Still, through the process of naturalization resulting from long residence in each milieu, I also feel that I can claim dual citizenship in both the past and the present.

It's this kind of feeling that leads me to ponder the question: What departed features of Saratoga and Saratoga life do I really miss?

Well, I could begin with the Village. I miss the Saratoga Drugstore soda fountain. For that matter, I miss the drugstore itself—we had two such establishments not so many years ago—but the fountain was removed from the original store some time before it closed.

That soda fountain had its finest moment in the famous Life magazine article of 1946 in which actress Donna Reed was sent to Saratoga to be "reindoctrinated" with small-town atmosphere in preparation for her role with James Stewart in It's A Wonderful Life. Among the pictures of her mingling with Saratoga's "friendly yokelry" was one in which she was at the drugstore soda fountain enjoying "the small-town privilege of a free look at the magazines" along with her refreshment.

Another thing I miss is the hardware store. It bugs me when, finding that I need a certain size of bolt or some simple electrical device like a light switch, I have to drive to Los Gatos or to Orchard Supply down on Prospect Road to buy such a minor item. I used to be able to get these kinds of things by just walking downtown.

I also miss not being able to get a lube job or have my car repaired without having to drive more than two miles. Time was when Saratoga Village had three auto repair garages and four service stations. Now, you not only can't get a lube job here, you can't even get the various grades of gasoline at competitive prices.

I miss the Saratoga Theater, which, in its later years, was known as the Vitaphone. Going back in history, there was a considerable negative reaction in town when, in 1947, a stately oak tree in a vacant lot at the southwest corner of Third Street and Big Basin Way was cut down to make way for a large Quonset hut housing a movie theater. Today the term Quonset hut would bring mostly blank stares. But during World War II and for a time thereafter, the half-elliptical structures made of corrugated metal were familiar features on the landscape.

The front part of the theater, facing Big Basin Way, was a conventional two-story structure with office space in addition to the theater. The functional Quonset hut portion paralleled Third Street. Though less than an architectural gem on the outside, inside it was everything you'd want in a theater: excellent acoustics and sight lines and comfortable seats. The soundproofed "cry room" was a boon to parents with small children. Today it would be good to have such a facility for people who bring cell phones.

Among the other-than-Village experiences that I miss is the croaking of frogs along Saratoga Creek. Since the creek runs through our property on Saratoga Avenue, my family got the benefit of this periodic chorus. I don't know if this had to do with the mating season, but it made for a soothing lullaby. It sounded almost as if the chorus was coming in on cue, and one could visualize a frog-conductor waving a reptilian baton.

My idea of nirvana is being able to go to sleep to the croaking of frogs and awaken to the blast of a steam locomotive whistle as the train approaches Congress Junction. Once it was so.

It seems to me I've heard or read that frogs and certain other amphibians have mostly disappeared because of some environmental dislocation having to do with the ozone layer or some such. Anyway, we don't lack for nocturnal noise now, but it comes from the other direction and it's called traffic. I'll settle for frogs.

It wasn't a strictly Saratoga institution, but there's another feature of local life that I miss and that's Kenneth Peake's Claravale Dairy in Monte Sereno. Still in operation in the mid-1990s, the dairy was a real phenomenon: livestock grazing in a pasture set in the midst of million-dollar homes. The great thing for us Saratogans was that Claravale delivered, and for us that meant having the milk put into our refrigerator on the back porch. Kenneth Peake was a valued friend and an interesting person. Now long gone, he was an essential part of the community fabric that prompts me to say, "I miss that."