Saturday, June 18, 2011
A Tourist in My Own Hometown
Letter to Momma
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
San Francisco
Momma-
Another gorgeous day here in this new city of ours, which will soon be a city that we have lived half a year in! We Came here to meet our moving truck right after Thanksgiving in 2010, so, around May 26 , son in another couple of weeks- so soon! - – we will have officially been moved in as San Francisco residents for 6 months!
It’s incredibly true how quickly time flies when fun is being had, and Peter and I are having new and surprising fun every day that we live here. Almost daily, I have to remind myself that I am not on vacation here, but that I am, rather, living here full time, and that those palm trees I see as I walk through Ft. Mason Park are actually my palm trees now – that the fine weather is indeed mine to enjoy all the time because I LIVE HERE !!!! The gorgeous scenic views as we explore Presidio Heights, and the fabulous Marin Headlands – all that natural beauty belongs to me! It’s 5 minutes away, whenever I choose to get in our car and drive there! Or walk along the Bay and enjoy the fact that those fat, gorgeous gulls are now MY sea birds, right in MY backyard. That I can enjoy lunch in Sausalito any time I want, and can go get fabulous food n any neighborhood, or chocolate at G Square right down the hill, or whatever I want that this town has to offer, and I don’t have to get on a plane to enjoy it because I LIVE HERE NOW!
Of course, the best part is that we are finally beginning to settle into rhythms that make our lives work in what is fast becoming a more familiar hometown.
At first, I despaired that I would ever know and understand the streets, the way they fit together, the traffic patterns , etc. But now, it’s all falling sweetly into place, and the more I drive around the city, the easier it becomes to now where I’m going. I’ve fallen into the pattern of taking Peter to his office downtown every morning, and picking him up at the end of the day. On my way home from dropping him off, I roam, and let myself get lost and simply remember that the Bay is always north, so I do always find my way back to 1320 Lombard again, but in the meantime, I’ve learned more about how the city fits together, which streets follow which, what traffic is like in various neighborhoods at various times , etc. And the city begins to feel more like mine.
I travel it like a fascinated tourist. Then come home to our sunny apartment and sit at this desk and write. The book is in its planning stages and actually has a shape. If it were a baby (I imagine, never having had one myself), it would just be beginning to show up as a shadow with a shape in its sonogram, with its little heart faintly beating with the urge to grow and live.
I love you Momma…….as ever, Ev
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Letter to Momma: Catching Up and Catching My Breath
Morning Momma - and All :
So much - too much - has been going on for me to write about right now, but I promise a true catch up on all of it soon. For now, suffice it to say life is not boring. Peter has finally accepted a full time version of the temp job he was immediately engaged in on our arrival, and after having to make a decision between two tempting offers, he chose the more "corporate" one, and I trust his choice. Sad that we had to disappoint friends who were hoping he'd make the other choice, but I know all will be well with both the jobs and the friends, because life has a way of working out, no matter what.
Below is my latest column for the Marina TImes...and in fact I 've been asked to do a regular monthly column, from the POV of a San Francisco newcomer. It will be a pleasure and I am grateful for the chance to focus my writing in areas other than the book that continues to tumble out.
Reading through my 40 years of personal journals has been like walking through a bewildering forest of "WHO WAS THAT GIRL?" and "DID I REALLY DO THAT?" and , again for now, all I can say is, the sheer act of reading and remembering has changed my current life in deep ways. More on all that later as well.
For now, I am merely the book's recording secretary. I can do no more than listen to what needs to come out and let it arrive on some page or other. Again, life is not boring, and , from what I've been reading, it never has been!
Enjoy my June Marina TImes column below...i send it to you all with great love and gratitude for the chances SF is giving me to write out loud.
ENTER STAGE LEFT: A NEW COAST
a Times a division of Northside Publication
So much - too much - has been going on for me to write about right now, but I promise a true catch up on all of it soon. For now, suffice it to say life is not boring. Peter has finally accepted a full time version of the temp job he was immediately engaged in on our arrival, and after having to make a decision between two tempting offers, he chose the more "corporate" one, and I trust his choice. Sad that we had to disappoint friends who were hoping he'd make the other choice, but I know all will be well with both the jobs and the friends, because life has a way of working out, no matter what.
Below is my latest column for the Marina TImes...and in fact I 've been asked to do a regular monthly column, from the POV of a San Francisco newcomer. It will be a pleasure and I am grateful for the chance to focus my writing in areas other than the book that continues to tumble out.
Reading through my 40 years of personal journals has been like walking through a bewildering forest of "WHO WAS THAT GIRL?" and "DID I REALLY DO THAT?" and , again for now, all I can say is, the sheer act of reading and remembering has changed my current life in deep ways. More on all that later as well.
For now, I am merely the book's recording secretary. I can do no more than listen to what needs to come out and let it arrive on some page or other. Again, life is not boring, and , from what I've been reading, it never has been!
Enjoy my June Marina TImes column below...i send it to you all with great love and gratitude for the chances SF is giving me to write out loud.
ENTER STAGE LEFT: A NEW COAST
Grey skies, smilin' at me
Yet again, the sun is not shining here in our new hometown, and I have to say, I like it like this.
First of all, it reminds me that I am not living in L.A., where there is rarely a day with anything but perfect blue skies and, after a while, such crystalline perfection gets even the doughtiest spirit down. I used to feel ashamed if my spirit did not match the optimistic energies of that blue sky, which made me feel even worse.
But the gracious dame San Francisco has the good sense to remind us that no one is perfect and that even the country’s most beautiful city has its days when dressing down is the perfect choice.
Veils become her. She looks gorgeous in the soft, misty grey that cloaks her this morning. And it makes me feel human. This is a town that measures us all on a human scale; something about the surrounding water reminds us of where we come from, and that we all come from that same place. The bay and the ocean, ubiquitous in these parts, remind us that life is liquid and changeable, and that we are all in the swim of it, no matter what else divides us.
And where there is water, there is weather.
Weather is a topic of daily discussion around San Francisco. Its behavior, its seasonality, its moods, its rarities, its changeability, its quirks, and its countenances are all things that people here love to tell other people about. Especially if the other people are newcomers to the city, like Peter and I are.
“Oh, you’re lucky, it’s not usually like this at this time of year,” is a comment we heard a lot the sunny month after we first moved here.
“Just wait ‘til summer! That’s when we’ll have our winter!” is another remark people relish repeating.
“You don’t want to live over there in the Sunset or the Richmond. It’s foggy over there all the time! Well, mainly in the summer. But no … too much fog!” warn some.
“Just remember, when it’s 110 degrees elsewhere, here it’s nice and cold in the summer. You can take pleasure in gloating!”
“Never put away your fall/winter stuff, because you never know when it’ll be cool by the bay.”
“If it’s foggy in the morning, it usually blows away by noon.”
And my favorite: “Give it a minute and it’ll change.” How true.
So I’ve decided that weather is just another character in the ongoing comedy-drama that is San Francisco; an ever-present character that never leaves the stage and influences all the other characters in subtle, unscripted ways. I love this weather for its very presence. I seek it out. I speak to it. I am its sister. I feel it and want it to guide me because it is so powerful, so true, so very itself, there is no other way but to relax in its powerful presence, go with it wherever it wants to take me. Sunshine is just one of its guises. Its faces are many, but I like surprises.
Earthquakes are part of the weather conversation, and this scares me. Our little family of four have “provisioned up” and discuss where we shall meet if we need to find each other when “it” happens – because I feel surely it will happen sooner than later. But what better testimony to the power of this special star in our midst – this weather – than its skill to upset the very ground we walk on: change the perspective, upset the norm, change peoples’ orientation to their own lives.
Take stage and shake things up? Stars do that. They have that particular power. And here in this town, weather is, at the very least, a leading player.
Come hell, high water, sunshine, or quake, I am a fan.Before moving to San Francisco, Manhattan was Evalyn Baron’s long-time home. Actress, director, teacher, she worked on Broadway and at regional theaters all over the country, thanks to a bustling TV and radio career that she is happy to abandon in order to finally get some writing done.
First of all, it reminds me that I am not living in L.A., where there is rarely a day with anything but perfect blue skies and, after a while, such crystalline perfection gets even the doughtiest spirit down. I used to feel ashamed if my spirit did not match the optimistic energies of that blue sky, which made me feel even worse.
But the gracious dame San Francisco has the good sense to remind us that no one is perfect and that even the country’s most beautiful city has its days when dressing down is the perfect choice.
Veils become her. She looks gorgeous in the soft, misty grey that cloaks her this morning. And it makes me feel human. This is a town that measures us all on a human scale; something about the surrounding water reminds us of where we come from, and that we all come from that same place. The bay and the ocean, ubiquitous in these parts, remind us that life is liquid and changeable, and that we are all in the swim of it, no matter what else divides us.
And where there is water, there is weather.
Weather is a topic of daily discussion around San Francisco. Its behavior, its seasonality, its moods, its rarities, its changeability, its quirks, and its countenances are all things that people here love to tell other people about. Especially if the other people are newcomers to the city, like Peter and I are.
“Oh, you’re lucky, it’s not usually like this at this time of year,” is a comment we heard a lot the sunny month after we first moved here.
“Just wait ‘til summer! That’s when we’ll have our winter!” is another remark people relish repeating.
“You don’t want to live over there in the Sunset or the Richmond. It’s foggy over there all the time! Well, mainly in the summer. But no … too much fog!” warn some.
“Just remember, when it’s 110 degrees elsewhere, here it’s nice and cold in the summer. You can take pleasure in gloating!”
“Never put away your fall/winter stuff, because you never know when it’ll be cool by the bay.”
“If it’s foggy in the morning, it usually blows away by noon.”
And my favorite: “Give it a minute and it’ll change.” How true.
So I’ve decided that weather is just another character in the ongoing comedy-drama that is San Francisco; an ever-present character that never leaves the stage and influences all the other characters in subtle, unscripted ways. I love this weather for its very presence. I seek it out. I speak to it. I am its sister. I feel it and want it to guide me because it is so powerful, so true, so very itself, there is no other way but to relax in its powerful presence, go with it wherever it wants to take me. Sunshine is just one of its guises. Its faces are many, but I like surprises.
Earthquakes are part of the weather conversation, and this scares me. Our little family of four have “provisioned up” and discuss where we shall meet if we need to find each other when “it” happens – because I feel surely it will happen sooner than later. But what better testimony to the power of this special star in our midst – this weather – than its skill to upset the very ground we walk on: change the perspective, upset the norm, change peoples’ orientation to their own lives.
Take stage and shake things up? Stars do that. They have that particular power. And here in this town, weather is, at the very least, a leading player.
Come hell, high water, sunshine, or quake, I am a fan.Before moving to San Francisco, Manhattan was Evalyn Baron’s long-time home. Actress, director, teacher, she worked on Broadway and at regional theaters all over the country, thanks to a bustling TV and radio career that she is happy to abandon in order to finally get some writing done.
a Times a division of Northside Publication
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
San Francisco: A Lady in Grey
Momma - Good morning!
For the first time in a few weeks, the sun is not shining here in our new home town, and I have to say I like it like this.
First of all, it reminds me that I am not living in LA where there is rarely a day with anything but perfect blue skies, and after a while, such crystaline perfection gets even the doughtiest spirit down. I used to feel ashamed if my spirit did not match the optimistic energies of that blue sky,and it made me feel even worse.
But the gracious San Francisco has the good sense to remind us that none of us is actually perfect, and that even the country's most beautiful city (she immodestly knows this is true about herself) has its days when mufti is the perfect thing. She does look gorgeous in this soft , misty grey that cloaks her this morning. And it makes me feel human. This is a town that measures us all to that human scale, and there is something about the water all around us that reminds one of where we come from, and that we all come from that same place. The Bay and the Ocean, ubiquitous in these parts, reminds us that Life is liquid and changeable, and that we are all in the swim of it, no matter what else divides us.
And where there is water, there is weather.
Weather is a large topic of daily discussion around San Francisco. It's behavior, it's seasonality, its moods, its rarities, its changeabilities, its quirks and its countenances are all things that people here love to tell other people about. Especially if the other people are newcomers to the city.
"Oh, you're lucky, it's not usually like this at this time of year," is a comment we have heard a lot since moving here.
"Just wait 'til Summer ! That's when you'll have your Winter!" is another remark people feel it's their duty to repeat more than once.
"You don't want to live over there in Sunset or Richmond. It's foggy over there ALL the time! Well, mainly in the Summer. But no....too much fog!" plead some.
"Just remember, when it's 110 degrees elsewhere, here it's nice and COLD in the Summer."
"Never put away your Fall /Winter stuff because you never know when it'll be cool by the Bay"
"Important to keep all your coats and sweaters available all year long."
"If it's foggy in the morning, it blows away by noon."
Those are just a few of the many weather-related things that seem to pepper daily conversation here.
And I've just about decided that weather is like another character in the on-going comedy/drama that is San Francisco: an ever-prsent character that never leaves the stage and that influences all the other characters in subtle , unwritten ways. I love this weather for that very presence.
I seek it out. I speak to it. I am its sister. I feel it and want it to guide me because it is so powerful, so true, so very itself, there is no other way but to relax in its powerful presence, go with it wherever it wants to take you. And sunshine is just one of its guises. It's faces are many. And, I like surprises.
Earthquakes are indeed part of its fashion repertoire, true. This scares me a little , and our little family of four discuss where we shall meet if we need to find each other when "it" happens - because I feel surely that "it" will happen sooner than later. But what better testimony to the power of this special "star" i our midst - this WEATHER - than its skill to upset the very ground we walk? Isn't that we all wish to do as actors? Change the perspective, upset the norm, change peoples' orientation to their own lives by the work we do? Take stage and shake things up? Stars do that. They have that particular power.
And here in this marvelous town, weather is , at the very least, a leading player.
I am a fan.
Adoringly,
Ev
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Another Letter to Momma
Hi Momma - Below is a little essay I wrote about Mother's Day, as an assignment in my writing workshop a few months ago, and I thought this would be the good day to share it with you, and with all.
May 8, 2011
San Francisco
Mothers Day
Anna Jarvis from Grafton, West Virginia, is considered the “mother” of Mothers Day, since it was she who introduced the idea to the general public in 1908. Her goal was to simply honor all mothers.
President Woodrow Wilson made it a national holiday in 1914, and with the considerable help of storeowner John Wanamaker, Mothers Day became the holiday on which more greeting cards and small gifts are sold than any other day of the year.
It became known as “the Hallmark Holiday”, and it eventually so disgusted Ms. Jarvis, (because people bought pre-made cards instead of taking the time and making the heart-felt effort to pen personal notes), that she officially “took back” her Mothers Day Idea in 1948.
That was the year I was born.
Great.
The year I was born, the mother of Mothers Day disowned her brainchild.
Which, on some psychic level, leads me to ponder why I never became a mother myself, and also why I never had the arrogance to believe that I fully understood my own. As a kid, I loved pretty packages neatly tied up with bows, but even young, I knew Motherhood was something too messy, contradictory and powerful to contain. Too bewildering to easily trust.
I mean, she was a whole person before I was ever born, a person in her own right, yet she seemed to forget all that and made me the center of everything she cared for to such a degree that she almost disappeared. I was all that mattered. It wasn’t until years later, when I was established in a life of my own, that I learned she loved red velvet curtains. She bought some for the first apartment she lived in alone after Daddy died. I never even knew she loved red. I don’t understand how I never knew that.
She had the audacity to take a lover after my father’s death. How could my Mother do that? Mothers don’t do that! Mothers don’t …y’know…. the sex thing! That was my specialty! But there they were: Mother and Albert! Doing it! A LOT!
(I remember now the hilarious night she and I shared a bottle of Scotch, and I made her say the word “fuck” out loud. I was in a Consciousness Raising class at Northwestern, and it was our holiday assignment to go home and cause a “revolution”: mine was to get my Momma to say a dirty word. She did, and it was marvelous in so many ways.)
And then, as she got nearer to dying, I grabbed onto that time in an effort to more thoroughly know this woman whose title had been “Evalyn’s Momma”, at least through my entire life, if not hers. I got a special tape recorder so I could have some audio to refer to on that inevitable day when I knew I would forget how she sounded. I spent two weeks out of every month in Chicago, to be by her side. It was then she told me something that made me happy and sad in the same instant: her only regret in dying was that she’d miss what happened next …..in my life. For some reason, that I understood . I also understood that I had been living my entire life for one audience and one audience only: my Momma.
And then – suddenly – there was no more time. My class in “ Momma” was over, and the bell had rung. I was so glad I’d used that tape recorder.
Motherhood is far too complex an undertaking to be honored or epitomized in the corny quatrains of a greeting card. To make one 24-hour period the “special time” to stop and consider this intricate matrix of circumstances, emotions, influences, relationships and consequences seems a peculiarly American thing to attempt, a fast-food approach to the most profound of undertakings: creating the Earth’s next human inhabitants. One lonely little day – sanctified by Congress or not- just doesn’t seem to do the job. In fact, like so many “quickies”, it’s just not satisfying on any level.
SO, along with Ms Anna Jarvis, I too take back “Mothers Day” and all the tacky baby blue, pink and frilly stuff I ever purchased. Every hand-made piece of junk I ever imposed on my Momma, I give her permission to posthumously toss! Instead, I will raise a glass of Scotch, in honor of the night she said a dirty word or two, and simply drink to a Life that, along with other mysteries, makes motherhood the way things are done to survive.
And Mothers? I say, let’s honor them every moment, every hour, every day, month and year, as long as we breathe. Above all, let’s remember them. For without them – and this isn’t hard to understand at all – without them, we are…..not.
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Saturday, April 30, 2011
#6 Momma Letter: Itching and Scratching on Lombard Street
Friday, April 29th, 2011
San Francisco
Hi Momma-
Another gorgeous, shining cool and crystal clear San Francisco day, and as I sit here at my writing table overlooking Lombard Street, my little dog Cyrano is whining because he has flea bites and wants me to help him scratch them! Yes, fleas!
We’ve not noticed any hopping around the apartment, but no doubt, on our walks though the gorgeous terrain of the Marin headlands and the vast stretches of the doggie playground that is Chrissy Field, some congenial flea decided that Cyrano looked good enough to take a bite out of, and so, here we are! Itching. We’ve taken the appropriate measures, and he should be feeling some relief soon, but meanwhile, the poor little fella is miserable.
Sally and Cyrano: our two dachshunds that Paul gave to Peter and me as gifts, and that I took to the NYC vet who I then introduced to Paul , and as a result Paul and Dr, Stephen Cole the vet have been happily in love for almost as long as Peter and I have been together! SO Sally and Cyrano are dogs of pure love! And , after you departed this earthly scene, I decided to name the girl pup after you so I could have a good reason to say your name at least several dozen times a day! Every time I say her name, I think of you, And that was the entire point. You would love these two dogs. Or your “grand-puppies, as you no doubt would be calling them! They would snuggle and snuggle with you. Just like Claudio and Isabelle used to do.
All sorts of things to report to you, but I just got back from the gym, where I did my requisite 30 minutes of interval cardio training, and ,frankly, I am tired! So, I may have to lie down and write more later, or tomorrow. But I need you to know that as I look out into the gorgeous day, you are on my mind, and once again, I wish you were here with us to experience this amazing city. Peter is at his office , Paul and Stephen invited me over for a nice lunch on their patio, but I really want to stick close to my desk today and write as the spirit moves me, and as my fatigue level permits me, so I said “no” to their kind invitation. They are such good friends to us.
We went to the opening night of THE LILY’S REVENGE two nights ago at the famed Magic Theatre. Peter has been doing some video work for them, to help promote this particular show, and Loretta Greco, who runs the theater, is a dear and valued friend of mine from the East Coast. So she has been including us in the Magic openings regularly now. Very sweet of her. Tomorrow evening, we will go see something that Barbara Damashek has done with the ACT students. Remember Barbara, Momma? She directed the QUILTERS I got the Tony nomination for? SHE lives here too! It seems everyone does! Well, not everyone, but a lot of people who have meant a deal to me in my life seem to have migrated West and here we all are together! Pretty amazing, actually.
It’s a remarkably busy social life here. I don’t think either Peter or I had expected that. Tonight a much valued night at home, and I have the chicken marinating for a nice leisurely dinner . I know Peter will enjoy it.
So, for now, fleas and all, that’s all I have the energy to report, but I promise more soon I miss you so much, and writing these letters helps me feel like you’re not really gone. But – you’re not…really…..are you? I know you hear me. I know you're watching and paying attention. I can feel it.
More soon…as ever,
Evalyn
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Prisons and Bunny Rabbits
#5 Letter to Momma
April 23, 2011
Saturday
San Francisco
Good morning Momma –
San Francisco is shining like a diamond in the sun today.
Easter Weekend in San Francisco.
Observations from dark to light:
I drove Peter to work yesterday morning, and as we drove over the hill on Union Street, on the way to Columbus Avenue, on my left the wide view of the Bay showed the perfectly balanced Alcatraz Prison sitting serenely in the water, looking like a Queen of the Bay. If one did not know its purpose, the solid, calm design of the buildings would inspire serenity. Then I remember that not long ago, all a murderous maniac had to do was swim hard to get to the city’s shores. They say it’s not an easy swim, that span of water, but from the top of the Union Street hill, the distance looks small. Glad it’s not a working prison anymore.
Easter Weekend in San Francisco, and there is a special celebration in Delores Park tomorrow, hosted by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, a kabuki-inspired troupe of satiric …well…..pseudo nuns….a sort of special San Francisco Easter Parade and Celebration, where extravagant and highly gorgeous and inventive drag queens from all over the city will gather in their Easter finery for all to admire. There is also a Hunky Jesus Beauty Contest, and for my money, that’s worth the entire ticket right there (not that they charge anything…it’s probably all free and open to the public). I’m hoping we can wend out way over to Delores Park tomorrow and experience Easter the San Francisco way.
There is a loving spirit in this city, flowing from an urban heart unlike any other I’ve ever known. So glad we live here now, Momma.
As ever,
Evalyn
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Birthday Letter to Momma
#4 Letter to Momma
April 21, 2011
Thursday: Glorious and Sunny and Cool!
San Francisco, CA.
Momma –
More decades ago than I care to count, you gave birth to me at Crawford Hospital in Atlanta, and that was the beginning of a merry chase I took you on for most of those decades to follow! I can only imagine what it was like having me for a daughter, and no matter how much you loved me – I know how dearly you did and do – being my mother could not have been a walk in the park. My strong, willful spirit must have challenged your patience, tested your limits, and pushed your buttons more times than you could count, and there must have been times when putting your hands around my scrawny neck and choking me to death crossed your mind! It is a true sign of love that I am still living and you were not sent to an insane asylum or prison, so thanks for those years when you put up with all I threw at you. Thank you for being strong.
But most of all: thanks for creating me in the first place.Today is my birthday – my first in this wondrous city that I’ve chosen to be my home – and I want to share it all with you.
If only I could show you how San Francisco Bay sparkles in the April sunshine, and how the soft breezes that seem to caress this city uniquely make the water glint as it dances.
If only you could have been at breakfast with me this morning, after I dropped Peter off downtown for work: I decided to pretend I was a tourist and treat myself to a birthday breakfast at the Buena Vista down at Fisherman’s Wharf. It was so filled with life, and the waitress –typical of SF’s service folks – was chatty, warm, friendly and informative. I still consider myself a tourist here, and wanted to share my San Francisco joy with others who are here for the same reason: to experience it all with newness and delight. I went to Ghirardelli Square, bought myself some birthday chocolates, sat on a bench and wrote about Alcatraz, then went back to my car parked on a steep hill, and drove home to write at my desk.
My desk that, along with me, lives here now!
This city is the best gift I could ever have asked for, for my birthday or any other day. As I sit, overlooking Lombard Street, considering the people who schlep up the hill to go see the “crooked-est street in America”, I love them for their endurance and caring. Maybe, when the weather is warmer, I’ll go set up a lemonade stand and help those tourists up the hill with some liquid refreshment! They earn it climbing that stretch. Maybe I just will!
Because this city – at this time of my life – brings out my best self, and I want others to feel what I feel here: welcome, supported, cared for, stimulated, happy, interested, excited, nourished!
And I won’t even charge them a nickel!
As ever,
Evalyn
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
#3 Letter to Momma
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
San Francisco
The Romantic Doggie Run
Hi Momma-
Peter and I live in a wonderful apartment on Lombard Street that – when we first walked into it- reminded us of our West End Avenue co-op in NYC that you visited so often. We knew, within 5 minutes of entering it, that it would be our first San Francisco home.
First, I thought someone had left all the lights on because even from the entrance hallway it looked so bright. But all we had to do was walk a few steps into the kitchen, then the dining room, then the large living room to realize it was natural light flowing in from all the many windows. This gave my weary, home-seeking heart just the lift it needed to feel encouraged that this might be the place.
We went from room to room – it’s not very large, maybe 2/3 of the NYC space, and 1/5 the size of the house in Virginia – and once we saw the gigantic walk-in closets, shining hardwood floors and yet more windows, we both knew quickly that this was the place we wanted. So, we asked to meet the Super, who turned out to be an extraordinary man, bright, verbal and nice, and whose enthusiasm about taking care of these old Lombard Place buildings (there are three of them connected by gardens!) was contagious: we went right to the management office and signed a lease! We had ourselves a place to move to in our new city of choice.
Peter has turned one of the walk-in closets into a cunning office/music studio.
And the building has its own dedicated dog run, out in back, where not only can all the many dogs in the buildings have a place to “go” but when you take them there, you see the Golden Gate Bridge! It is glorious. Glorious to take Sally and Cyrano for a pee! Imagine! Glorious! You would adore it.
This morning, the Bridge was draped in the soft white shawl of fog that gives it one of its many mysterious “looks”. At odd moments, it looked like it had been gently erased – that it had disappeared from the its familiar spot on the horizon and had drifted off to somewhere else it simply had to go, like a hair appointment or couture fitting . But then, moments later, the fog would stealthily sift away and there was the top of the Bridge’s stanchions , sharply peaking into the sweet sky. It had gone nowhere. It was playing coy behind its shawl and wanted to make its fans smile.
I see this show – this feminine , flirtations display – every time I take the doggies out to do their thing. And every time, it’s a brand new Bridge.
The view from our roof – the 360 degree panorama – would make you weep with joy. I only wish you could see it. But I bet your view is pretty good too, right?
We’ve found a good home here, Momma. And I miss you.
As ever,
Evalyn
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Letter to Momma #2
Saturday, April 16, 2011
San Francisco
The San Francisco Strawberry
Good morning Mommie –
I know I should begin your series of letters with descriptions of what brought Peter and me here, where we’re living, what we’re doing, and all that, but I had an experience just now, in our compact but useful kitchen here on Lombard Street that moved me to write, and that will sum up, metaphorically, my joy at living in California: I bit into a large, rich red, juicy, perfect California strawberry.
I am now in my sixth decade (odd that you can’t see me as I’ve aged, but maybe you can) – and I can honestly say that in a lifetime of East Coast fruit consumption, I have never known what the big deal was about strawberries. I’ve eaten them my entire life, mainly because I love all fruit and they seemed important to include in any bowl, given their small, colorful decorative possibilities. And even the wan, pinkish-rather-than red strawberry of the Eastern United States was better than no strawberry at all. But I never rushed to buy quarts of them when they appeared in grocery stores. And when I did buy them, they often languished in the bowl, as the fruit picked for no one’s team. Strawberries were the wall flowers of the fruit prom- even the apples went first.
But then a friend brought some halved berries – two months ago early –to his Carmel dinner table, and they were so sweetly juicy I assumed he had sugared and soak them in some strawberry liqueur. But he hadn’t. They were simply being themselves – and early in the season, too. Even my California pal was surprised at how sweet they were. And that was the beginning of my affair of discovery: I was falling for the simple, yet well-grown strawberry.
As they began to appear in my local Safeway and Trader Joe’s in huge numbers, costing ridiculously little – I began to cautiously bring home the odd carton, and invariably each berry was better than the last. My mouth simply could not believe it. These berries had life! They were not the dead, cardboard, imitation and tasteless berry that had been foisted on me all my life: these were a small sweet miracle in every bite. Their juices flowed down my chin, and I felt like I was French kissing every time I took a bite. I began to trust – and want - the strawberry.
Then, this morning – half awake – I poured my first cup of freshly brewed Peet’s Coffee (another California blast of pure pleasure), and absent-mindedly picked up a large crimson berry, still ruffled in its green collar so cunning - a friend had left some after a dinner party two nights ago - and my mouth woke up with a grateful start. A small dribble of strawberry juice travelled slowly down my chin, and I felt so glad to be alive I had to write about it. So glad to be living in San Francisco, I had to tell you why: life is a waking thing here, Momma. Life is juicy.
I now live in a place where the fruits and vegetables taste like themselves. Where, like the people I am meeting every day in my neighborhood, even the produce seems to be content to be its perfect self, not some imagined idea of itself. I feel San Francisco as the authentic place for this awakening part of my life, and with the glorious local strawberry as my companion, I will never go hungry.
As ever,
Evalyn
Labels: Momma Letters SF
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Letters to Momma
Letters to Momma
Friday, April 15th, 2011
San Francisco, California
Hi Momma –
Once upon a time, years before you passed away, you and I were discussing what it would be like for you to die. I generated the conversation out of my fear of losing you, and since you and I always discussed everything of importance in our lives, I hoped that talking about your death would help me bear living my life without you. As usual, you were willing to discuss it, as long as it would help me.
“The only thing I’ll regret about dying,” you said, “will be having to miss what goes on in your life next. I always have such fun sharing your life with you, I’ll be sad to miss your next adventures.” I didn’t know how to respond. You were not scared of death. You were just sad that you’d miss me and what the years would bring my way. My adventures, you called them.
Well, I’d like to respond now that you are gone.
Peter and I have started brand new adventures here in San Francisco , a town you and I never got to experience together and now that I am writing full-time, as you always said I should , let me share my life on Lombard Street by writing you about what it’s like to live here. Remember how, when I was on the road with a show, I’d write you countless postcards from each theater we played? Well, now I want to write you letters, so you can read them, wherever you are, sharing them with the friends you’ve made there, over heavenly cups of good strong coffee, as you always loved. Maybe you’ve re-connected to some favorite relatives, and rather than dredging up the old stories you keep boring them with about me, I can send you new ones to entertain them with.
Let’s call them the San Francisco Stories for Momma Letters.
And I promise to be as faithful a correspondent, as ever I was.
So, expect a letter soon, Momma. A very special delivery.
As ever,
Evalyn
Labels: Momma Letters SF
