sinuses, dropped down and slashed the back of my throat with some kind of razor blade apparatus, then decided to shut off the supply of fresh air through my nose. When I sneeze it feels like someone is standing behind me and whacking me in the back with a pizza peel.

Today, though, I decided that one day wrapped in a blanket on the couch with a box of tissues and a gigantic cup of water was enough. I gargled some salt water to kill the pain in the back of my throat and decided to run some errands on my bike. I made two separate trips — one to Lakeshore Avenue in the morning, the other to Grand Avenue in the afternoon. Let me say that the well marked bicycle lanes on the part of Grand Avenue where it passes through Adams Point were a delight. Where the road narrows to the point where there is no longer room for a bike lane, the right driving lane is marked with a very visible bicycle logo to encourage road sharing. These are fantastic changes. When we lived here 15 years ago urban biking had not fully entered the collective consciousness.

Today, my experience tells me that the car driving public is becoming aware and willing to share the road with their two-wheeled brethren. At least three times today, in two short excursions, I encountered drivers who took extra time to be sure they didn’t cut me off at an intersection. One driver even buzzed past me at one point, only to stop in the road several car-lengths ahead of me and waited for me to pass him before he pulled into a parking spot. He made eye contact in his rear view mirror and signaled with his hand that he was waiting for me to pass before he parked.

Only once on the whole trip did I encounter an impatient driver. Forgive me for stereotyping but it was a guy in a BMW who just needed to prove that his sportscar could get to the red light before I did. (He nearly over-revved second gear trying to whip past me and then nearly skidded when he saw the red light ahead.) When I pedaled up next to him and turned to flash him a smile while we waited for the light to turn green he refused to turn his head and glance my way. Ah well. It takes time, but eventually all the changes painted on the road are going to make changes in the way we relate to one another in our cars and on our bikes.

The photo above is to memorialize the big difference between biking in the Midwest and biking in Oakland. I will admit my bike did not get much use in Moline during December (or even January, February, or March). And while there are marked bike routes throughout the Quad Cities, there are still plenty of drivers in that area who are baffled by the presence of bikes on the roadway. Several times while riding in Moline and Rock Island I encountered drivers who suggested that I should be riding on the sidewalk.

Neither the Quad Cities nor the Bay Area have any bragging rights about accommodating bicycles when compared to Amsterdam. In that city, Bikes rule. The photo below shows a parking garage near the center of old town Amsterdam. I wonder how you’d find your bike in a lot like that after having a couple of Heinekens?

Yesterday Anna and I drove around visiting a few landmarks from our previous tenure in Oakland. Since it was our anniversary we topped the list with the locations of the ceremony, reception, and the B&B where we spent our wedding night. While we were up near Montclair we decided to include a visit to Woodminster. The building was locked up tight, but we walked around to take a few pictures.

The theatre, located in Joaquin Miller Park is dedicated to California writers. Joaquin Miller’s tiny cabin is just a short walk from the site of the theatre. The theatre building was designed by Edward T. Foulkes, the architect who designed the Tribune Tower. It’s a phenomenal specimen of 1940s public architecture. Behind the theatre is a sequence of fountains and cascades that empty into a reflecting pool. The landscape surrounding the Theatre was designed by William Penn Mott, Jr.,. at one time superintendent of Oakland Parks and eventually the Director of the National Park Service.

When we lived in Oakland in the 1960s through the 1980s, Anna and I (and my brother Jon, and Anna’s sister Carrie, and our son Justin) all performed in several musicals at Woodminster. The company that lives in the building, Producers Associates, produces three classic Broadway musicals each summer. Harriet, the choreographer, taught ballet classes year round, and her husband Jim, the director, taught acting and voice. Anna and I studied with them during the off season. For a few years I worked summers as a carpenter and scenic artist during the day and rehearsed to be in the shows at night. We’ll definitely be attending the shows they produce this coming summer. Who knows, we might even try to get back on stage sometime.

On the 27th of December, 1981, Anna and I decided to bind our lives together in a committed relationship. We made this commitment at First Lutheran Church in Oakland. My dad was pastor of that congregation for 18 years, but several years after he and my mom moved to New York City, First Lutheran merged with another congregation and they sold the building in which we were married.

After the 3:00 p.m. ceremony we all drove up to the Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary, at the top of Marin Avenue in Berkeley, and held our reception in the great hall of the mansion that had been donated to the Lutheran Church to house the seminary. It was a great place for a party — there was a gigantic fireplace, and vaulted ceiling. Maybe I’m romanticizing the memory a little, but the place felt like an old english manor house. The drive up the hill to the seminary gives a great view of the Bay Area. It was about sunset when we were driving up, so the bay was glistening. I think about that day often and the glow of sunset is a prominent image in my memories.

We danced in the great hall until late in the evening then fell into bed at Gramma’s Bed and Breakfast Inn on Shattuck in Berkeley. (Anna’s cousins’ family owned the inn, and they put us up as a gift on our wedding night. There’s still a B&B there but under different ownership called the Rose Garden Inn.) After a tasty breakfast we hopped in our blue 1970 Volvo station wagon and cruised up to Lake Tahoe for a little skiing honeymoon. We loaned our apartment in Oakland to the pastor of the Lutheran Church at Tahoe City in exchange for a couple of nights at his house on the north shore. A large contingent of my extended family came up to Tahoe, and slept on the floor at the Tahoe City church. They joined us for meals at the parsonage. It snowed about 8 inches the first night we were there.

Its been a great 28 years. I wouldn’t say it hasn’t been without some bumps in the road, but like the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, there’s a patina to our life together that makes it “real.” I’m grateful to Anna for agreeing to take this ride together.

As a celebration of the day, I thought we’d spend the afternoon visiting the locations of all of the day’s events. We’ll start in Oakland at the old church, drive up to the seminary and then swing by the bed and breakfast.

I had a cup of coffee on Wednesday with Susan, the founder and force behind Oakland Local. We met at Revolution Coffee on 7th at Peralta. (Near the Oakland West BART station and just across the street from the giant Oakland Post Office.) I have memories of visiting this neighborhood many years ago with my Dad. He had to drop off his church newsletter at the bulk mail counter in the Post Office. West Oakland seemed a lot more run down back then. There seems to be new life and vitality in this area now. I know that the removal of the Cypress Structure after the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 helped with the revitalization.

Revolution is a coffee house with a distinct California aesthetic. The walls are covered with an eclectic patina of signs and artwork. Inside the front door is a cast iron wood burning stove which was giving off a fragrant warmth. There didn’t seem to be two matching chairs in the place. The morning sun was streaming through the front window. It was a brisk morning and the light, the wood stove, and a cup of coffee combined to create a very pleasant aura. A few minutes before Susan arrived a guy walked in and asked the women behind the counter if he could “borrow the 88” in the side room. They said “sure,” and he sat down and tinkered on the piano for a while.

Susan shared a bit about her work in putting Oakland Local together and about the community that’s forming around bringing collaborative, micro-local journalism to life in the East bay. Maybe it’s just my enthusiasm (fostered by being new in town) but it seems like this community is pulsing with life. There’s definitely a pulse at Revolution.

Justin and Zina brought us a bag of Four Barrel Coffee for Christmas morning. Four Barrel is one of the new third wave places. The blend is Ethiopia Moredecofe. Tasty. The bean is small, not over roasted. The flavor is tart rather than bitter. There’s a lightness to the brew — we might try it with more grounds and less water tomorrow. It’s a tasty beverage, and compliments our porridge and korv breakfast nicely.

Hurrah!

It’s still quiet, and the sun is beginning to sneak over the buildings and Oakland Hills to the east. There’s something fun and mysterious about spending a holiday in a new house. You never quite know how the cooking will work out. And the space has not yet been endowed with the spirit of traditions—it’s not really a home yet. Our apartment is cozy, and it’s starting to take on a feel of home, but until we’ve had some good parties and a few special meals, it’s still just a building.

The neighborhood doesn’t look much different today than it did a few weeks ago. There are some subtle decorations that hint at today’s holiday. People smile a little more, and if you look someone in the eye, they are happy to greet you. Nate and I walked over to Kathleen and Dave’s apartment yesterday to borrow a few folding chairs. As we passed Coffee With A Beat I mentioned to Nate that I was always impressed by the eclectic gathering of people that hang out there. When we walked past again on our way back, chairs in hand, I glanced over at an elderly woman sitting with a young man. The man was wearing sandals, which he had removed. The woman had just crushed the stub of a cigarette. I caught her eye and flashed her a smile. She responded with a cheery “Merry Christmas!” I winked at her and returned the greeting. It felt nice. Two perfect strangers exchanging a moment of happiness.

That’s what I like about holidays. They provide some of the spirit that we need to fill our lives and homes with a sense of meaning.

Merry Christmas!

Today is the day our family is accustomed to celebrating the Christmas holiday. Our Swedish traditions were built around the process leading up to the candlelight service at church. Dopp i grytan was the first of the rituals. We’d dip homemade Swedish rye bread in the broth in which the Christmas ham was cooked. (Or, if we were having something other than ham, mom would heat up some chicken broth for dipping.) Later we’d have a full blown smorgasbord, eaten with gusto as we hurried to be ready for, umm, church—yeah, that’s why we were eager. When we were young, mom and dad let us open one gift before church as a way of holding us over. When we came home we’d open our gifts and then hop in bed to be ready for Christmas porridge in the morning.

I drove over to the Nordic House yesterday to pick up a couple items for tonight’s smorgasbord. The location, Telegraph at 34th is also the site of Neldham’s Danish bakery. I have vivid memories of shopping at the Nordic House with my folks. The owners of Oakland’s premier scandinavian deli used to send out invitations for an open house they held every year on the day after Thanksgiving. (I don’t know if they still do that.) If memory serves, my sister, Krista worked at the Nordic House for a short while. And of course the Nordic House figures prominently in our memory as the site where Mom and Karla were robbed at gun point in the 1980s.

A couple of days ago Anna and I had to run an errand over in San Francisco. We decided to hop into the casual carpool line, and within about 20 minutes of leaving our apartment we were smack in the middle of downtown. After meeting Nate for a quick cup of coffee, we strolled through Embarcadero Center towards the Ferry Building. (Where I tasted my first shot of Blue Bottle espresso. More on that another day.) As we walked out of Embarcadero Center One we encountered the ice skating rink set up for the holidays. As a recently arrived “midwesterner” I chuckled when I saw the ice rink with Palm trees in the background.

I had a conversation with a friend the other night about belonging. David and I were discussing whether one can feel a deep sense of belonging in a community into which one has settled later in life. We were specifically discussing whether either of us felt as though we belonged in the Quad Cities, but it’s also an interesting question in the context of returning to a community where you’ve lived before but from which you’ve been absent for a long time.

Belonging is a deep and elusive sensation, and it is not entirely a self determined quality of one’s relationship with a place or community. You can’t just decide to belong somewhere. I think you can earn a sense of belonging, but it also depends on a kind of rootedness that can’t just be formed overnight. Neither is one’s sense of belonging exclusively external — it’s not just a measurement of how one is (or is not) welcomed by the community.

Belonging is like resonance. Some places just feel more like home than others. One of the biggest struggles for me over the last few months was that I really liked living in the Quad Cities. I like seasonal change, I like the benefits of a city without significant traffic, I liked living in a place where our home butted up against nature and that we saw wildlife living in a relatively hospitable environment. (I really wish I could have caught up with that wild turkey the other day, and for some reason, whenever foxes came around I couldn’t find a camera.) I like snow. I love thunderstorms. We lived in a roomy but cozy home. I loved being able to walk across Richard and Janice’s lawn to see my brother Jon and his family. Leaving all that was not easy, and I continue to have a deep sense of loss. But there was something missing in our lives there. I can’t pinpoint it yet. Even as I felt welcomed by friends and family in the Quad Cities, I never felt that I fully belonged there. What was the missing ingredient?

As we are returning to Oakland after 15 years, I’m not sure I feel that I belong here, either. We have some of the ingredients — we were married here. Our boys, Justin and Nate, were born here. My parents live here. We feel welcomed, of course, but a deeper sense of belonging will take time.

Over the next few weeks and months I hope to figure out whether we belong in Oakland. And I want to dig into that question that David and I were grappling with on Sunday — how does one know where one belongs?

Took off from MLI this morning at 9:55. 22 minute flight to Chicago, connecting to Minneapolis then Denver then Oakland. It’s a long day of flying and sitting in airports, but I get to spend a lot of time engaged in quality people watching. The big reward comes at @ 9:30 when I get to wrap myself around my baby.

Look out Oakland — here I come!

Way back in the 1970s and 1980s I was a student of ballet. I took classes at several studios around Oakland. Eventually, I went on tour a couple of times as a ballet dancer. My first tour was a 5-state sweep of the west in Giselle (I was also the assistant technician for the tour and got paid a little extra for agreeing to be one of the drivers of the station wagons in which we gypsies covered the western states). My second tour was with a small company in The Nutcracker (on this tour we rode on a bus.) Doing The Nutcracker was a real treat for me, and to this day I can’t keep my feet still when I hear Tchaikowsky’s music.

The Oakland Ballet company hit a bit of a rough patch a while back. Ronn Guidi founded the company in 1965. In 1999 (during a performance of The Nutcracker) he retired. The company survived for a while, folded in 2006. In December 2006 Guidi staged a production of The Nutcracker and relaunched the Oakland Ballet in October of 2007. Guidi Resigned again in April of 2009 and the ballet is now being guided by Former dancers Michael Lowe and Jenna McClintock. The Oakland Ballet’s new production of The Nutcracker is a version choreographed by long time Bay Area dance luminary, Carlos Carvajal.

You can catch performances this week at the Paramount Theatre. Thursday, Saturday (two performances) and Sunday. (see the company’s website for specific times.)

The farmers market at Splash Pad Park, across the street from the Grand Lake Theatre is a great market. We spent some time there during the summer when we visited and were looking for an apartment. A great farmers market within walking distance was near the top of our list of ideal features of a place to live. (This requirement was added to our list when we visited the Madison, Wisconsin, market at Monona Terrace last winter. That’s also a great market—except that a farmers market in Madison needs to be held inside during the winter.)

We expect to walk up Grand to the market pretty regularly on Saturday mornings. The market is open from 9 AM – 2 PM. The selection of food is very satisfying and the setting is very nice.

Fairyland is a very short walk from our apartment. During the 1970s Anna was a regular employee of the park. She worked the rides and generally looked pretty cute in her uniform. For a couple of years we lived in the same apartment building as Lewis Mahlmann. Every few weeks he’d invite us to dinner and we’e record the voices for one of his puppet shows. The dinner party was always fun and the shows were a hoot.

This week the park is celebrating the holidays:

Each December, for just one week, Children’s Fairyland is transformed into a sparkling festival of holiday entertainment. Through songs and stories, arts and crafts, Fairy Winterland celebrates the winter holidays of many cultures: Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Las Posadas, Diwali, and Chinese New Year. After sunset, we turn on our fairy lights and transform Fairyland into a twinkling, enchanting realm of wonder. — Fairyland Website

Be sure to take a child. I don’t think you can get into the park without one.

This entry is not part of the countdown series. I just turned in the last paper of my 33 year pursuit of a bachelor’s degree. The actual commencement ceremony is tomorrow but I’m having a dinner party with family and friends tonight to celebrate the end of this long journey.

We’re drinking a few bottles of wine that I’ve been saving. Jon and I are making a rolled pork tenderloin roast, stuffed with mushrooms, rosemary, and cheese. We’re roasting some potatoes and service an arugula salad. The kids (by which I mean everyone in attendance) may also scarf a little housemade macaroni and cheese.

Cheers! And thanks to everyone for the support as I’ve struggled along this path.

Our new pad is in the Adams Point neighborhood near downtown Oakland. Adams point is named for Edson Adams, an early Oakland pioneer. Adams had initially come to California seeking riches in gold mining. He saw, however, that the countryside would make a lovely town and with a friend made on the boat west he changed course. He sold his mining claim and set about (with his friend Horace Carpentier) acquiring the land that would in a few years time become the town of Oakland.

The Town of Oakland was chartered in 1852. Horace and Edson platted out the streets and neighborhoods. The land was actually owned by the Peralta family of Spain. Eventually Edson and Horace managed to make a deal with the Peraltas and in 1854 the town was re-chartered by the state legislature as the City of Oakland. (see the Oakland’s Early History written by Edson Adams.)

The neighborhood of Adams Point is on the north shore of Lake Merritt. If you look down on a map of the lake, it looks vaguely like a valentine. Adams Point sits at the top of the valentine. There is a rich ethnic and socioeconomic diversity in the neighborhood. The main thoroughfare through the area is Grand Avenue. Along that street are many restaurants. Lakeside park is within the neighborhood. The park is home to Fairyland, a nice bandstand, a lawn bowling club, nature center, community gardens, boating facilities and a bird sanctuary.