Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m in denial. I have left California. I miss the weather, my view, running down the hill to the beach and thinking about my father who lived there in the thirties taking publicity stills for movie stars and working for A.P. Gianini, founder of The Bank of America. I long to talk to him and to hear his stories. He died long ago but San Francisco gives me the moments of joy to think of him.
San Francisco has changed tremendously, with the Embarcadero now free of freeway and lined with palm trees, and the old famous Ferry Building full of new restaurants and businesses. It is a wonderful weekend market where farmers and food venders, wine, flowers and the works are shown and sold.
The Pac-Bell baseball park is a blast at Giants games. Watching dogs retrieve home run balls that have flown over the stadium walls into the bay is a hilarious treat of typical San Francisco antics.
The winter sunsets are spectacular from an apartment window. I think I am homesick for the feeling of a connection to a city that reminds me of San Francisco. That city is Astoria, Oregon.
A few weeks ago, I went back to the Bay area for leftover assignments. I stayed at my usual haunt; the Hotel Huntington. Old and new friends gather at the turn of the century bar loaded with the history of the Railroad Barons and Nob Hill patrons.
That night I was asked to go sailing on the bay on a 48ft TAYANA. I jumped at the chance. The weather prognosis was great. The weekend came with beautiful weather, some outer fog approaching but leaving the Alameda area. Sailing under the Bay Bridge was a thrill. The return under it later would hold even more of a thrill.
I marveled at the sailing abilities of Capt. Rick and owner Tom. Tom was selling the boat and moving back to the east. I could imagine his tearful feelings. Sailing cuts to the chase of who is willing to assist on a boat. It separates the personalities, an interesting thing to observe. I like me on a boat. It brings out the Viking and I can admit it.
We sailed over to Angel Island, anchored, and lived happily on the calm emerald inlet for a few hours. Then it was tide and time to return down under the Bay Bridge to Alameda. Going back with the tides, the changing dance of busier waters enabled us to see a world phenomenon, replacing one of the world’s most famous bridges. As we sailed closer to the south end, we saw one of, if not the largest Shanghai built cranes at work. An eye popping, jaw dropping, huge pulley was doing its work to lift spans together. I got to take the helm for a moment to experience taking a sailboat under such a span. I can’t remember if I wept a bit. I thought of my dad sailing those waters and how I must be more like him than I thought.
