No place like home away from home

I’m sitting at the computer trying to think of something clever to

write about, but I’m a little preoccupied. We just got back from

taking Annie to Berkeley, as in University of California ... Cal, if

you want to use the vernacular.

And just to get the superficial question out of the way, yes, her

dorm room was way cute. Very colorful, cheerful and, ahem, well

thought out. The only extra she needed was a fridge, which was easy

to get, and the only thing we brought back home with us was an orange

beanbag chair that was too big for the room -- wishful thinking on

our part.

Ben and I took her solo, sans siblings. It just seemed right to

end this chapter the way we began: just the three of us. Eighteen

years ago, struggling with the novelty of a newborn, and now

struggling with the newness of the changing family dynamics. They

rock your world coming; they rock your world going. We drove up last

Sunday. Is there anything more boring than the freeway? Good for

conversation. Or not. Good for reflection. Or not.

We decided to take the scenic route, which turns into Tunnel Road

and runs right through Berkeley. I love the beach, but I have to say,

the view from the Berkeley hills is magnificent. We drove past the

Claremont Hotel, a grand old lady, and drove into town. On the map,

the fastest way to Annie’s dorm was down Telegraph Avenue. Yes, that

Telegraph Avenue. And being the Southern Californian that I am, I

didn’t even think about Telegraph on a Sunday afternoon.

Wow. It was colorful. And I think it was incense that I smelled as

we drove down the street, but I was feeling rather relaxed afterward

... so maybe not.

The street vendors crammed the sidewalks on both sides of the

street. My mission was to take a picture documentary to show the

other kids when we got home, so I hung out of the side of the car,

which had a bike strapped on top, and clicked away like a tourist. I

got a picture of the Campanile (the tall clock tower) and a few

pictures of some interesting street characters before the daughter

pulled me back in because I was embarrassing her.

Honey, there’s no such thing as being an embarrassment on

Telegraph Avenue.

The dorm scene was a zoo, as you would expect, with thousands of

kids and their parents struggling with a year’s worth of college

survival gear. Lots of computers, printers and egg crate pads for

rock-hard dorm beds were being jockeyed inside.

We unceremoniously put all of Annie’s possessions in trash bags --

we weren’t going for the style award. Luckily, we had the room to

ourselves while we unloaded. I can’t imagine having two families in

the same small dorm room trying to get settled.

The rooms weren’t as bad as I expected although, on another

shallow note ... the curtains and carpet were hideous. We just

ignored them, and after we were done, the ugliness disappeared amid

the sea of color. Annie got lucky, getting a room on the second floor

... although it wasn’t really the second floor. I counted three

flights of stairs as I schlepped things up and down. Nonetheless, the

elevators were avoided and that was a good thing.

Annie has always been a pied piper, so soon the room was full of

kids, known and unknown, and I was relegated to hanging clothes while

plans were made for dinner, the first dorm dinner.

Now, for those of you who have been unfortunate enough to witness

Annie’s eating habits, are you waiting anxiously for the food report?

It didn’t get thumbs up. She is spoiled, and I’m to blame. But when

in Rome ... .

The tater tots and the fruit are the only items with the seal of

approval. She may eventually become more mature with her selections.

But if not, oh well. Mi Casa, scene of our last Newport supper, is

waiting for her when she gets back.

She dismissed us from our duty, and Ben and I went up to the

Claremont for a real dinner and prepared ourselves for Day Two --

designated for forgotten items.

Now, aside from the fridge, these were not my forgotten items. It

seems that Annie forgot all desk supplies: paper, pens, pencils,

scissors, tape, ink -- you know, the things you really need when you

go away to college. Hmmm, seems the focus was elsewhere. I am happy

to report that the beloved Target is alive and well in the Bay Area

and all necessary items were whisked back to the princess in her

tower.

And speaking of, there is a beautiful liquid amber tree outside

her window and a view of the Campanile. Not bad. You do have to

overlook a few intimate items of clothing that are hanging in the

upper branches of the tree. I assume they are in unreachable areas or

were purposefully left there as trophies. We had a great dinner at

Trader Vic’s (reminiscent of my days at UCLA when we went to the

Trader Vic’s in Beverly Hills) and dropped her back off at the dorm.

We decided that breakfast would be the scene of the final

farewell, one last “good” meal before the parental units went back to

their reality. And believe it or not, there were no tears on either

side.

Of course, I had cried a river during the weeks leading up to the

trip, but the new situation seemed to fit like a glove, so no

regrets, just wishes for a safe and sane first semester.

This week is sorority rush week. Excuse me; it’s now called

“recruitment.” I guess that word is more politically correct. So it’s

not PC to say rush, but there are signs all over campus to join the

Queer Bears. You heard me. You can check it out on the Berkeley Web

site (a lot easier to find than the Greek page.)

The only thing that left me unsettled was the coed bathroom. Not

just coed floors, but coed bathrooms as well. Yes, there are

“standing stalls” designated. I have been married for 21 years and

I’m still trying to figure out how to get my own bathroom, so I’m

stupefied that they want to start this when they’re 18.

Oh well, its college. No, it’s Berkeley.

Classes begin this week, water polo workouts start, recruitment

ends, and a new mood settles on the Wight house. Not better, not

worse but definitely a lot more quiet.

* KAREN WIGHT is a Newport Beach resident. Her column runs

Thursdays.