We left Yosemite and our cabin headed for Folsom and family and passed through Somewhere California. The terrain was ever-changing, from snow to foothills, up and over through range land, and into the grids of small towns and cities that then reach to the urban centers of the coast. Wow! So many people and so many cultures. Coming from the far white north where white means everything from the color of the snow to the color of the people and culture and to be immersed into this multicultural display is like listening to an eloquent symphony. I marvel at the way the world comes together as a giant adagio where we breathe the same oxygen, exhale the same carbon dioxide and produce the same need: wanting our freedom to live where we choose and carve out our piece of humanity with a stamp of our identity. Eventually we stopped below Folsom in a four-cornered plot called Elk Grove and found a pizzeria. Nothing fancy and nothing extraordinary, it was simply a place with some outside tables and red and white checkered table cloths where we could play cribbage and eat a couple of slices of pepperoni pizza. The traffic was loud, the music 1970’s rock-n-roll, and there was a cat wandering around with a penchant for pizza crust. When I inquired of the young lady wiping tables as to the name of the cat, she said she didn’t know. She said it just shows up and hangs out. I smiled and looked around adding the quiet feline to the host of other people and places we passed during the trip and felt secure knowing he, to, has found his place in Somewhere California.