San Francisco – The New NormL

Sunday Streets and my sore feets

(Yes, I know that is not grammatically correct, I was well taught but a rebel at heart.)

***Join me on a stroll through San Francisco’s SOMA district, and more.***

This past weekend, San Francisco’s “Sunday Streets” program focused on Folsom street in the South of Market neighborhood. Sunday Streets is held occasionally throughout the year (after a COVID pause like most of life everywhere) which shuts down traffic and opens up the asphalt for exploration by foot and other wheeled vehicles like bikes, skateboards and baby strollers. Local merchants, arts groups, civic clubs and just about anything you might think of (and more) can be found, with unique flavors from the heritage and history of the various neighborhoods. San Francisco has many layers – some not always visible, some forgotten and some we would like to erase; this is a unique way to take to the time to meander through blocks you might otherwise never notice driving by, meet old friends and make new ones, and see a little bit of other niches of life that might otherwise escape your notice.

Folsom street was shut down from Main (near the bay) to 9^th street – but it extends much farther than this 1.5 mile segment which was car free for about 5 hours. It parallels Market Street – which runs from the Ferry building all the way out to the Castro neighborhood, but unlike Market there are no cable car rails or street car cables. Folsom itself was named for Joseph Libbey Folsom (1817-1855), of New Hampshire, who served in the Army and came to Yerba Buena, as the area was then known, in March 1847. Like so many then and now, he started to invest in real estate, became a millionaire, and eventually bought acreage near Sacramento which in time was also named for him. He died at age 38 – it’s interesting to wonder how he would view the city 175 years after his arrival, and the street bearing his name.

I didn’t know that about the street when I set out from my gym Sunday morning, taking another parallel street, Brannan, and walking from 9^th all the way to the Embarcadero, so I had already strolled 1.5 miles by the time I reached the bay. Why not look up the source of that name? Well, it was Samuel Brannan, (1819-1889), Mormon settler and founder of the first newspaper in SF, the “California Star”. Might he have known Folsom? Could they have imagined one day thousands of cars would run on asphalt streets bearing their names?

***What would the citizens of San Francisco 1922 have thought could they see their future city?***

Along the way, I passed shiny new condo buildings, and older industrial buildings; a few tents on the sidewalk, but not nearly as many as in some parts of the city. Here, at the pace of my feet instead of traffic, at eye level and not behind a windshield, one can view that which somehow is invisible on any other day; colorful murals like the red, white and blue quotes from the Statue of Liberty, otherwise blocked by a chain link fence; the menu from a steakhouse featuring dishes I would never order at prices I will never, ever pay; the nearby tents along the way where what public officials refer to as our “unhoused” find temporary shelter. Few pass me along the way; I decide to say hello to some, and good morning – it’s a habit I think I will try to continue, but it seems a little anachronistic these days, sadly. I realize it is a way of acknowledging their worth, their personhood – and mine – and it only takes a little courage.

***It’s amazing how the view changes when you can get past a chain link fence.***

Reaching the Embarcadero – from the Spanish, “to embark”, a place of departure, usually from a waterfront – I see the bay ahead. It is a sunny morning, much different from the foggy gloom of our home just a handful of miles away. Here, on the corner, I see a restaurant I have heard of but never visited, another blur from the car as we pass – Delancey Street. Operated by a foundation that gives substance abusers, ex-convicts, and others who find help there for over 4 decades now, it is part of our city’s legacy of seeking ways to provide opportunity and hope; some work, some do not – but dreamers keep coming, and I would see more of them today.

***The charming Delancey Street restaurant – an organization that gives people second chances.***

Yet just footsteps away as I continue along the way back to Folsom, I see a tall fence, with zero visibility, and what I grew up calling “quonset huts” but probably have a lot more creative name now – it looks kind of like a prison, and not until I see a very plain sign reading “Navigation Center” do I realize this is one of those creative efforts. One of some notoriety these days, where addicts are invited to safely get access to services relating to homelessness, drug addiction, and more – like many, my life has been spared these challenges for the most part. Perhaps like you, I am sorry to admit I could be more compassionate; whatever goes on behind those high fences, and blocked walls, I would like to believe some lives find new hope when they come out on the street, but I cannot say. These are not just problems here, or now.

***What little the public can see of a “Navigation Center”***

I spot something across the main boulevard that I have heard about – “Red’s Java House” – and decide this is the perfect time to explore this tiny piece of mid 20^th century SF. Entering the small building filled with SF Giants memorabilia – the stadium is not far away, and fans have been coming here for some time – your eyes are drawn to the hundreds of black and white photos covering the walls and the simple diner furniture. I decide to order a “double dog” – which is basically two sausages on sourdough with some condiments and cheese, and sets me back $12 before tip – but satisfies my hunger completely. The back patio overlooks the bay, with a small bar; this is not a game day, it is not busy, but considering this small haven has been serving up tasty comfort food and beer for almost 70 years, it was the perfect refresher.

I continue on and stop to admire the view of the bay, the SF Fire department station with their seaworthy equipment, the Bay bridge passing overhead towards Treasure Island, and the giant bow and arrow seemingly shot from the sky above into the earth below, just where Folsom street is about to begin. This is “Cupid’s Span”, a sculpture from 2002 that relates to a legend with which I am completely unfamiliar, of Eros shooting his arrow into the earth to make it fertile.

***A view of the bay bridge and the Embacadero***

I continue on and stop to admire the view of the bay, the SF Fire department station with their seaworthy equipment, the Bay bridge passing overhead towards Treasure Island, and the giant bow and arrow seemingly shot from the sky above into the earth below, just where Folsom street is about to begin. When I return home, I find this is “Cupid’s Span”, a sculpture from 2002 that relates to a legend with which I am completely unfamiliar, of Eros shooting his arrow into the earth to make it fertile.

***If you ever have a trivia question about where a dinosaur skull is in SF … now you know.***

Nearby, a marker explains that where we stand now there used to be creatures who no longer walk this earth – with a replica of a dinosaur head gazing out towards the bay. Two moments, one of history, one of myth – the base elements of much of what makes up this kaleidoscopic city with all its chaos and joys and desires. I nod towards the nearby Ferry Building from 1898 – I feel a kind of kinship with it, knowing our home was built that same year, and like many structures that no longer stand, are witnesses to time in a way I can never be.

Finally, I am at Folsom and Main, and barriers announcing the beginning of the next 1.5 miles of my journey – the “Sunday Streets” event. A Jazz combo with an awning next to a trailer welcomes locals to have a seat and groove – how many are locals, and how many tourists? I have no way to tell. As I stroll block after block, the music shifts – there are rock groups and vocalists, someone with an accordion. There are skateboard “slalom” courses, and “rock climbing” towers; indoor gold stations and other businesses I never would have guessed lined these streets. Nearby, the museum of modern art and other institutions mingle among the shiny new condo towers and the nearly deserted churches whose stained glass windows are covered with protective grating – but from the inside, the light still finds a way through. The stacks of buildings from different eras seem to push in on one another like children in a lunch line, scrambling for space – there was a time when few suites were empty, but that time is gone. I admire one of the older “residents” – the E.M. O’Donnell copper works building, just over 100 years old; it recently sold for $9M to a residential architecture firm. It is dwarfed by the Sales Force Tower looming over everything in its purvue. Even in this period of uncertainty, some of our heritage remains, preserved, witnesses.

SOMA is home to many cultural institutions and communities; there are many stories here. The SOMA Pilipinas Filipino heritage district shared a model of the current vision for a “gateway” to their history here; everything in this city passes through generations of cultures, each leaving an imprint, but not always remembered or celebrated by all. Emigrants from the Philippines have been woven into the fabric of our city for over 120 years; like those from China, Italy, and around the world, they have made San Francisco something unique, vibrant, bringing new energy and hope.

**The planned span “Gateway” to the Pilipinas Heritage District – inspiring and sacred.**

And of course there are politicians – and causes – represented by booths and speakers. I got a smile from the “Climate Anxiety” booth who asked if they could help me, and explained that their “Lucy” had fallen ill that day; too bad, as it was one of the first truly beautiful summer days so far in what many here call “Fogust”. I also stopped to chat with a representative of the LGBT hotline, whose rainbow phone caught my eye; they have been a resource for people seeking support and community across our country since they started in a broom closet of a gay bathhouse in NYC in the 70’s. Out of the closet, indeed. Nearing the end of the route, this is the area included in the Leather/LGBTQ cultural district – a haven for decades of shops, artists, bars, and refuge for another “tribe” of our city, one where many voices and many hearts seek new homes.

I’ve walked over 3 miles now, and nearly 4 hours, and through 150 years of time; I have seen many faces and heard different voices, but all smiling, all happy to be able to walk in the sun. Perhaps not all see what I see, or hear what I hear – but the city speaks to me, soft voices, even silent ones. Here, and in your city, there are places we see but we do not see – and faces, too. We drive through them – they are not our home, not our block, not our people. Or are they? I cannot say this stroll has changed me … nor have I changed much here, either. But as I make it back to my car with feet aching to be freed from their shoes at home, I realize I want to see what I have not, at ground level, without glass in between, free of the reminders of appointments – to discover, to unearth, to be awed and reminded that beauty remains, waiting to shine, if we only look. If we only listen.

***“Cupid’s Span”, from 2002; in the distance, the 1898 Ferry Building Clock tower; and, some guy.***

Next time I explore our city by foot, I will have to remind myself, again, to say “good morning” to strangers, if that is the world I want to be a part of, again. Perhaps our paths will cross – do say hello. And join me in walking your own streets, you will find treasures there as well. Until next time …..

Bouquets to Art at the De Young

It’s with a special kind of joy that I can write about what we used to take for granted – a trip to the museum. Mask free (although, I admit, here in San Francisco many are still opting in). But even with a mask, there is a sense of freedom about events, gatherings, and yes – even the return of the Pride parade and celebration next week. So, at last, I can resume posting occasionally about our local attractions and history, as well as enjoying it in person!

When my husband and I learned that the De Young museum in Golden Gate Park was welcoming back their unique annual tradition of floral arrangements coordinated with all kinds of works of art throughout history, we jumped on the chance to buy tickets. Words cannot describe the magic of seeing something so delicate (and short lived) as the amazing variety of flowers, plant and organic materials selected carefully to compliment, coordinate or echo the works of traditional artists around the world, and over the centuries, in the many galleries of this beautiful museum. And so, words will be minimal here, with the focus (forgive the pun) on my strictly amateur iPhone pics from our adventure last week. But, if you would like more, there will be a link at the end for further exploration – and, as always, some observations.

One “guidebook” note, for those not familiar with the De Young and it’s amazing variety of artists works and special exhibits – it is well worth a visit annually. Golden Gate Park is truly a jewel, not just in our city or state, but for the country; and it is a truly international representation of creativity and beauty. With that, here we go!

I really admired this “Black and white” arrangement with similar graphic works!

Niagra falls – in 2, and 3 dimensions.

A stunning juxtaposition with this large wall panel. Breathtaking!

You may have noticed other observers of these amazing creations, which come from floral designers of all backgrounds through a very competitive submission process. It is of course a fund raiser for the museum, and a huge draw – for just 5 days. We went fairly early on day 3, a Thursday – and it was increasingly difficult to enjoy the displays without someone popping into “our space”. Still, I got a big kick out of one fellow visitor, who, after studying the floral arrangement, seemed to be equally if not more puzzled by the adjacent art it emulated!

Because, of course, what is great art is extremely subjective (for the most part). Personally, I love landscapes – and I just don’t “get” a lot of a lot of the less traditional approaches (which is why I don’t enjoy the Museum of Modern Art nearly as much!). I have no idea what goes through the minds of most artists as they create – but it is in the act of creating we have a chance to express something deeper that we wish to offer one another. Finding something within, and letting it come forth, to be shared.

I am struck by the fleeting nature of these botanical works – they literally become landfill within days of their debut – and they require incredible skill, a vast knowledge and, I wager, a deep devotion to this unique craft. Most of what we create, work towards, fret over, in life – in time, fades. What we don’t forget ourselves, ultimately is lost to time. Yet there is something timeless in our drive to accomplish – whether through traditional “art” or other pursuits. It is in our nature to want to leave something behind; to be remembered by. Perhaps we all can see, shimmering behind the beauty of what stands on display in the museum, the deeper creativity that we all carry within, that longs to be expressed, shared, celebrated – and be just a little inspired to reach beyond what we have tried before, whatever our personal “creations” may be. I hope this little journey gives you, like me, the opportunity to consider what we might have, uniquely, to create – and contribute – anew. After all, in the traditional text of Genesis, to create is the most divine attribute which we share with whatever source brought all of this into being.

For further – and much better quality – images of this amazing exhibit, I direct you to the website of another artist – Ron Henggler. His reports on so many aspects of our history and community are always eye openers – I highly recommend you explore his other offerings, but you can click here for a link to his report on Bouquets to Art 2022!

Finally – GET OUT! It’s time! Explore – learn – share – discover – and treasure the beauty we have missed for so long. For those who cannot reach San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park to visit the De Young in person, here is a pleasant little video tour I found to inspire YOU to enjoy that which remains waiting in your neighborhood – and around our wonderful world.

That’s it for this tour, friends!! As always, I welcome your feedback – and hey, maybe even suggestions of what you’d like me to visit in the days to come. There will be more adventures – I hope you have enjoyed being alongside today, and see you next time!

Me and my hubby – without masks and loving life!

Small mercies, great grace, and choices to be made

It was only slightly more than a year ago, March 2020 when our city, our state, and our nation entered a period of what many of us grew quickly tired of hearing was “an abundance of caution”. Certainly, the steps taken since helped curb the spread of disease and death – sadly, some naysayers came to regret their misplaced beliefs. And almost as certainly, some of the steps we took as individuals, communities and nations were if not unnecessary, ineffective – based on tentative, evolving knowledge that still is far from final. What worked, what didn’t – time will sort this out, perhaps. But we all were frustrated and afraid for a very long time – particularly those who lost family and friends forever or came close to an abrupt end of their own lives. And today, although some indicators here where I live are very encouraging, there are still vast populations of our planet that are struggling under waves of death, loss, and destruction that will not soon disappear. We have collectively gone through trauma.

When the vaccines started to be made available early in 2021, first to select populations then slowly widening circles of eligibility, my husband – who fell into a more at-risk category – was able to get his shots, and I was very grateful, and content to wait my “turn”. Stories began to reach us both – rumors in some cases, personal experiences in others. Friends with the same insurance coverage but less “eligible” than me had been contacted to receive their first shots; I received multiple, well intended but questionable recommendations to basically go somewhere and simply lie about my employment or status, as others had successfully done. And, there were individuals in our circle of loved ones who were more at risk than me, still waiting. You, as well, probably were faced with ethical choices – assuming you wanted to get the shots – and were in an area where there was even any supply.

During the year or so since we first entered varying stages of “shutdown isolation”, I had taken refuge by focusing somewhat on fitness, working out on a limited basis initially at home on the back patio with a few hand weights, then enrolling in a “trainer” session program at a gym where the equipment was brought out on the sidewalk for individual use. This blossomed over time into a tent workout area in the gym parking lot, then eventually limited access inside the gym itself. There were friends who spoke to me, and others who did not speak aloud but their perspective was clear – I was taking unnecessary, foolish risks. I was being selfish and egotistical. Like so many issues in what seems like an eternity, our differences become exaggerated; chasms, not cracks, start to divide us. For me, going to the gym – albeit not as effectively as I had hoped (yet) – was a way to direct my energy toward something positive, safely.

***One of countless lines in our world, this is the one I stood in, with tentative Hope***.

The San Francisco powers that be had set up a mass vaccination program at a local convention center, and someone at the gym mentioned that they knew of two members who had gone to the “stand by line”, who, like me, were not in an eligible category but “walked right in” with little wait and got their shots. My frustrations at hearing from friends who were less eligible but vaccinated, other “I know the facts more than you” contacts who proclaimed I could go anywhere for a shot, and the encouragement to simply go lie was overwhelming. It was a horrible circumstance, made worse by all the voices around me claiming conflicting facts and, in a sense, cheering their own status at the expense of the many eligible but frustrated people trying to book appointments, or simply even find a location with supply. The chorus seemed to be saying – hey, dummy, why don’t you have your shots yet? It was incessant; I could not complain for being healthy; but I decided to take a chance.

On a drizzly cold March Sunday morning, when the “time change” took effect, I left early for downtown, discovered some nearby street parking (a rarity here), and walked to Moscone center, finding a long line growing longer by the minute even before the doors opened. After an extensive wait through the line snaking around the building and ultimately through the doors – I was rejected. I was ineligible; they no longer were allowing folks like me to wait for unclaimed doses. The next day, the window of eligibility was widening to an even greater population statewide – but, still excluding me. I felt defeated – I did not blame the outdated information, there was no one at fault – it was simply not my time. That did not stop me from indulging in comfort food which had no effect on protecting me from COVID but sure was tasty, and also completely contradictory to my fitness efforts. As I walked to my car, I was greeted by more texts, more advice, more insisting that I could go anywhere now to get a shot, everyone was doing it, etc. etc. etc. I decided to drop my efforts and just hunker down, waiting (as the app proclaims) “my turn”, and finding some solace in the hope that my more at risk friends and essential workers were getting treated.

I was very stressed out – it affected my husband and others around me. It was not healthy to try to find a way to stay healthy, in this case. I gave it a lot of thought. It was a few days later before I was at the gym the same day as my contact who had encouraged me to attempt my failed efforts – I sat in the car, awaiting my “entry window” by appointment, and just said a prayer, honestly. Prayer has different meanings for most everyone – I don’t know what I would like, but there are times that I believe it is something that brings me to a kind of peace, and acceptance. Sitting outside the gym, I just acknowledged that there was nothing I could do; that I would go on, and wait, and let go of my expectations and efforts, as well as the frustrations I felt towards all the conflicting advisors telling me what I was doing wrong; just set it all aside, live my life daily, and trust.

As I have written before, I know my upbringing, with elements of religion and some seed of faith – I differentiate between the two – is uniquely personal, and not everyone looks at the events of life and sees anything other than chance in the outcomes. Nevertheless, if I had not taken the time that morning to silently pray, accept and let go of the vaccine monkey on my back – or, if I had remained in the car, sulking, for another minute – I would not have walked up to the counter and met a stranger. My friend who had encouraged me to “line up” was chatting with another member as I signed in – I could hear him asking how work was going, and how they had not seen one another in months. But it was the strangers comment that he was working 12- and 14-hour days, and that they were treating thousands daily, that let me realize this stranger was one of hundreds who worked at the vaccination center I had been turned away from days before. Then, unexpectedly, my friend turned to me and said, “Hey Norm – how did your visit to Moscone go this weekend”? Truly without regret, or intent, I just shared that I had been turned away, and that they were no longer offering “unclaimed” vaccines, especially now that a broader eligible population was competing for appointments and shots – and that I was, of course, not yet among them, but it was ok.

There are moments of grace in our world. It’s not a word you hear on the news; rarely are there stories about mercy, and miracles. We don’t always recognize these “gifts” – we don’t always see when someone acts out of kindness, we are blinded by the mountains of things demanding our attention – too busy to “see the invisible” surrounding us everywhere. But for me, this moment was undeniably a miracle, one not sought or expected. The stranger turned to me and said – how old are you? I shared that my 63^rd birthday was just a few days away, and that I was ok waiting – I could not complain that I am healthy, or that my needs took priority over others. To me, this was just a kind inquiry from one of the many hundreds of staff and volunteers here, and millions worldwide. But he was not just one of the many – I honestly don’t know what his role was, or his background – but he asked me if I would like an appointment that day; he could add my name to the list, he had a few daily and I could just come around later and give my name at the door, and get my first shot.

I am not ashamed to admit I nearly broke down crying. This was a gift, and only moments after I had let go of my demands, my needs, and decided to just walk on in faith as best I could.

***This “heart of San Francisco” stands in the lobby of the vaccination center***

That afternoon, my husband dropped me off – there was no line at the doors this time, and as he drove away, I read the handwritten sign – no more “non appointment” shots today. For a moment I feared my trip was again in vain – but the stranger had said just give my name. I explained to the attendant at the door who pulled out the list of additions – my name was not to be found. I asked for follow up and showed the text I had received confirming my appointment – which led to a period of waiting, in silence, alone. I once again had to just let go. A few moments later, a friendly administrator came by – trying to call my “gym angel” – to no avail.

We do not always get what we want. Certainly, we do not always get what we deserve – whether because of good deeds or bad. It is a myth, I think, to believe that everything is for a reason – we have choices. My choice, daily, mostly unconscious, is how I conduct myself with others; what I hold dear; how I show love to my husband and family; how I treat strangers. I fail miserably a great deal of the time, and there are plenty who can attest to that. But it is in those choices I grow. I can’t pick the outcomes, only the kind of person I want to be, and try to take little steps toward that goal.

Who is to say why things ‘work out”, or don’t? Or even what is the best outcome – we just want to make what we can of our lives. In my case, on that day – as the administrator rechecked her records, she did find my name, and my smile shone as I rode the escalator down to a crowded hall where hundreds, like me, waited for their time with a nurse, answered some routine questions, and then, felt a little prick. A tiny sensation that somehow opened the doors to hope more than they were that morning. As I ascended the stairs to the crowded exits, a familiar face greeted me – if only in cardboard cutout form. And I walked into the daylight. Two weeks later, as scheduled, I received my second shot; and, as I write, I am just past the two week “waiting period”. I don’t physically feel different, or healthier; but I do feel an immeasurable sense of relief. I held off posting on Facebook, knowing how frustrated I had felt and that thousands like me here were still waiting their turn, while others sat by their loved ones hoping they would recover; my gratitude was humbled because I had received a gift, undeservedly – perhaps that is a fitting definition for grace, in a way.

***Hey, Tony, thanks a bunch!! Glad you stopped by to say hi – but – no mask?***?

Today, almost a month later, I know there are many more still waiting for their chance to be in that line, or others like it. Watching the news this week with my husband, we silently viewed the drone footage of mass cremations outdoors in India; and we know there are many who still do not want to take the shot, or wear the mask. We are not “through” with COVID by any means – and our communities, country, and planet will not I think ever fully put all this behind them. Nor should they; we must grow through this. But somehow, I feel I am at a point of turning in my life. All the time the past year plus that I spent fearful of losing my husband, other loved ones who did become ill, or leaving him and them without me in their lives – there was a lot of sleepless nights, of questioning what my priorities were, and reassessing what I believe. There were moments of conflict with others that were exacerbated by our joint tensions; changes in relationships; realizations that things that seemed so very important before perhaps don’t really matter as much as I thought they did.

Life would be so much easierif the path was always easy to find – but increasingly it is not what happens to us but our choices that define us. Finding our way through feels more like M.C. Escher’s world every day!

I am changed. When I registered this blog in late 2019, Wuhan was not even in the news; it was not until we were isolated in our home that I began posting, just over a year ago. I have made 34 posts … I have a few friends that sometimes encourage me; I have followers who are strangers. Someone asked me recently what my blog was about; perhaps if I had registered “The new Normal”.com I would be discovered, but that was not my goal. I wanted to share, something undefinable – my growth; my discoveries, my questions and my uncertainties. My humanity – in hopes that someone who might be in the place once was would find some “light” from my path for their own. Instead, my sharing has been, in a way, a healing process. We all need healing today, and we are not going to find it on our own. We are all going through a process of renewal and discovery, separately and together, stumbling, holding one another up; I cannot pretend that I have more answers today, but somehow, I have peace that as I walk – as we all walk the path ahead, wherever it leads – I will find the steps.

***From the Nat King Cole classic – “Nature boy” – my education continues.***

Friends, I hope you too will find your way, and reach out to those near you. For me, this is a period of deep reassessment – including my hopes for this blog. A journey, as I titled it, toward “authenticity”. I hope to see you again soon, and that in some way, for some one out there who happens upon my little thoughtful spot – you too, find and share hope. And, grace. Thank you to the “angels” who helped me get my vaccine – and were part of this lesson learned – I had to let go, to take hold – to have my hands open to receive, not reaching, only waiting. They probably will never see these words, and I probably would not know their faces again – but Alice, Bobby, Clarissa, Daniel, Winnie and all those healthcare workers reaching out around the world – you are my angels. See you soon, friends.

***San Francisco bus stop billboards … part of our remarkable city.***

Free, for a limited time … after all, isn’t all time limited? Thanks for stopping by!

Today’s tales of two cities

“Sheltering in place” …. These words will forever be tied to this moment in time. Just like “out of an abundance of caution”, and “follow the science” – gentle ways of framing circumstances we would rather avoid, and we wish, somehow, we could erase. Roughly a year after those pandemic clouds gathered fully over San Francisco, skies are beginning, at last, to brighten a little bit here in what poet George Sterling first named the “cool, grey city of love”. During this year our lives have been restrained, by choice and by force, to varying degrees – so, when I saw that the good folks at City Guides San Francisco were resuming walking tours through neighborhoods and time, I signed up for a Sunday morning excursion – “The Russian Hill Steps”. And, yes … there were a LOT of steps, as you will see!

***The first steps on the Russian hill tour, and the view to the bay.***

Long before the Gold Rush that transformed our city, well before statehood, Russia was seriously moving to colonize western North America. Nearly 300 years ago Russian Emperor Peter the Great directed an effort to explore the area, rich in promise for the critical fur trade; it was Russian Orthodox missionaries who first worked to evangelize the Alaska Territory. Russia established Fort Ross was established near Bodega Bay in 1812. During those years, a cemetery for Russian Sailors was established in the area of this tour, hence the name Russian Hill. But the Spanish military presence in the Presidio and the related mission predated the Russian presence in what was then called Yerba Buena, and well outlasted it. Eventually giving in to political upheaval and other factors, Russia pulled back its hoped-for claims in Northern America; wouldn’t that have been an alternate reality!

My own history here is much shorter, of course – a relative newbie, I did not have the opportunity to visit San Francisco until well after my youth, even though I group up in Inland Southern California. But …. I had seen the world-famous steep curves in another world landmark – the happiest place on Earth, Disneyland! Back in the 50’s, and then updated as the years passed, Tomorrowland featured “America the Beautiful” in AMAZING “Circle vision” – I remember clearly standing in line for a VERY long time to be crowded into a “standing room only” viewing room with screens surrounding the viewers, shot by multiple cameras, including what was, for that time, a “virtual” drive through the streets of San Francisco, as you can see…..

This is I believe the “Original” version from the 50’s, but just the “main screen” view; the “San Francisco” footage begins at about 13:45.

This is the “In the theater” experience, as I remember it from the 60’s/70’s. Now this is how I first saw “Lombard street”, beginning at about 16:40.

But I would not actually “see” San Francisco until the 80’s, after my college years; my first trip to San Francisco as an adult was … well, truly adult. And embarrassingly brief. Yes, tender audience, I was a hick from the sticks in the big city – where “gay” was not an insult, but an invitation – as I drove through for just a few hours after completing college. It was the early 80’s, before internet, so I only knew of the notorious offerings here through rumors, the “Advocate” at my college library, and a surreptitiously obtained mail-order visitor publication called the “Damron Guide”. Suffice it to say that visit was memorable and involved another kind of theater. But as I have shared previously, my journey to self-acceptance was much longer than a drive up north, I could never have foreseen what time has unfolded in my life.

***A panorama shot of the city and bay from our first stop***

So the City Guide walking tours are an excellent way to explore all the nooks and crannies of my new home. I bravely set out, masked, that Sunday (the BEST day for free parking in much of the city!) and joined a handful of others on the tour; some residents, some visitors. In fact, even our tour guide was relatively new to City Guides – he himself had only taken the tour shortly before COVID hit. Nevertheless, he was well versed in the names and dates and stories of the houses we passed, and their residents – the architects, poets, bohemians, the wealthy and the (in their time, at least) scandalous. They had no idea their personal lives would endure and be shared for years thereafter. Normally, I would take notes on the buildings and the history – I chose to forego that to take in the sights I share with you today, but you can find all that elsewhere, friends – In fact, here is one example.

***Some additional nooks, crannies, byways and views along the tour***

In addition to the homes, vistas, and stories, there was one segment of the walk that I was eager to experience. Even though I was not an avid reader, I was well aware of a somewhat controversial in its time PBS program based on a series of books which started as a local newspaper column and become a world phenomenon – “Tales of the City”, by Armistead Maupin. I actually never watched the program when it aired, but today’s walking tour included a stroll along this neighborhood’s Macondray Lane, which he designated as Barbary Lane in his semi fictional narratives. Interestingly, several people on the tour had never heard of him, or the show – another piece of evidence that what is at one-point revolutionary in time becomes perhaps if not forgotten, less present in our culture.

***Macondray Lane, aka “Barbary Lane” from “Tales of the City” – great planters!***

This stroll through Macondray Lane is the “reverse” direction of the one I enjoyed.

If we think of our lives as a stroll through time, there are moments when paths cross that would never be able to guess, or plan – just, enjoy. One Saturday, about a month after our wedding, my new husband and I were planning to drive up north to a special book signing. That morning, as I left the famous “Daddy’s Barbershop” in the Castro, I spotted a couple walking a dog near my parked car, and I tentatively approached. The older gentleman smiled as I sheepishly inquired – “By chance, are you the author whose signing I will be driving to this evening?” And, it was – Mr. Armistead Maupin and his husband Christopher Turner, who lived nearby, and who graciously took this picture with me. That evening, after a long drive out of town for a signing of his autobiography “Logical Family”, Bob and I got to take another photo with him; not long after, like others, they moved from San Francisco, this “cool grey city of love”. But I am reminded of his words –

“The worst of times in San Francisco was still better than the best of times anywhere else”.
Armistead Maupin

***Your humble tour guide with author Armistead Maupin and his husband Christopher Turner, and with my husband and me, fall 2018***

I cannot say how many hundred of stairs I walked on this tour; looking at the pictures of my stroll through these winding passages and eras, I began to consider – what do we remember of history? What do we preserve? Who judges what is worth commemorating – or no longer deserving of respect? This is in the news nearly every day now – whether it is about adding and removing memorials (by consensus, edict or force), eliminating publications, erasing music from performance – or lifting up heroes that, at one time, were considered far less worthy of recognition in their day. As they say, history belongs to those who write it. For me, the letters and diaries of my grandparents, parents and others are the only record that exists of their lives, and I feel a kind of burden to somehow carry their lives on rather than let them fade. For many of us, photo albums in print form are a thing of the past – and when we are gone, most of our digital images will not be preserved, recognized, or remembered.

***On the curves of Lombard Street, like life, perspective changes as we move along***

But our history today, however personal, and the lives and history of our family and loved ones, is worth preserving, and sharing. Perhaps it might help to think of it as creating a walking tour through the neighborhood of our lives, reflecting on lessons learned that we can share, love we can treasure, and hope we can gift to others that await us around the next bend. Especially in this very passage of change, we are living our own, unique “tales of the city”. Wherever your home finds you today, as with San Francisco, it will not be entirely the same after someone decides that the vaccine programs have succeeded, and someone else decides we know longer to hear daily reports on statistics. There will be the city before – and the city after. Two cities, in a way – connected forever by this passage we still travel through, hesitatingly, unsure at times which way to take. Although Dickens was speaking literally in a different sense when he wrote “A Tale of Two Cities” in 1859, his words about that moment in time resonate for me now –

As I write, after my husband, many family and some friends have received one or two shots of the COVID vaccine, mine lies ahead, time to be determined. We are all in this moment awaiting, with somewhat held breath, for doors to open, friends to embrace, moments to be together after long parting. Walking through Russian hill, once a cemetery for forgotten names, now steeped in history with more being created, and my own little memories – how remarkable it is to consider the winding road that brought me here, and lies ahead. The phrases which I used to open this blog will someday be only in history books, but others will take their place; new challenges, new discoveries, new life. Wherever your path leads you next, carry your dreams with you today, friends, and make the memories, and save them – every day, every moment, counts. I will hopefully see you around the next corner.

“It is times like these when we face such as enemy as AIDS, we need to draw on some of our past positive philosophies, like it is always darkest before the dawn. In getting our courage together, we might feel a need to go back, and think of possibly better times. And sometimes, it makes us wonder ….”

An unexpected eclipse, a missing Key, and the fragility of heritage

Last week I shared about my solo sojourn through the heritage of “Cow Hollow” on what became a record-breaking hot summer Sunday. In my continued resolve to both explore San Francisco’s less familiar corners and to get out into our gradually opening city again, I looked into the recently resumed walking tours offered again by SF city guides. This wonderful program is slowly adding its newly revised offerings – outside only, 8 or less participants, masks and distancing – and I chose to begin with a tour of one of San Francisco’s Crown Jewels as it celebrates 150 years – quite unexpectedly on a day unlike any other within memory.

*An early map of Golden Gate Park, not so different from today’s tour*

The “Mid Park Ramble” tour promised a look at hidden gems of Golden Gate park. I had spent many hours and miles running – well, jogging – through the park in early 2018 after my move here, preparing for my first “half marathon” in several years to celebrate my own 60^th birthday that spring. But there were points on this tour I had not seen, and so I bought my advance ticket online and looked forward to sharing new vistas with you here. The plans for the sesquicentennial had been announced months before, and like every other expectation for this year, were derailed by the COVID restrictions; portion of the park streets were closed to traffic, but this journey outside scheduled for 10 am began not with the warm sunshine of just a few days prior – but near darkness – almost like a day long eclipse. The cause was a combination of smoke, weather conditions and fog, combining to create a deep orange haze that extended throughout the day. Oddly, the smell of smoke was not as noticeable as it had been a few days prior, with greater heat.

Before I begin reporting about the outing itself, I would like to share with you from a recent guidebook purchase – although it was the purchase that was recent, not the book itself. After all the insights I had gleaned in my prior excursion from the historic hikes book I shared from last week, I was inspired to look for older books that could give me an idea of the San Francisco that once was but is now, if still present, obscured. One of the first to arrive from my online shopping spree was the 1914 “Chamber of Commerce Handbook for San Francisco” shown here – featuring a photo of the statue of Junipero Serra that until recently stood in the Park itself. Let me share what this wonderful little book had to say about our exploration location more than 100 years ago –

*What a wonderful time capsule – I will be sharing more in times to come!*

“Here one sees the healthy life and leisure of the community. San Franciscans use their park. The drives swarm with fine equipages, fast motors, and ruddy-face lovers of good horse-flesh bound for the speedway in wire-wheeled sulkies. Youth rides the bridle paths. Groups of children are rolling and tumbling about the lawns, for there is not a “Keep -off-the Grass” sign in the whole thousand acres”.

The streets we traverse today bear names not known then – John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., Nancy Pelosi. And some of the history and culture then celebrated and welcomed is no longer visible – the Park had been in the news prominently nationally just a few months prior, when a group of people took action to pull down statues and memorials that they found unacceptable based on their own values and similar actions happening around the country. I had watched the video on the news like many of you, seeing sculptures of various historical figures torn down and destroyed, but I admit – I had not paid them much attention on prior visits.

The effect of the smoke and still air, combined with the greenery of the Park, left the skies darker than twilight the evening before. Having arrived early, I took some photos in the open area between the DeYoung Museum and the previously added “Observation wheel” that was to be a hallmark of the year long festivities. A note on my photos, taken with my iPhone – many that were published online which you may have seen did not capture fully the eerie shades in the sky, due to the “auto correct” programming of most devices; those of mine that are “darker” were taken in panoramic mode, which I believe captured the color more fully. In that sense, I guess I got lucky!

*From left – observation wheel, Academy of Sciences, Music concourse*

No matter where you stand in the Park, there are echoes of history surrounding you. This panoramic shot of the central park area stretches from the observation wheel past the illuminated California Academy of Sciences erected in 2008 to the Music concourse which was added in 1889. As I looked towards the soon to reopen DeYoung Museum facing this area, I saw another statue that had previously escaped my notice – and I promise you, I didn’t even realize it was naked until I saw my photos at home, it was that dark! But I wondered about its origin, seemingly out of place near the modern museum – learning later that it was an 1881 bronze of a roman centurion commemorating the “first shovelful of earth” turned in preparing for the California Midwinter International Exposition here in 1893. The DeYoung itself celebrates 125 years in 2020 – having been established originally from the structure known as the “Memorial Museum” and greatly expanded in the years since.

*Yes, he is naked, if you really want to zoom in – he’s been that way some time!*

As noted, some of that history is now absent, possibly forever. The destruction of the statues of Francis Scott Key, whose lyrics form our national anthem “The Star-Spangled Banner”, was perhaps more noticeable since his monument still stands, but his figure is gone from its perch across from the DeYoung. Through that now empty space the observation wheel sits motionless, awaiting the “go ahead” like so many other features of our city and nations, and the grounds seemed certainly more silent and deserted as well as more dim than usual during my pre tour stroll.

*Above where Francis Scott Key once stood, his words .. “Oer the Land of the Free”*

When our group gathered outside the Japanese Tea Garden, we began our guided exploration, beginning with a walk along Stow Lake on our way to Strawberry Hill, which like most of the park had been created from the mostly barren sand dunes into lushly forested corners of nature. We learned that the artificially created “Huntington Falls” were funded by a donation from Henry Huntington, the “Big Four” railroad czar whose home and library down in San Marino which I have loved visiting many times. Note, all the “normal lighting” pictures here, gathered from the internet, are intended to give you a view that my own exploration failed to provide.

*Stow Lake as I experienced it, and Huntington Falls on a sunnier day than mine*

At the top, the early visitors to the Park could take the carriage route, or the walking path, to what was called the “Observatory” – not in the sense we think today, but just a flat, open space where on a clear night they could view the stars. I found this old postcard illustrating what you might have seen if you made the climb 120 years ago, before that 1906 earthquake destroyed the structure, never rebuilt, with little remaining. Of course, even though it was dark at 1030 am, the smoke prevented any enjoyment of the stars themselves – but the owls hooting at us along the way might well have been confused as to why their normal cycle had been so rudely interrupted. Thankfully, they did not attack in vengeance. But they might have been thinking about it …..

*The pre 1906 earthquake “Observatory” and the view on my walk from that point*

We continued past other notable features of the area, with groups of other hikers and children gradually appearing, but still in near dark skies – eventually arriving at a spot that even my husband who has lived in SF more than 40 years had not known of. Referred to now as the “Prayerbook Cross”, it is nearly 60 feet tall and barely visible until you nearly reach the top of the trail where it stands on one of the highest points in the park itself. A gift from the Church of England in 1894, resembling a traditional Celtic cross, it commemorates the first prayer service in 1579 following the arrival by Sir Francis Drake using the “Book of Common Prayer”. Unlike the damaged or destroyed memorials below in the more well-travelled areas, I observed only a few curse words sprayed on rocks nearby this silent sentinel that looks over our changing city still.

*This monument, for now, still stands .. you can learn more at this link*

The moments and individuals commemorated in this city oasis cover a centuries long and world wide heritage. Today, our country faces divisions seemingly more deep and broad than those of any known in our lifetimes. They will not be resolved easily or quickly. I do not have the answers or solutions to offer, and I honestly question those who insist that their perspective is the only one worth considering, whatever position they take. I like to think we can build bridges between islands, but the daily turmoil erupting before us everywhere seems unending. I can only say that history has meaning – what meaning perhaps will always vary by the heritage of perspective of those sharing it or hearing it. It is up to us, individually, to work to preserve what we treasure, support the future we want to build for our children, and create traditions that they will cherish and which will give them strength and hope.

*This stunning 1892 bird’s eye view of Golden Gate Park can be yours …*

In a way I was glad I could experience the unique beauty of this amazing Park on such an unusual day – not to be repeated, hopefully, in our lifetimes. Soon, a limited number of visitors will, bearing masks, move through the galleries of these museums, as more will picnic on the grounds, and hear music in the air – some of the guardians who stood over them are gone, but the life of the Park itself cannot be contained, only evolve. Hopefully we shall, as well – and preserve all that which future generations shall remember, and perhaps treasure if not celebrate, under sunny, smoke free skies, again.