Stranger in a 15 Miles South of Normal Land
We've been here for a little over a week now. Its been a far from normal week and its hard to base anything as large and encompassing as a new house in a new town in just a week's time. But so much of my life as changed that its hard to not draw some thoughts, some things to think about that I'd not had on my mind two weeks ago.

For the first time in my life, I checked crime stats for my neighborhood. I learned several reassuring things and then a few things that weren't so reassuring. The crime rates between here and Santa Cruz are roughly the same for the populations, that's fine and good. But I also was able to check the concentration of the crimes committed. Guess where we live?

Yeah, the moderate to high crime area of town. I know why its like that and know that the crime is almost all theft from the big stores across the huge road up the street. I know that the incidence of crime against people and property, with the exception of the guys who steal car stereos for a living, is really pretty low. The chances of something happening here are pretty slim.

And yet, I feel displaced. I feel like a fish out of water. I'm a minority here, there aren't a whole lot of white folks like me and my little wife. There are some, sure. But the predominance is Latino and it shows. And I feel it. Sometimes it bothers me. Sometimes it doesn't. Right now I want concentrate on making this house as good as it can be. I want to make my back yard something that people look at and envy. I want to take the raw dough of this house and make something better of it than when we moved in.

All of what the house represents, the rooms in it, the freedoms that exist here for us as a growing little family, as my side venture starts to take shape, as our child starts his or her life, as our puppy that we've not gotten yet begins to grow from floppy muppet to purposeful hound, as P's side projects blossom as well. The house is space, its a chance to explore what we can create with just a little breathing room. With some work, a half dozen separate company concepts could be run from this one place.

The irony is that the freedom expressed within the house is curtailed outside of it. Going to OSH, going to Nob Hill (no Safeway I've found that's close), drive through McYack's. I look around and feel like I'm in a different country. Dropped pink Civics with exhaust cans you could fit a grapefruit in. Lots of big, big SUVs, some laughably stupid ones like Expeditions on 18" lifters and monster tires. Other beater shit wagons that wild eyed teenagers drive, looking for someone to race, ready to thrash the engine like mad for some imagined victory.

Not that any of this is different from anywhere else. But its not what I've been used to for so long, the change is a bit abrupt. From a sleepy seaside neighborhood to a few blocks of bright and shiny monuments to mercantilism surrounded by wave after wave of settled migrant workers. A place where dust and dirt rule as many roads as asphalt. Where probably more fruit, garlic, avocados, artichokes and lots of other fruits and veggies are grown within 50 miles of here than maybe anywhere else on earth.

But the land doesn't stare at you at stoplights. And then I remember that, in reality, I live in a pretty small place. Under 50,000, near my adopted home town and all of my friends for the last decade. I can drive there in fifteen minutes, do drive there every morning during the week and look at this time here in this house as a testing ground and, really, a long term rental. And that makes it easier to get around and get by.

I wonder if, when I look back, I'll be thinking more about the security aspects of home ownership or the security aspects of moving to an unknown neighborhood in a neighboring town? Or even the security aspect of having a wife and child to look after protecting. I remember reading that its not unusual for expecting fathers to stock up on weapons during a pregnancy. I can relate to the mindset. Cover your shit.