Grass Valley -- Hometown. late March-early April

So, then I went to northern California; Grass Valley, my home town; The part of California (with the exception of the east side of the Sierra) I most belong to. Of course, since it was home, I didn't take pictures. Who takes pictures of home?

I did, however, meet and have lunch with five women I went through grade and high school with. That's not counting Martha, my buddy, my friend since first grade, my touchstone regarding 'the meaning of life and all that stuff' as well as the big R (retirement). It was great visiting with Martha and with Doris (Marth's mom and another adopted mother figure for me).

I looked at houses and thought of living in Grass Valley again. Nope. You can't really go home again. I can't anyway - wherever 'home' may be. I don't know since I'm probably a victim of the postmodern concept of home. Home is becoming a network of people I know, love, care about, and have interests in common with -- an amalgam of people and places.

I got to spend time with Gwen. My mom's best friend and a mom/mentor to me since I was 5 and she 21. She let me video her while she told me stories about both sides of her family and about growing up in Hawaii. About how blood ran out of a corner drug store into the street after the bombing when she was 10 or 11. About searching for and gathering food in the mountains because food was shipped in for soldiers and sailors but not for local people. What it was like living in an essentially Military occupied city where it wasn't safe for girls to go. Of meeting Carl and only dating him after he promised to dress as a civilian. Of marrying him and coming to the states.

The picture is of Gwen when she was four or five and won a hula contest. She's a wonderful, intelligent, strong, strong woman. I love her.