Beltane and the Moon of Liberation
Friday gratefuls: Hills. Bernal Hill. Diane’s jogging path. Wise Son’s. Since 5771. 12 Lucky Street. Earthquake shacks. Mission. Valencia. 24th Street. Community Music Center. Maru Sushi. Chancellor. Unafraid to have a 13th floor. Bell guy. Laundry. Cool nights. Mild days. 6 sunny days.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Neighborhoods
One brief shining: Drove in to Diane’s well organized garage, got out, and waited for her, taking pictures of the murals across from 12 Lucky, when she came back we walked one lane Lucky, with cars parked on both sides to 24th, where we turned left into a low scale neighborhood with $8 haircuts, a street sign: Latino Cultural District, and a ways down Wise Son’s Deli where we ate breakfast, lox and bagel for Diane, latke smash-up for me.
Last day on Powell Street. Back on Amtrak tomorrow morning at 8:25 am. Powell, California, and one other street have working cable cars. Diane pointed out an interesting aspect of other street cars used here. Some of them are faithfully restored models from the past or, in other cases, from other countries. Very cool.
Yesterday was San Francisco daily life immersion with a visit to Diane’s antique filled home on 12 Lucky Street. Many of the pieces of furniture I recognized from Uncle Riley and Aunt Virginia’s house on the farm. 12 Lucky is a peaceful, calm spot with various salvaged items from Diane’s jogging up Bernal Hill, finds of furniture and plants that others have thrown out. Lucky Street is off the main street of her neighborhood but parallel to it. A quieter environment. She’s been there 14 years.
Her neighborhood has a definite small town feel to it, lots of Latinos, some Samoans, Jews, African Americans, remnants of the halcyon days of the late 60’s. A spot where a person can live a normal life in a city, especially with Bernal Hill so close by.
Diane has taken me by the hand this week. Showed me her town. Commiserated with my aching back. Been understanding when I bail out on a day early. Thanks, Diane. Much appreciated.
Yesterday, too, we saw earthquake shacks. These tiny homes built of redwood, most under 900 square feet, were built to house victims of the 1907 earthquake. Most are gone but a few remain scattered around the city, several in Bernal Hill.
To do that we drove up and down steeply inclined streets with cars parked on both sides and only one available lane for two way traffic. It was Diane’s milieu and that was obvious from the way she navigated. Yet. For an outsider? Would have been nerve jangling to drive here. Especially with a manual transmission as Diane has.
We returned to the Chancellor via Mission Street and Valencia, Mission still with nefarious activity, Diane’s words, yet apparently less than before. Valencia more a young urbanite location with restaurants and bike lanes.
My back is worse than I imagined. Very limiting. I have about a half day or less of energy. Makes future travel plans much different from what I might otherwise choose.