Did Ya Miss Me?

I’m back from a week-long training class in a suburb of Sacramento. Should someone force on you the choice of a week in Sacramento or a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, I would recommend that you think long and hard before turning down the stick. How the capital of California can be so unremittingly dull is beyond me. The little town I was in, Roseville, reminded me forcefully of the crappy little burg in Texas where I was raised. Lots of pickup trucks and the giant parking lots to accommodate them and not much else. The most attractive piece of land in town is, of course, the cemetery. Malls spread in every direction, composed of cheap buildings tarted up to look like the much older buildings crumbling away in the downtown they have rendered obsolete. Everyone is fat, except for the sullen straight boys who seem oblivious to their own charms.

I went up there and back on the train, which was the only consolation. I love train travel, the rhythm of gliding along the tracks and the sound of the horn wailing at crossings. This particular trip goes through the delta of the Sacramento River, green and marshy off into the distance, very much like the swampy terrain where I grew up. It’s pretty, as long as you don’t have to go wading off through the muck.

Anyway, I’m very glad to be back. The beauty of living in San Francisco is what a joy returning here always is, no matter where the trip took you.