Reflections by Naomi Stephan

If you don’t already know it by now, I am now in exile in Germany, out of the US, with its repressive anti gay and lesbian policies, including the self congratulating candidate, Barack Obama. Don’t vote for him — he is a hypocrite.

If you don’t know why, read up on interracial marriage in the States, and compare that with how B. sees gay marriage. Let’s see now, interracial civil unions? Well, I’d be for that, with all the attendant perks. But marriage? Sorry. Had that been the way history had gone for his parents, B., would have legally been a bastard.

So thanks, Barack, Hillary and John. My beautiful house is now a memory. It’s for sale, look it up on the web.

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Memories of 105 Fernando (My Ojai California Home)

I had always wanted to live in a house with history. 105 Fernando is such a house. It is a home, as my partner put it, that “you can fall in love with.”

Before we bought our home, it had been in the same family since 1935, and still enjoys a prominent pivotal position in Meiners Oaks at the intersection of Lomita and Fernando. It was a house known for hosting back patio BBQ’s and neighbor hood get-togethers. We chimed right in and gave a huge party with a chorus we organized — and sang America the Beautiful with 60 other people on July 4, scarcely a year after we moved in. Other gatherings occurred numerous times over our ten years in Fernando. People always liked to come and stayed late, especially when we partied outside in the back.

It is a house that invites you in. We knew the value of those old glass door doorknobs (especially the purple one on the French doors), and those drawer knobs, the built in cabinets, the original French doors, the thick interior walls they only used to use, the arched ceiling in the living room (which really carried the sound of the grand piano), the original cranks for opening the windows in the sun room, and the original wood floors from the 30’s, which we uncovered and restored to their original beauty.

Fernando beckons you to the outside as well: to the dog run for a quiet early morning cup of coffee under the ash tree, in the front garden to read the newspaper amidst the succulents with the breaking sun, or to eat in the back or behind the garage in separate sitting areas. Over the years, we dined outside from March to December, and when the weather allowed it, in the winter as well.

Fernando reminded of my childhood in the Midwest: Kids go by to school or on bikes, people stroll to the shopping areas nearby, mothers push their baby carriages and partners take evening walks with their dogs or just together. It’s the way life used to be, watching the goings-on from the porch, or from the garden, pausing to have a chat with a neighbor or stranger in town passing by, or people admiring our xeriscaped landscaping. One day a man walked up to the house and tapped on the window, and told me he had had cookies and milk as a child in the sunroom (which we use as a dining room). He wanted to see the place again and revisit those memories.

We loved our neighbors, Geri, Scott, Lisa, Anne-Marie, Jane, Stephanie, Jim, Robert, Drew, and the old folks down the way, yet none was scrunched right up against us. We lived and let live, as the stone in our garden says, respecting each other yet living our own lives.

We will miss you all.