My family has two places where we live, each one on opposite sides of the Golden Gate Bridge. While I like to say that I love each of them equally, I find myself often having a favorite. They have been in my family since before I was born. Even though I spend the majority of my time in San Francisco, my house in Petaluma will always be my home. Somehow my family always gets more familiar with each other once we pass Novato. Our shoulders relax and we push the stress from the city off for a while. My dad talks quieter, careful not to disturb the serenity. Once we are off of the highway and pulling up a dirt road, there is laughter. The small, white house peeking out of the oak trees is a refuge for my family. In San Francisco, it is
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The ranch never ceases to create chores. From water issues to feral cats tunneling into the heating ducts, there is always some little problem. This has taught me that hard work is always rewarded. My home in San Francisco never has problems. If it is too cold, the thermostat is very accessible and will change temperatures easily. There is no hiking through fields to get to the spring or pulling up weeds in the city. There is technology in the city to help complete anything. The ranch teaches me lessons while everything in the city almost seems too easy. These two homes are very alike as well. I am deeply connected to both of them. They have a loved, lived in feel. The arms of the couches are frayed. The fabric splits and untangles like spider webs showing the years of use. These houses were not meant to look beautiful. They were built to be lived in. To anyone else, there is nothing special about the white plaster walls; yet to me, they are wonderful. There are memories in every corner. Secret worlds are under tables where I spent a lot of time during my childhood. And most of all, these houses have been loved.
My life is split between two houses. The Golden Gate Bridge and my family connect both of them. I love both of these places, but I do have a favorite. While I have memories in both, I tend to treasure the memories more in Petaluma than San
The ranch never ceases to create chores. From water issues to feral cats tunneling into the heating ducts, there is always some little problem. This has taught me that hard work is always rewarded. My home in San Francisco never has problems. If it is too cold, the thermostat is very accessible and will change temperatures easily. There is no hiking through fields to get to the spring or pulling up weeds in the city. There is technology in the city to help complete anything. The ranch teaches me lessons while everything in the city almost seems too easy. These two homes are very alike as well. I am deeply connected to both of them. They have a loved, lived in feel. The arms of the couches are frayed. The fabric splits and untangles like spider webs showing the years of use. These houses were not meant to look beautiful. They were built to be lived in. To anyone else, there is nothing special about the white plaster walls; yet to me, they are wonderful. There are memories in every corner. Secret worlds are under tables where I spent a lot of time during my childhood. And most of all, these houses have been loved.
My life is split between two houses. The Golden Gate Bridge and my family connect both of them. I love both of these places, but I do have a favorite. While I have memories in both, I tend to treasure the memories more in Petaluma than San