Once there was a spot

                         

                           
                                          Once there was a spot

       It was a small town, known only to a select few, me and thirty thousand others.   We were between two large cities, and two large highways that ran east and west of us.  To the south, looming at a distance (a safe distance), is the old and battered city of Stockton, known for its corruption, its failed industries and its drug related crimes.  And to the north, is that metropolis of sacred memories known as Sacramento, a city on steroids, overly ambitious, insecure, continually tapping on wine glasses for want of attention and still not getting it.

         But we were separated from these two entities, from their noise and pollution, and its huge expenditures on crime and poverty, by the miles of pasture lands, countless vineyards and endless tracts of wild life preserves.  Yes, Lodi was our little  enclave of serene calm, pure air, and clean water, water that tasted better than bottled.  People here tolerated strangers. We say good morning without a flinch.  No drivers honked their horns from lack of patience.  Even the police department issues parking tickets with deference and apologies.
  
        This place was ideal for seniors: the climate was mild, the terrain was flat and the hospital was but three minutes away by ambulance from any point in the city. It was also an idea place for employment because the town was filled with small, efficient  manufacturers of niche items, specialty shops of various sizes, restaurants, health clubs, wine tasting bars, and supermarkets the size of two football fields.
    
       So what's not to like?  Change, of course. Change and Growth.  Combined, it's like a growing cancer enlarging the seams of our city limits.  Huge yellow tractors appeared one day, breaking the ground, leveling the dirt, driving away wild turkeys to meet their quick death on the village square.  Ever so slowly we morphed from a small, unique and friendly town into a sprawl of two story houses with flimsy plaster board walls and rooms identical to one another.  Developers turned over a rock and discovered gold. 

       The ambiance of being a small village lost its essence and we were no longer alone.  We became a city.  We became the center of everything: the Wine Center, the Entertainment Center, the Geographic Center of the State.  We were equal distance between the city-by-the bay and the skiing of Tahoe. We are now a haven for retired people with a big city culture.  We have become them!

        And it all came to me, this revelation that the Lodian culture of gentility and moderation had gradually withered away, was when I awoke this morning and made my groggy way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth.  I rinsed my mouth, and slowly, very slowly, I realized that the water...the water was...bad.