The Wheels on the Bus go... where?

As you all know, I've returned to California. Livermore, California to be precise. This is the town where I grew up and where my parents still live. It's a town I know and love, and can't help but appreciate for its quirks and eccentricities--usually hidden behind the guise of typical American suburbia.

We have, for example, the longest burning lightbulb ever recorded in history. Seriously, it's in the Guinness Book of World Records. It hangs from a single wire in the fire station, and has been burning for over one hundred years. We also have a rodeo every summer and, even better, a rodeo parade. There's a lovely little downtown area with great restaurants, even greater dive bars, and a sex shop called 'Not too Naughty' right next door to the frozen yogurt shop.

Don't get me wrong, Livermore is really a lovely place. It's surrounded by golden brown hills scattered with around 30 small wineries and vineyards, the weekly farmers' market is one of the better ones I've been to, the ale house on First Street serves the best burgers and fries I have yet to find anywhere. But with all the small town charm you ever wanted, the place can still be a little dull.

Tonight I joined my parents at a free outdoor concernt where the grass is covered with people on blankets and lawn chairs picnicking and drinking wine as the sun goes down. My parents go every Friday. It's a lovely way to spend a summer evening.

While we sat there sipping our Livermore chardonnay out of plastic cups, eating 'white' oreos and observing the people around us, my mom said that when they get bored they watch the buses come and go and make fun of the people getting on and off. My dad chimed in enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, I'd say at least 30 or 40 buses go by here every night!" He was sincerely excited and after much teasing from my brother and I, continued to point out every bus that went by, partly to make fun of himself, and partly, well, because he noticed them.

It's definitely an adjustment to land back in good ol' Livermore after living in Amsterdam. When I mentioned this, my mom argued that we weren't actually in Livermore for the concert, but rather Pleasanton, the adjacent town. I told her yeah, we had to leave Livermore to find entertainment as enthralling as counting the buses that go by.

But hey, tomorrow I'm gonna get me one of those half-pound burgers, on Thursday I'm gonna go to the farmers market, and as soon as possible we'll all go out on a day of marathon wine tasting, because that's just what you do in Livermore. Although you may not be able to tell by passing through, it's a place unlike any other. And if I do get bored during my visit here, I can always count on my parents to keep things interesting.