Santa Barbara, Little But World Class (Written in Santa Barbara, June 21, 2015. Posted from Seattle, June 26th, 2015)

Arguably, Santa Barbara is my home. I say arguably because it is not where I grew up, and it is not where I live, but it is probably the single place I have spent the most time in my life. Santa Barbara is small, but world class. After my latest project, in Europe for three plus months, I came home for the tail end of what I call purple season, the May Jacaranda bloom (pictured right). Quickly thereafter was I Madonnari, billed as an Italian Street painting festival. It is a small, but world class, fleeting, extraordinary art exhibit drawn, in chalk, on the pavement outside the mission, erased by time, a mere memory weeks later.  Photo (left) early morning before the crowds and artists arrive. Photo (right) in the midday sun, as the artists work and people admire. The skillful, popping, 3-D nature of this chalk drawing on the pavement is hard to capture in a photo. Photo on Saturday (left) and then on Sunday (right) as the artist worked. Most recently, yesterday, the Solstice Parade, a glorious celebration of summer mixing Scandinavian traditions of MidSommer, with Mardi Gras exuberance, feathered grandeur and swing, some Halloween weird, a sneak-peak of Burning Man oddities, a liberal sprinkling childlike happiness, and some amazing creativity. Nonetheless, coming home this time, I am vaguely aware, somewhere, in my stomach, Santa Barbara is no longer home. This strikingly hit home by happening upon, on that same afternoon, the article “What It’s Like WhenYour Hometown No Longer Feels like It’s Your Home” by an organization (Girl Gone International) for and by women who travel extensively. The reason I can write about the above Santa Barbara experience with such delightful intrigue, is because it has transitioned from the common place experience of my hometown, to the foreign experience of the new. I have a myriad of mixed emotions about Santa Barbara no longer being home. The first and most obvious question is, if Santa Barbara is not home, where is? < This line intentionally left blank. > I don’t have an answer for that. Home is where the heart is, right? My heart is in Malmo Sweden (Sandra), Ljubljana  Slovenia (Matej), scattered across Switzerland (Pia, Louis, Michael, Michael, Dan), Edinburgh Scotland (Ruth), on ships far and wide (with so many people), New Bern North Carolina (PJ and Kevin),  New Hampshire, Seattle, …. The list is long. But, with surprise, I notice, I ended the paragraph and did not think to put Santa Barbara on that list. I suppose that says a great deal. Santa Barbara is small, and world class. I would know, as a tourist who has been a lot of places. I would know, as a tourist. Cool: Santa Barbara Stupid: The odd, albeit mild, discomfort associated with not really knowing where home is. Santa Barbara, from the air, as I flew away on June 25th.

A random collage of purple trees from around the city. Scenes of I Madonnari.