Play Grounds Around Me At the Berkeley Marina is a playground made of scrap. It tumbles and turns to tangle and maze. Blackie’s Pasture, in Tiburon has an open, pristine playground, with a view of the city, and the bay. The flush toilet tucks close to the path. Dogs, if seen, are leashed. Kay Park, in Tam Valley , fences their playground. The benches are inside. The grass is outside, for the dogs. There is no place to sit and watch, unless you bring a child. I find it lonely, though parents deem it safe. Eastwood Park never seems to have a permanent playground, because no structure is safe enough, so in and out they go, and there is quite an uproar, when the dogs and cats think the sand is boxed, conveniently for them. Kentfield’s park has pirate ships with masts and look-outs. There are places to run, command, and hide, as parallel play, and individual play, coincide. I am thinking now Eastwood should have a solar park to capture all the wind. The children could swing on windmills and pedal bikes attached to generators providing lights for nightly rendezvous and climbs. I gaze at playgrounds, anticipating grandchildren, I can lift onto slides and push on swings, but, now, I’m wondering. why there aren’t any playgrounds my size. Where is my place to climb and swing, to integrate all the parts of me, and the spaces inbetween? I wiggle now the bars from the inside out, and space them just right, and climb up, and the view is magic, and just right for my age and height.