Fescue covered lawns covered in oranges - juicy play things for large, gray squirrels.
Blue waters reflect cloudless skies.
Adobe tiled roofs on stucco walls.
Sycamores. Jade, lavender, star jasmine, sage, tea roses, birds of paradise.
Familiar birds call above the drone of traffic.
Sprinklers.
Fifteen degree fluctuations in temperature - from season to season.
The wry irony of an elaborate weather station in my parents' backyard.
Fences - picket, privacy, wrought iron, cedar walls, chain link - hide homes from neighbors.
Riotous color - skin, clothes, cars, homes, flowers, billboards, lights.
Cars. A lot of cars. A lot of old cars. And Toyota Tacoma trucks. From the 80's.
Heat radiating from asphalt and cement, distorts the view of expansive parking lots. "Step on the white lines", I told my son who had removed his shoes while walking back to the car.
Sound - language, laughter, music, construction, dogs, crosswalks, buses, trucks - wait...and birds. Lots of birds.
My childhood home looks exactly the same. Minus the lush green lawn and the elm tree that shaded our front door.
Stories of old friends - married, divorced, careers, scandals, too fat, too skinny, plastic surgery and obvious attempts at retaining our youth, bankruptcy, foreclosures, moved away and moving home. No one has died though.
The warm familiarity of pushy Korean women who feed you too much and talk too loudly. Korean men sit silent and apart, but the women - they poke, pull, gesture, cluck and smile...always smile.
Hot, spicy, sweet, sour, grilled, creamy - bulgolgi, galbi, kimchi, carne asada, avocados, fresh tortillas, fruit everyday, wilted greens.
Year-round patio furniture.
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