The Golden State

Ahhh, there's nothing like a quiet morning commute through the Bay Area to get my day started. As I drive eastbound on Highway 237 through Alviso at 7:30 a.m., the sun rises over the east bay hills to expose the broken glass glistening along the side of the road. Blowing garbage dances from lane to lane as overgrown weeds sway in the breeze. And a discarded bumper hangs majesticly from the delicate cyclone fence that outlines the pavement.

But fall evenings in the Bay Area are equally as nice. Who could dispute the beauty of metering lights gingerly flashing red and green, causing traffic to back up on-ramps to the delight of CHP officers just waiting to pounce on the next carpool lane scofflaw? Or the soothing consistency of temporary white concrete walls dotting the landscape? Never mind the potholes and erratic lane striping, or the retread tires that pepper our wonderful California landscape. This is my home. And I can dream of living nowhere else.