Chance = Change

The young housewives of Pacific Heights and Russian Hill spend their days walking around SF in spandex work-out clothing, hair in shiny ponytails, and expensive sports shoes, and now I know why:  this city IS a health club, and without paying an extra penny, all who live here are active members, whether we intend to be or not!

Yes, I am a woman "of a certain age", and yes, i've spent the last three years driving everywhere, no matter how close the destination. And yes,  the only walking I've done, in an attempt to keep in some semblance of shape, has been on flat land. However, walk as I might around the mighty track of the Coomes Recreation Center, I was not prepared for how my body now feels after only 4 days of walking from Pierce Street to Lombard Street and back (if we could make it back...we've even taken our first Frisco cab, we've been so whupped by the end of a walking day here!). I mean: I AM SORE! If I sit too long in one position, my body freezes, and I feel like the rusted Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when I attempt to move. I ache in places I'd forgotten I had places! My toes and feet a speaking back to me in pinched tones, asking: "what the hell are you trying to do to us??" and I have been painfully reminded of the pure physics of this statement: "That which goes down, inevitably goes waaaaay back up again!". Great... I never did like physics. The first time I glimpsed the periodic table written on a black board, I walked right out of the class and never went back. Or is that chemistry? Well, whatever science governs the Law I am experiencing, (Pain equals gain, but meanwhile it HURTS!), the mean truth is: ouch!

So, letting this astonishingly delightful city discipline me back into working order ? Dues I am glad to pay, in exchange for the obvious other delights that way outweigh the pains:

* The pleasure of walking our dogs on sidewalks again, a ritual they are happily familiar with from their earlier days as New York City dogs.  The pleasures this sidewalk regimen affords Cyrano and Sally are many, but the best is : they get to use their doggie noses again, to appreciate, sniff, assess, judge, nasally revel in the world around them. SO much to smell, such a rich culture of odors from other dogs and interesting garbage, created by both the dogs and their many owners. (Did I mention that SF is a world-class DOG city, with doggie boutiques, doggie beauty salons, doggie health food stores, doggie bakeries and doggie massage parlors all over Chestnut and Union Streets? I swear to God: doggie bakeries!)

* The edgy thrill of seeing so many people like me, as I walk,  or who, at least, look like I perceive myself to be: intellectual, interestingly attired , thinking as they walk, scarves jauntily thrown over one shoulder or another (even the men), good haircuts, well-kept skin and teeth, many wearing reading glasses perched on the ends of their noses, even as they walk their dogs, nice but extremely comfortable clothing made of real fabrics like cotton and linen and soft wool, colorful, letting themselves go silvery-grey, or making expensive attempts at not...in short: people I would like to meet and know. Also they sound the way I have missed people sounding: in one day here, I've heard more varying accents than i've heard in the past three years: Haitian, British, French (our upstairs neighbor , the lovely Valerie), Moroccan, Korean, Chinese, Russian, and good old Middle-American!  It's an audio smorgasbord! My ears are so happy.

* Also - and this actually made me weep, the first night Paul took us to a local swell cafe  - there are Jews here! And this made me cry.  Couldn't help it: I was born and raised in a liberal, smart, cultural Jewish household in the South, and though I am now a practicing Buddhist (a "Jew-Bu", as has been coined), I still think of Jews as "my people", and always will...and why not?  Where there is true complex and varied arts and culture, there will be Jews, because Jews - my bias, I know - are people of the heart and the head combined: we read and cry at the same time!  And this - again my bias - is a good way to be, a good way to embrace the world: understand  it as best  you can, then feel for it, because it is so impossible to truly understand! San Francisco is many things, but one of the things it is is a Jewish city! My Momma would be so glad I live here.

* And speaking of food:  except for a tired and starving poor choice made one evening to order from a Chinese place called Ricky's, I've not had one mouthful of poorly prepared food in this city yet. (Note to self:  make sure, like in NYC, that the words "Empire" or "Pagoda" appear in the take-out menu).  A signal example of just how good this city's food is :  walking to our apartment on Lombard Street the first day we were here, we needed to stop for a quick something to fuel us, and , almost to 1320, we saw a sign for "Viking Subs", outside a hole-in-the-wall joint, but we decided to try it. Turns out, this Korean-owned sandwich shop does some voodoo magic that turns ordinary submarine sandwich concoctions into thoroughly addictive culinary encounters, and we've been back three times already! Some sort of yummy mayonnaise sauce - not just mayonnaise, but a sauce made with it - slathered all over these mounds of meats and cheeses, then TOASTED to a tender crisp on a well-used grill.  My first bite into their Tuna Garden sub was ecstatic, and as it dripped on my fingers, and crunched under my grateful teeth, my taste buds immediately knew they were in great company.  So, if this tiny oasis of edible delights is any indication, San Francisco knows how to cook.  Of course, there's the best vegetarian restaurant found anywhere : Green's, on the Bay.  And countless places we've yet to discover. Something tells me the exploration will usually be worth it. We are back in food country!

So, if the hills of San Francisco pain me, I am consoled by the above reasons to be here anyway, and am comforted by the knowledge that if I am laid up from shin splints, back aches and pure fatigue, I can cuddle in bed with content dogs, nibbling on great local food delivered by interesting and culturally diverse people, some of whom may be MY people!  Not a bad way to recover...not bad at all. I think I'll stay a while.

Labels: San Francisco life