Last week in San Francisco, I was strolling down Mission Street toward the 24th Street BART station. From there, I was planning to catch a train to the Embarcadero station and then walk to the ferry terminal, where I was meeting friends for an outing to Sausalito. Sausalito is the ritzy suburban tourist town on the north side of the Bay. In all the years I’ve been coming to this area, I’ve never visited Sausalito, so I figured it was time to check it out.
On the way to the BART station, I passed the Mission District unemployment office, where a line of men and women spilled out of the front entrance and flowed down the sidewalk for half a block. Those queued up next to the building ranged in age from 16 to 60, most of them Hispanic or African-American, and most of them just standing there looking at nothing in particular as they waited for the line to start moving. Several of the adults had children with them. The kids, for the most part, stood patiently with everyone else, indifferent to their surroundings, as though they’d been waiting on that sidewalk since they were old enough to stand. (more…)
Whenever I drive into California, I pop in Joni Mitchell’s Blue CD and select track number six, which is, of course, “California.” I can’t recall when this tradition began, but now every time I drive across the border that song is playing. I think it’s the line “Will you take me as I am?” that keeps this ritual alive.
The last time I played the song was two days ago, when I crossed into California from the southern part of Arizona. As I followed Interstate 8 along the Mexican border, I listened to number six twice and then to the rest of the CD, also part of the tradition. Another of my favorites is “River,” track eight, which includes several soulful bars from the Christmas carol “Jingle Bells,” a fitting choice given that we’re in the middle of the holiday season. The song also includes what I think is one of the best lines in a piece of music: “I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” (more…)
I ride San Francisco’s MUNI train, the L line, toward its termination point at Embarcadero station, in a car that’s surprisingly empty for a midmorning Thursday, given this cutback economy.
At the Van Ness station, a group of older teens boards the train. I notice them only because one announces, “I sit here. I sit here,” as she plops down on a seat that faces the aisle. (more…)
Yesterday, I arrived at Point Reyes National Seashore in northern California. Point Reyes is a scenic—and in places, quite rugged—slice of coastland that follows the San Andreas Fault just north of San Francisco. Since my arrival, I’ve seen jackrabbits and great egrets and black-tailed deer and wild turkeys and hummingbirds and raccoons and red-winged blackbirds.
I’ve also seen cows, tons of them, scattered across the grasslands that sweep over the hilly landscape. That’s because cattle and dairy ranches have been part of this area for generations, long before the feds designated the place as protected. Ranching, it seems, has been grandfathered into the park. (more…)
I stand in Guerneville’s only laundromat, in front of one of those front-load washing machines that promises to get my clothes cleaner and whiter than the kind with the lid on top. I toss in my clothes, lock the door, and insert most of my quarters. Fourteen, to be exact—$3.50 to wash one load.
I step over to the cash machine to retrieve more quarters for the second load. I reach into my pocket for my wallet. My pocket is empty. (more…)
