A Two City Gal

 היום אחד ועשרים יום, שהם שלשה שבועות, בעמר
Today is twenty-one days, which is three weeks, of the omer
מלכות שבתפארת
A day of leadership in a week of compassion

I spend the last day of this week of compassion as I spent the first day--in transit between the two places that anchor my identity, New York and San Francisco. My time lived in each city is close to equal. My soul holds the intersection between the two. Not a bad place to be.

Once a New Yorker . . .

היום תשעה ימים שהם שבוע אחד ושני ימים בעמר
Today is nine days--that is one week and two days--of the omer
גבורה שבגבורה
A day of strength in a week of strength

April 1 was the 30th anniversary of my move to San Francisco from New York City. Three years ago, I shared these thoughts in honor of the occasion.
__________________________________________________

Even after 27 years in San Francisco, I'm still identified as a New Yorker. One of my 6th grade Sunday School students busted me on this the second time I taught the class--"Marilyn, are you from New York?" When I replied in the affirmative, he said, "I knew it--you sound just like my grandmother!" Okay, the grandmother reference gave me a jolt, but I do know what he means. While I'm not sure about having an accent, there's definitely an attitude, a very direct way of speaking that is an integral part of who I am.

I've tried different looks--even went platinum blond for a year or so. With that look, my family, including my mother, did not recognize me. My 90+ year old grandmother thought I looked very Californian. But as you may see in the photo to the right, my New York-ness still comes through.



I think of myself as a hybrid. I'll never shed my New York persona, nor do I want to. It's as much a part of me as my Ashkenazic Jewish soul. And the Californian part of me is pure San Franciscan, which brings its own set of chauvinistic characteristics. I would say that both places consider themselves food capitals, so I'm lucky to be able to claim them both.

So I stand with a foot on each coast, the sum somewhat greater than the whole. No matter which coast I'm associated with, I am definitely a city girl. In San Francisco that means I have acquired some keen parking skills, as demonstrated by the photo below. Yes, I maneuvered into that spot which as you can see, had little room to spare. And both front and back vehicles were still there when I returned. I will tell you that getting out was easier than getting in, but both were accomplished without too much back and forth :)

Lightening our global footprint

היום שלשים יום שהם ארבעה שבועות ושני ימים בעמר
Today is thirty days, which is four weeks and two days of the omer
גבורה שבהוד
A day of strength in a week of humility

Thursday night is garbage night in my household. The bins need to be filled and put on the curb for pick up tomorrow morning. This may sound like a mundane task, something that goes on in every household. But in San Francisco, garbage can be complicated.

We've got three bins--a blue one for recycling; a green one for compost; and a black bin for anything else. Even that seems somewhat straightforward, but there's always a question about which containers can be recycled and which cannot; which ones can be put in compost and which cannot. There is a webpage that lists what goes where, but still, the questions remain. Which is why they even have whatbin.com to help you figure it out.

There are those who complain about this, probably the same people who complain about being charged for bags in stores. For me, it's a source of pride in my city. We don't just talk about preserving the ecology of our planet--we do something about it. In San Francisco we're working towards zero waste by 2020. And it's easy enough to carry your own bags, especially when it can help save our natural resources for the generations to come.

A Girl of Two Cities

היום ששה ימים בעמר
Today is six days of the omer
יסוד שבחסד
A day of foundation in a week of loving kindness

Today may be Passover, April's Fools, and the first full day of baseball, but for me, April 1st is the anniversary of the day I moved to San Francisco in 1986. I've lived in this city longer than I've lived in any other. My total New York years still outnumber those spent in California, although I will hit that tipping point in the not too distant future.

Even after 27 years in San Francisco, I'm still identified as a New Yorker. One of my 6th grade Sunday School students busted me on this the second time I taught the class--"Marilyn, are you from New York?" When I replied in the affirmative, he said, "I knew it--you sound just like my grandmother!" Okay, the grandmother reference gave me a jolt, but I do know what he means. While I'm not sure about having an accent, there's definitely an attitude, a very direct way of speaking that is an integral part of who I am.

I've tried different looks--even went platinum blond for a year or so. With that look, my family, including my mother, did not recognize me. My 90+ year old grandmother thought I looked very Californian. But as you may see in the photo to the right, my New York-ness still comes through.



I think of myself as a hybrid. I'll never shed my New York persona, nor do I want to. It's as much a part of me as my Ashkenazic Jewish soul. And the Californian part of me is pure San Franciscan, which brings its own set of chauvinistic characteristics. I would say that both places consider themselves food capitals, so I'm lucky to be able to claim them both.

So I stand with a foot on each coast, the sum somewhat greater than the whole. No matter which coast I'm associated with, I am definitely a city girl. In San Francisco that means I have acquired some keen parking skills, as demonstrated by the photo below. Yes, I maneuvered into that spot which as you can see, had little room to spare. And both front and back vehicles were still there when I returned. I will tell you that getting out was easier than getting in, but both were accomplished without too much back and forth :)

Seasons of Fruit

היום שבעה ושלשים יום שהם חמשה שבועות ושני ימים לעמר
Today is thirty-seven days, which is five weeks and two days, of the omer
גבורה שביסוד
A day of strength in a week of foundation

Living in San Francisco, I may not get definite weather clues that reveal the different seasons, but I can mark the time of year with the produce that's available at the farmer's market.

As evidenced by this photo of today's selection, fruit season has begun. The rainier and bing cherries herald the start--their appearance puts a big smile on my face. It's a short run, but a sweet one. This year I'm going to put up some jars of cherry infused brandy, so I'll be able to enjoy their goodness, with a kick, after they disappear from the stalls in late June.

The apricots pop up with the cherries. At first they're a bit hard, a little sour, but I want the taste so much I overlook those flaws. They'll reach their peak in a couple of weeks. and stick around through July.

I wish you could taste the white peaches shown here--incredibly juicy. The different varieties will take me through the entire summer, like the large cling peaches and ultra-sweet donuts.

In California we get winter strawberries, but the ones that come with spring have more concentrated flavor. And I get to match them with the new crop of raspberries with a 2 for $5 deal.

I believe in eating seasonally, which means a limited fresh fruit selection in the winter. But it makes me appreciate those first bursts of summer fruit flavor. So don't tell me we have no seasons here in San Francisco, ours are just defined by a different sense--the sense of taste.

My Sunny Yard

היום חמשה ושלשים יום שהם חמשה שבועות לעמר
Today is thirty-five days, which is five weeks, of the omer
מלכות שבהוד
A day of majesty in a week of humility

This is our lovely little back yard. A few minutes after taking this photo, I was enjoying lunch in the sun at that very table :)

It's a big deal for us to have that table there. For in that place once stood a large yucca tree. But after a two year process of removal, the tree is now gone.

When we moved into this house 19 years ago this coming August, there were two trees in the garden--the other one was planted in the center of what is now the back stone area. That tree fell in a storm about ten years ago. I can't find any photos of the yard with the trees. It's hard to imagine how they fit in. I wonder why anyone would plant them in that small space

We know they were a fairly new addition to the yard. Below you see a photo from 1927. In the upper left hand corner you see the back of two houses. Our house is the white one, second in from the edge. the yucca trees are not there. If they were, you would not see the back of our house, looking pretty much as it does today, except for the windows.

The slope you see is now filled with greenery, there are more houses to the left, and the street is paved. But the neighborhood looks pretty much the same. I love living in this city. It may have its ups and downs--topographically and economically. But it has become my home.

The best move I ever made

היום שני ימים בעמר

Today is the second day of the Omer

גבורה שבחסד

A day of strength in a week of loving kindness

On April 1, 1986, I walked out of my NYC apartment for the last time and flew to San Francisco, starting not just a new chapter in my life, but a whole new book. I was not entering unknown territory. For the year and a half prior to that moment, I had been going back and forth between NY and SF to be with Ken. On my visit that February I secured a job (which didn't turn out to be so secure, but that's a story for another day). I was as prepared as I could be to make the move and I knew that it was a move I had to make.

That decision was based on the need to move towards something, as opposed to being propelled by the need to run away. I didn't come to San Francisco to reinvent myself, but I have been able to become more of who I am with no expectations to weigh me down. I am lucky to feel that I have ended up in the place I was destined to live. My "New York-ness" will never be completely stifled--I still talk fast with hands waving, and can still become very impatient waiting in line. But San Francisco has my heart--it is my home.

As I look back I realize it took strength to make that leap of faith. And the loving kindness that I have found here all these years proves it was the right leap to make.

Marking Time and Place

היום תשעה ושלשים יומים שהם חמשה שבועות ארבעה יומים לעמר
Today is the thirty-ninth day of the omer - five weeks and four days
נצח שביסוד
A day of endurance in a week of foundation

Just as there are the timeframes that mark the cycles of the year--secular, spiritual, agricultural--there are also the periods of time that mark the flow of life. While the former have a set place and time, the latter are more fluid and subject to change, determined by the life that is marked.

For instance, where I have lived, when I lived there, for how long, and for what percentage of my life marks not only what era I am in, but who I am in that era--as an adolescent, a teenager, an adult, middle-aged, an elder.


At this point, I've spent more years of my life in New York than in San Francisco. The majority of that time was spent in suburbia, but the eight years I lived in Manhattan as a young adult were formative. Even though I've lived in San Francisco for the past 23 years, few people I meet mistake me for anything but a New Yorker.

But the San Francisco years are catching up. As far as numbers go, it recently occurred to me that I have lived in this house longer than I've lived in any one place. And while in San Francisco I am still considered a New Yorker--in New York I often feel very much a San Franciscan.



Two years ago, in a blog post titled State of Origin, I wrote:

Am I a New Yorker or am I a San Franciscan? I suppose I can be both. But I'm still not sure what to answer when asked, "Where are you from??"

I look at that now, and wonder if the better question would be, "Where were you formed?" The answer would still include both, but with the ratio changing as the years go by, my 'formation' is in flux.

The Fishing Report

היום אחד ועושרים יומים שהם שלשה שבועות לעמר
Today is the twenty-first day of the omer - three weeks
מלכות שבתפרת
A day of majesty in a week of compassion



I still read my local newspaper, the San Francisco Chronicle, every day. Sometimes I read it at home, sometimes in a cafe with coffee and a snack. That's the thing about the printed form of the newspaper--it's easily transportable to any sort of environment, and can be folded to accommodate various sizes and types of space available. I know I need to cherish this time spent with this news in print--it looks like it will be gone sooner rather than later as the Chronicle is in danger of stopping its print version sometime this year. I'm pretty sure it will survive as an internet-only news outlet, but that is no where near the same.

One big advantage to reading the newsprint rather than the screen pixels is the way you can skim all the sections and see what captures your eyes. While the web version has links that will take you quickly to the information you want to see, with the paper you can look over the words as you turn the pages, stopping as something makes an imprint. And I don't want to click around to read the comics--an important part of the newspaper experience. I look forward to those two pages each day.

And then there are the small gems you'd never discover in an online version unless you were specifically looking for them. One example of that is the obituaries. I've written before about my practice of reading the obituaries--you can find that here, or check out the "zichrono/nah l'vracha" category of this blog. Another somewhat hidden gem is Brian Hoffman's "The Fishing Report" that appears each Thursday in the sports section. In his opening paragraphs to the state of fishing in the San Francisco Bay Area you will find some of the best writing around.
Here's today's offering:

You can give light and you can take it away, a drive down Army to 3rd at a time past 2. Someone else said that, about the light, except that they meant life, and it was something to think about going over the draw bridge and along the edge of water to the parking lot at Red's.

It was dark except where it wasn't, light from the buildings and strung along the gun-metal bridge, thin halos above the streets and 100,000 places.

The one over the pier water, a rendering like a net in green-gold-orange. Then all that's familiar, the rod and the line, sinker and hook, an anchovy with a bloody eye going down.

The waiting.

If there were stars, it might have been different. It there was anything, it might have been different. As it was, it was fine.

A bench with a broken back. Not another human or even a fisherman. The best hours before dawn. Leaning back and taking aim, thumb to pointer, shooting them out ahead of the sun. One, by one, at a time.

I understand that the world needs to move forward and things have to change. But I will mourn the loss of those moments with my newspaper and my coffee, letting someone like Brian Hoffman use words to paint a picture, bringing me these scenes I would otherwise miss.

Harvey Milk - Reel vs Real

Last night Ken and I went to see the movie Milk. The reviews have been extremely good and I was expecting to have a good movie experience, with the bonus of seeing alot of San Francisco in the 1970s. Instead, I was hugely disappointed on both counts.

I will say that Sean Penn was fantastic in his role as Harvey Milk. He is not just playing Milk, he becomes Milk. He deserves to be considered for the Best Actor Academy Award. But as far as writing and directing goes, it's a total thumbs down from me.

The writing seemed so, I don't know, obvious, for lack of a better term. The story moves along, but there's no passion, no soul. The direction was claustrophobic. I didn't get a good sense of time and place in the visuals. The shots were either very close or very wide--neither giving me a feel for San Francisco in the 70s. Again, a lack of passion and soul. I was not moved emotionally.

And this is a story and a time and a place that does move me. If you really want to feel the power of Harvey Milk and the activism that defined San Francisco in the 70s, see The Times of Harvey Milk, the Academy Award winning documentary directed by Rob Epstein. I've seen it numerous and it never fails to bring me to tears.

For me, the telling of the real story from those who lived it brings it closer to my heart than watching the Hollywood reel version.

Happiness is . . .

. . . having a pastrami sandwich for lunch.

Now, that may not sound very joy-inducing to many of you. Remember, I follow the practice of eating kosher and I live in San Francisco--a great food town but low on the scale when it comes to kosher eating establishments. Don't shed too many tears for me, the choices are great on the vegetarian side of things so it's not like I make too many sacrifices when going out to eat. But there is no going out for a meat meal on any level.

EXCEPT....there is The S.F. - New York Deli. This tiny oasis of kosher meat sandwiches is tucked in a corner of Justin Herman Plaza in downtown San Francisco. It's not a neighborhood I frequent so the deli has fallen off my radar. But today I had to pick up an animation file at Video Arts, which is near Pier 39. Driving home on Embarcadero with an empty stomach at 1 p.m., the urge for a pastrami sandwich tugged at me when I realized the deli was near.

I came home with the sandwich on marble rye, augmented it with some Betampte saurkraut and washed it down with a Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda. I will admit that it wasn't a Ben's experience, but it was a lunch to savor.

Omer 5768 - Day 24; 3 weeks & 3 days

Today was Tiferet she b'Nitzach - a day of compassion in a week of endurance.

The transition from one season to the next may not be as marked here in San Francisco than it was when I lived in New York. But one way to notice the change in seasons is to shop at a farmers' market.

I'm so happy in the fall when the persimmons arrive, but at the same time have to face the reality that soon the selection of fruits and vegetables will thin with the onset of winter. Today I experienced more food joy as I came home from the Civic Center Farmers' Market with cherries and apricots and peaches. And as we are just on the edge of the summer crops, I don't have that autumn let down, just the anticipation of the ripe tastes ahead.

With Shavuot and its celebration of the first fruits three weeks ahead, I'm thinking that I will create a ritual for myself. Something to mark the season of fruits and vegetables bursting with flavor. Or maybe that can be my contribution to a Tikkun Leyl Shavuot.

But for now, I'm happy popping cherries in my mouth, enjoying the first taste of summer.

Omer 5768 - Day 22; 3 weeks & 1 day

Today is Chesed she b'Nitzach - a day of loving kindness in a week of endurance.

I really feel badly for Barry Zito. I know I shouldn't--he didn't make the Giants give him that enormous contract. They offered and he accepted--who wouldn't take a guaranteed $126 million dollars. But he's pitching so poorly--his pitches have lost velocity, he can't make it more than 5 innings. He didn't do well last year, the first year of the contract. He's gone 0-7 to start this season, and the best he can hope for tonight is a no decision. The Giants' fans can't stand him--and show it.

I'm an A's fan, so I should be able to shrug my shoulders and say, "Ah, well...too bad....he was fine when he played for us...." But I can't. I like Barry Zito--he seems like such a good person. He's not arrogant; he's feeling the pain and taking the responsibility. He's working hard and taking all the advice. But none of it's working, and it hurts to watch.

I think major league pitchers have one of the toughest jobs in sports. So much of the game is riding on their shoulders. And their failures are so public as they take the team and the fans down with them. And it's hard to imagine how this cannot affect their entire being. Again--I know they get paid well and yes, that's part of the job that they just have to deal with to get the big bucks. But still, watching a high profile pitcher fail makes me squirm.

(Except if it's someone like Roger Clemens.....but that's a whole other story.)

Omer 5768 - Day 7; 1 week

Today is Malchut she b'Chesed, a day of majesty in a week of loving kindness.

Passover ends today, and I will say that this year it certainly was the harbinger of spring in San Francisco. The weather has been fabulous--bright sunshine with the cool ocean breeze that keeps the air from getting too hot. And this morning I heard the symphony of the birds, sounds that never cease to amaze me.

I've lived in cities all of my adult life--first in Manhattan and now in San Francisco. Even on the quietest of days you will be hard pressed to hear many sounds of birds in a New York apartment--not counting, of course, any you might have as pets :) When I first moved to San Francisco, we lived right across from a small park but still, not many chirps.

But here in the SF neighborhood of upper Noe Valley I get serenaded each spring and summer morning by all sorts of birds. Often in our backyard I see sparrows and bluebirds and hummingbirds. But the loudest sounds come from the parrots that live on our hill. The birds are probably part of a flock of wild parrots originally imported as house pets. You can read about the San Francisco parrots in Mark Bittner's The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill.

It's a beautiful cacophony. I don't usually see them en mass, though I often spy different varieties. But in those early hours with the sun newly risen, listening to their songs, I lay in my bed and smile, reminded of another reason why I love living here

Omer 5768 - Day 2

Today is Gevurah she b'Chesed - a day of strength in a week of loving kindness.


I don't know about the middle of the country, but on both the east and west coasts of the US there is a buzz about the Great Matzah Shortage of 2008.

Here in the San Francisco Bay Area, by Friday, the day before the start of Pesach, there was little to no matzah to be found. This news made the front page of the Bay Area section of the Chronicle. "The reasons for the shortage are not entirely clear. But theories abound. A jubilee year in Israel, when some fields lie fallow, might have depressed production. Others believe that grocery stores may have underestimated a rise in Jewish observance."

In New York, the talk is about the missing Manischewitz Tam Tam crackers. The reason for this shortage is clear. David Rossi, a spokesperson for Manischewitz explains in this New York Times article: "“What we did was put a brand-new oven in our Newark facility. Much higher speeds, all computer-controlled, a state-of-the-art baking line. That was something we were hoping to have up and running well prior to the Passover baking season. Due to some engineering delays, we missed the window.”

These shortages bring out the differences in Jewish life between the two cities. In New York the hoopla is about not having one particular snack for the week. Everything else, especially matzah, is in full supply. In San Francisco, the matzah ran out before the first seder had begun -- something that would be unthinkable in New York.

It is sad that the compassion level of some in our San Francisco community is at somewhat of a low level, as evidenced by the Orthodox Jew who is quoted in the Chronicle saying, "Those who didn't buy well ahead of time are not planning as wisely as the holiday would dictate." I am glad to say that in my Beth Sholom community those who have are offering to share with those who missed out. So there is the spirit of the day--the strength of our community reaching out to o thers with loving kindness.

The more things change........

Today was one of those summer days we are happy to see in San Francisco--warm, sunny, bordering on hot but saved by a cooling breeze. A time for reflection as I strolled down Valencia Street towards the Marsh to drop off the finished DVD for Sunday's benefit.

My Baby Boom Generation is known for being fueled by drugs; this generation--I don't know if it has a name--is definitely fueled by caffeine. I passed three independent coffee houses along the way--no Starbucks on this strip--filled with 20 & 30 somethings with their phones/PDAs/iPods and laptops. I laughed to myself as I realized they are closer in spirit to the Beat Generation of the 50s than they are to us or the Gen Xers before them.

As the Beats congregated in North Beach, the Mission is now the hip place to gather. It's an area that retains its gritty city vibe--cars, sirens, hustle and bustle--populated by people from diverse backgrounds who still, for the most part, manage to smile at each other as they pass on the street.

It is literally a hot spot weather wise, which brings a tie to an even earlier time in San Francisco history. It's an area of sunshine in a city often covered with fog---with the added bonus of flat land in the midst of hills. The Spaniards that arrived from Southern California made the Mission District their home base, just as these new young arrivees do now.

Yes, the more things change, the more they remain the same. One constant in this city that touches me is how it reveres eccentrics and individualists. I think that's one reason I embrace this as my home.

Never on a Monday

A tip to anyone visiting San Francisco--if you decide to eat out on a Monday, check first to see if your restaurant of choice is open.

I had plans to meet my friend Tannis for dinner tonight. We hadn't seen each other in a while and needed to catch up. We decided to try places in my neighborhood, Noe Valley. The first couple of places we tried--closed. The places that were open had special 4 course meal offerings--maybe good some times, but more food than either of us wanted.

We ended up at the Pescheria on Church Street. I had been in that restaurant space when it served Greek food, and before that when it was a different fish restaurant, and before that when it was a cafe, and before that when it was another cafe. Before that, it was office space. Interestingly enough, the food has always been pretty good. This incarnation is no exception. And even though they also had a 4 course Monday night special for $35, we were able to order any of the dishes a la carte. There was the added bonus of good service and an interesting wine list.

I don't know what it's like in other cities or towns, but remember that Monday night in San Francisco is a day off for many restaurants. So remember to call ahead, or make plans to eat at home.

Food & Wine

A new stop for me on Wednesday mornings is the San Francisco Civic Center Heart of the City Farmer's Market. I find good, organic, locally grown produce here. One added bonus seems to be that the produce I buy seems to last longer--I guess because the time from field to stand is short. Whatever the reason, I get great salad greens, chard, kale, and spinach. There's a mushroom stand that has the juiciest organic shitaki mushrooms I've ever seen or tasted. Last week I made a Mushroom-Tofu Stroganoff that was out of this world. (The recipe came from The Tassajara Recipe Book by Ed Brown.) Fresh cherries, one of the sweet joys of life, are in full season--at least here in the Northern Hemisphere, and the stone fruits are coming into their own. You can also find great tamales and an organic falafel vendor. So if you live in SF, or just planning to visit, I recommend a stop here. It may not have the cache of the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market, but great seasonal produce at bargain prices.


On a different but related note, I recently finished a short video piece for Wine Enthusiast Magazine, showcasing their Toast of the Town event held in San Francisco at the end of March. They have posted it on their website, and you can view it here. Not a big budget item, but it was fun to edit. Most important, they are happy, so I'll probably get to do it again when they stop by in SF next year. Maybe they'll even let me attend the event--you know, to get a better feel-and taste-for it.

Counting the Omer Day 27 - 3 weeks, 6 days

Today is Yesod she b'Netzach - a day of foundation in a week of endurance.

Like most San Francisco Bay Area bloggers, it's hard not to write about the accident that is reminiscent of the freeway collapse caused by the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. For those who might not have heard the news, a gas tanker truck overturned on the southbound Interstate 880 freeway connector, then burst into flames. The heat was so intense that the steel holding up the connector above it which links Interstate 580 with state highway 24, melted and collapsed unto the freeway below. The driver was able to get away before the tanker exploded and because of the early time - 3:45a.m. - no life was lost.

You can see a collection of photos showing the destruction here at the SFGate website. Yesterday morning's accident occurred very near the place where the Cypress freeway collapsed in the 1989 earthquake. I'm almost sure that these new connectors were constructed to take the place of the Cypress. And like the Cypress, it's hard not to image driving those roads with the possibility of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. As I mentioned earlier, this time we were lucky.

You never know what will happen, and you can't live your life worrying what will be. Even on this day of foundation and endurance, the foundation crumbled, destroying a structure that was built to endure. But although it will take months, a new foundation will be created, a new structure will be built, and life will go on. Maybe the lesson for this day is that we need to monitor our foundations, not just take their existence for granted. We need to shore up and fix what becomes broken, create our new foundations. That is the root of true endurance.

State of Origin

I'm writing this post from NYC. I came to see the Hunter College High School production of Damn Yankees. I'll write a complete review later, but I will say that the kids did a great job and I enjoyed it thoroughly--both times that I saw it!

I'm staying in NYC for a week, taking advantage to see as many friends as I can. I'm also going to check out an exhibit at the Museum of Design and go to some Judaica shops to buy some books. I've already picked up some shoes, and I'm eyeing another pair. It's great to traipse around the City. New York has one of the most extensive public transportation systems in the world. And unlike San Francisco, you can walk most anywhere and not have to face any hills on route.

As much as I'm enjoying myself, I do feel a change in my relationship with the City. It's the little things. I tend to wait for lights to turn green before crossing the street, not just forge ahead, dodging the cars like most New Yorkers. There has been so much turnover in the buildings, both the physical structures and the commercial occupants that make many places unrecognizable from my memory. Although I have more of a familiarity here, the comfort level I feel is not much more that what I feel when I'm visiting Brent and Sharon in Sydney.

I grew up on Long Island always aware of living in a suburb of Manhattan. I worked in Manhattan for ten years and lived there for eight of those ten. Those were formative times in my life, and had a great influence on who I am. April 1st will mark 21 years of living in San Francisco. It is the place I feel I was destined to be--the place I truly came into my own.

Am I a New Yorker or am I a San Franciscan? I suppose I can be both. But I'm still not sure what to answer when asked, "Where are you from??"