In a few days it will have been twenty years since the Berlin Wall’s collapse. Who would have ever thought that it would go without or a single shot being fired,
The story begins with a classic homespun adventure- we drive to California to reunite with the one who gave me life on my birthday. Back home, we are in “Crown of the Valley” Pasadena, California.
In 1773, the British Parliament, imposed a tea tax, on the young colony of America, partly as a way to exert control and in a contest of rebellion, in Boston, the indignant colonists disguised themselves as Native Americans and threw the tea into the harbor.
There were a handful of reasons why I left Berlin in 1993 and returned to the States, each framed by earlier events, but today I recall the whirlwind of my German memories in which I was immersed.
The best part of being in Europe was everyone I met. Bright young women and men, all artists, who measured their lives with the passion they expressed, buzzing and beating their wings around town- to me Berlin was a hive.
Whenever people ask me where I live, I say “Las Vegas,” and pause a beat, and add “Not near the strip”. As if defending myself that I am not a gambler, nor a drinker or a smoker. It elicits opposing reactions; a blank stare, a sneer or downright hostility.
Even before we arrived at Ocean Avenue, Steven and I heard the pulsing sound of waves crashing coming from Carmel Bay. At the entrance to the narrow pedestrian street –Mission Street, the street where