Heart in San Francisco, Part 2

 When I Came Home to You
"I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever. . . "

The morning after I posted the first “Heart in San Francisco” blog, God hugged my aural sense with that very song. Hearing Tony Bennett’s hit over the AM waves, its slip of poetic lyrics pulled me back to ‘63, when our family first moved to the City by the Bay.

Pacific Sunset, Half Moon Bay

From Chi town my family relocated, via a train ride across the plains, over the rugged Rockies, and Sierra Nevada. I recall seeing the latter mountainsides from the window. I recall the kindness of a caring Negro Porter. I recall my mom struggling with a wailing child. Anyone else would have reveled a train adventure. Not I.

Though trains chugged on the lower deck of the Bay Bridge our railway journey ended in Oakland Station. As Daddy was already at work, my never-will-drive mommy said her uncle drove us into the City that February. Our first home was a hotel on the outskirts of Chinatown. With mom pregnant, we leaned to traipse the steep streets to the best oriental restaurants and bakeries. In out of the way alleys Daddy took us to rooms many Chinese residents crowded with the best chefs of that time. Our family taste buds loved that black bean Cantonese cuisine.

May of ‘63 we settled into our new brick and wood ranch, the front steps yet to be cemented. Like Bennett sang, it stood “high on a hill,” bedrock west of the Airport. The closest meat market was in the Mexican Mission District. Mommy carried energetic crabs from Fisherman’s Wharf, steamed buns and food delights from Chinatown. We had one supermarket by the coast. No hints of shopping malls back then.

San Francisco Bay beckoned hearts by the millions. Condos, subdivisions, businesses, and streets spread like kudzu through the Bay Area. Sometimes Daddy drove us to model homes, hoping to move us closer to his work in South Bay. But Mommy wouldn’t budge. Besides she worked as a nurse nearby. Meanwhile, the ranch filled with six giggling, pinching ‘gals’ as Daddy called we siblings.

Now five decades later, Daddy home in heaven, the gals moved out, Mommy remains at that house, family pictures hugging the walls.

Until 2009 Mommy walked five-mile jaunts daily with heavy shopping bags. “I’m a little slow now, Cindy,” she confessed.  Wide eyed I watched my eighty-six years young mom cardio glide, pump light dumbbells, and squeeze abs on an exercise ball.

MBH and I enjoyed our extra days with Mom. Time let calmer heads prevail to insure her leaky house would be fixed and snugly her home. Our final evening we drove Mom over the hill to the coast to celebrate our wedding anniversary.  Blessed with hugs of a sunset, sourdough bread, clam chowder and Dungeness crabs, wouldn’t God top it off with this song over the radio? Here’s a version my Hawaiian-born Dad would love.           Enjoy.