I don't have the answers yet, but I have learned enough to be dangerous, and ask better questions..

I've just come back from Lake Tahoe, where I had no phone, no internet, no TV, and few distractions other than, "Where are we going to swim today?" and "What shall we eat?"

There is a lot to be said for that kind of life.

I hated coming back. I like a life of contemplation and survival in the woods. I like being in nature. I enjoy watching sunrises and sunsets through tall trees. I love hiking and finding new delightful pristine swim spots.

Yesterday, back in Santa Barbara, I stopped to ask someone the time. They couldn't speak English. Only Spanish. My daughter has a little friend whose mother and grandmother have lived here for years. They only speak Spanish, no English. When the little girl came home from school announcing she would only speak English in the home, they clamped down on her and said no way. The language has to be Spanish.

And this bugs me.

Worse, it bugs me that it bugs me. Where is my tolerance? Where is my patience? My openness? Why do I think it's cute that in San Francisco's Chinatown, many menus and signs are in Chinese? Why don't I take umbrage to the fact that many San Francisco Chinese speak only Chinese in the home? Why pick on the Mexicans?

I sat with this awhile. I think the answer is this: One, I don't live in San Francisco, so I really don't experience the co-culture community there as a resident might. Two, Chinese there seem to be limited to a small enclave of the city. They're not ubiquitous. And they mostly know English, at least all the ones I spoke to did. Three, there wasn't a demand that I learn Chinese to accommodate them.

At my daughter's school, I had to fill out numerous forms recently to transfer her in. They were double-sided: one side English, the other, Spanish. I wondered over this. How do people obey traffic laws, get access to news, and otherwise exist in a society where you don't speak the language? I've encountered this myself in travels to Central America and Europe. Many countries there expect you to speak their language, and really, I see nothing wrong with this. I go there, I should learn their ways rather than expect them to change for me.

But something else is happening here. While in Miami a couple of years ago, I noticed that the Cubano populations had greatly influenced the flavor of the city, on all fronts. And many signs were in Spanish as well as English. Racial tensions were very high, though, especially between African American and Cuban Americans. On an exploration, I stopped to read a sign outside a delicious-smelling Cubano restaurant:

"The city of Miami forbids the practice of tipping based on race, sex, color, creed, etc."

Why in the world would the city of Miami need to enact such a law? I soon found out. A nice older Cubano waiter took my order at the counter and promptly delivered my food. It was as delicious as I'd detected outside, and I ate with gusto. While I was eating, a middle-aged African American male came in and stood next to me, trying to get the waiter's attention. Suddenly, my pleasant waiter turned stiff and studiously ignored the man. I finally intervened and got his attention, and he begrudgingly waited on the man, clearly annoyed. Both were pretty agitated by this time. My plates were cleared immediately and coffee and desert offered, which I of course accepted. My counter-mate's food finally arrived, to go, and he took it in a huff, leaving no tip. The Cubano watched this, and grumbled.

From this one incident, I began to get a view into a world I'd never suspected existed. This was some other America, some place not visible unless you travel there, live there, and experience it for yourself. Here was an obviously long-standing integration problem magnified for my view. Here were two groups unable to live happily alongside one another, after many decades of trying.

I shuddered.

Integration into a new society is always hard. Even in New York City, I suppose there were problems getting Italians to speak solely English in and out of their communities. I have heard of the old grandmas who never spoke anything but Italian and slaved over hot stoves all day churning out Italian dishes only experienced in the home country. But the Spanish integration into this country seems more....difficult. More hostile, on all sides, and more determined to hold onto its language, its foods, and even its nationality. As I watch the French struggle with the Muslims, the English struggle with the Pakistanis, and we struggle to integrate the Mexican and Cuban cultures on both coasts, I wonder if there is some new movement arising in immigration, one where you transport your old country with you, and assert that the new country accede to some of your customs and language needs.

There is a determinist mindset in this country that newcomers must assimilate. But enforcement has been something else, something quite different. We seem to have gone the other way, and not really done much to stop illegal immigration, and force adoption of the language, and integration into the society. One argument currently is that large movements of immigrants constitute the new underclass. So the Irish and Italians of the last century were the old underclass, the Mexicans of this century are the new one. As the underclass desires to climb the ranks of the society, they will integrate, and expand the social fabric of the culture by introducing pride in their heritage. This seems to be the system, admittedly.

Is it right?

Doesn't feel like it.

And doesn't feel real comfortable either.

And that bothers me most....my discomfort. I feel I should be more tolerant. And yet I find myself sticking....and this is an extremely uncomfortable place to be. As the nation sorts out its own views, I am sorting out mine. And the process is anything but easy.