Roaring in San Francisco

Friday, I left FF for the first time. I am writing from Napa Valley, via San Francisco, where I spent my twenties bartending and kissing strangers. And I am visiting my former San Franciso roommate Eve, who was complicit in many of the crimes committed.

This is an old roomie trip, one of the very best kind.

It was a little tough to leave the Fox.  I endangered myself and others by calling M on my cell as I drove to the airport. I then started to cry.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Yes, I’m just so happy to be going and so grateful you supported me going and I’m going to miss you both so much.” I said.

I cried in the airport, also. Just a little. On the plane. Sitting with Caroline and Eve in Farley’s café in Portrero Hill and then I was here.

God, I love this city.

We walked the sidewalks in the Mission, past the chi-chi antique shops that are now sharing elbow room with the Latin grocery stores and their warm fruits. Two guys in hats and sunglasses were leaning out the top window of a blocky building, rapping to the world. Eve started to dance, a low-down elbow boogie and the guys roared and then rapped their approval.

“It’s like being serenaded,” she said.

We went to Haight street and got carded and the door man whispered to me as I walked past “You don’t look your age.” I didn’t feel it. I felt 21 again, seeing Haight street for the first time, wanting nothing more than to live in one of the second floor, bay window apartments and wake to the street’s morning music every day. We drank snakebites at what used to be the Achilles Heel and talked with the bartender about what a “snakebite” was, vs. a “black satin,” vs. a “black velvet.” (And in case you have ever wondered: Is it a “black and tan” without Harp’s? The answer is: No. It is not.)  Who cares about names? We liked our pints of pear cider layered with Guinness.

We realized that it was – OMG! – 18 years ago that we lived here. Eve called it “A Jurassic Age” since we used to get all thundered up and go down to the Mad Dog in the Fog. A lot has happened. And we talked about many of those things. But the main thing was the earthquake called “Motherhood,” which has ripped us both up and laid us back down again. It has weathered us and polished us and made us closer. I welled up again. Eve raised her glass. The dark layer of Guinness floated on the sparkly layer of pear cider, both so essential to the character of the drink.

“To Motherhood,” she said.

"To Motherhood,” I answered.