Memory & The City [Part One]

Maybe leaving suburban California was the start of it all. At age ten, I traveled to Holdingford, Minnesota for an extensive family reunion. It was an impressionable trip, being the first cross-country journey I'd ever taken. Memories of grassy fields, horse-back riding adventures and discovering open- plain antiquities such as carriage rides through town to church, will be forever bookmarked in my brain. Though, one memory I have associated with this vacation has nothing to do with Minnesota. In fact, it is a memory of something that never occurred in reality. Distinctly, I recall having my first vision of San Francisco. 


It was at the tail end of my stay in Minnesota. I had a ticket to return to California. My cousins planned to take their time by driving home. I was jealous that they were going to see most of the country through long-stretched roads. The travel bug ignited, I wanted to see everything with them too. When we were all back home together, in California, they told me of their detour to San Francisco. For some reason I believed (or imagined) they had reached the holy grail. I am sure they only mentioned typical things: clam chowder, Boudin bread, and trolly cars. But for some reason it looked like a mystic mountain amongst the fog, in my mind. Right then and there, my first distinct memory of San Francisco occurred. While dangling souvenir key chain's encapsulating the vision I began to build, my cousins described the cold summer chill the city breathed. And that, that was enough.

Forgetting

I look through my window
           out
                    toward Sutro                                                  Tower.
Clouds fade
in
       and
 past,
         cover it grey
                  then
             fade
back
       into the light.



As I read -
               sleep -
                         dream -
                                     wake-                   
                                                 I forget that tower is             there.

Nine

Hundred

&

Seventy
-
Seven

feet


It watches over
        me
          .

Oh San Francisco, I Sing to Thee

I've been living here for a year and some change. That's hardly enough time to call things 'serious.' Though, it sure feels like I am in a full-blown exclusive relationship with San Francisco (minus my sometimes wandering lust for New York). Honestly, I am one-hundred percent, completely head-over-heels, cliche-status, crazy in love for San Francisco. I wish I could describe my feelings more eloquently, but I just get so darn excited when I think of this city that I lose all ability to speak. Adjectives like amazing, terrific, and lovely, just will not suffice. So instead I've got pictures which I take on a daily--often hourly--basis of the city. Each picture speaks more words than I could ever sing:

Peering through the trees of Golden Gate Park

Upper Haight

Golden Gate Park - Morning Mist Hour

Anza Street, Outer Richmond, Over Looking Ocean Beach

7:00 AM Outer Richmond

Market Street

Chinatown

Golden Gate Park -- Buffalo Field

Rooftop

Golden Gate Bridge, Marin County

The Light Outside My Window

It's been so long since I've written anything for this blog. I feel terrible for letting it sit untouched. All of my physical & mental efforts, unfortunately, have been going towards work. So now, to play catch up, here are some pretty photos I took--all relating to types of light against my window.

(Ok, the city scape is not a view from my house, but I had to include it.)

Don't Lose That American Spirit

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Maybe all it took was my moving away from perfect Orange County to realize the real issues at stake and that my vote does matter. But this was the first year I actually cared about what I was voting for. Living in a city of 812,816 people can do that to you. Living on your own, paying for you home, and living without proper healthcare also shakes up the apathetic voter.

Unlike rallies at Berkeley or camping for the Occupy movement, voting has a direct outcome. Change happens through the course of one day (backed by years of well thought political campaigning). Though you may think it small, your vote makes a difference because you are exercising your right not to sit at home and let the nation choose for you. Participating in the great debate shows that you care for America's future.

It's easy for people to think that it doesn't matter if what you voted for wins or loses because your vote is just one in a sea of millions. But then why go to the polls? 

Here's my San Francisco spin on why it's important to vote: If we thought of voting like recycling then we would have a much cleaner world. It’s the same mentality. People easily think I am one person so my actions aren't going to hurt anyone if I do or do not choose to recycle. Multiply that thought by a city of 812,816 and now we've got a lot of plastic bags reeking havoc on our environmental well being. 

There’s an overabundance of careless people out there, apathetic to our environment because they think others will do the 'hard' work for them, they don't think they--as single individuals--can make an impact, or they just simply do not give a damn. But the same can be said about voting. Some people believe that their individual vote will not change the scheme of things, so they choose to sit at home and let the nation decide for them. Those kinds of people, frankly, don’t get it. Why then wake up each day and go to work? Why do anything at all with such a bland attitude? It’s depressing. If you want positive change to occur, it all starts with a single individual. Living in the United States of America, we are supposed to be working collectively towards such goal. Am I being idealistic? Sure. But I don’t support those who decide not to make a political decision at all. Hey man, where’s your American spirit?

Gray Matters

This post isn't really about anything in particular. I am only expressing the fact that I haven't been good about regularly writing longer entries for this blog. Lately I've been concentrating on my photography and my cooking (see above). For me, each of these arts--writing, photography, cooking--over lap in regards to aesthetic, concentration, and form. 


Writing: 

I write when I feel inspired and every writer gets her inspiration in different ways. My writing comes in waves; waves of interest, motivation, focus, and momentum. Occasionally I am hit with random inspiration and every so often my ideas feel endless. Other times I sit down and choose a topic that's been floating about my head and try to pick apart or compose into understandable words. (Hence, what I am doing now.)


Photography:

I've been snapping photos on the reg without ever taking it seriously. I am not trying to make a living off it. I only want to share my view of the world with those around me. The reason I feel so adamant about doing so isn't about me at all. (Well, maybe a little.) It's because I feel overwhelmed by romance in this world. Yes, I am in love with the world. My only hope with photography is to nudge those that don't take the time to look up at the flock of migrating birds in the sky or look down at the two o'clock shadows cast by maple trees. It is those people, hopefully, that I make notice a thing or two of the world's everyday wonders. Even if what I am saying is all a cliche and it's all been done before, that's fine. Beauty is everywhere. Even if it's constantly the same thing over and over that I notice, all the better. My reasoning is to continue--always--to be on the lookout for it. There can never be too much beauty. * 

Cooking:

I guess it's no chore to cook if you spend almost 1.5 hours each time preparing dinner repeatedly. Because my prospective of cooking-as-work has completely shifted to cooking-for-fun, I adore it. Throwing together good food with thought and effort is the best part. I've learned to let go of the recipe-as-bible mentality and just wing it, which allows me to flex my creativity and feel accomplished once I see my idea through.
 


*Don't get me wrong when I toss around the term beauty. I am not only referring to it in the tradition sense, but also the all-encompassing beauty: that which is found in the sad or ugly.

**Photographed above is, well, a cheater's version of homemade pumpkin pancakes. It's the boxed mix from Trader Joe's. :)

Summer into Autumn

*All photos taken by Andrea in San Francisco from September through October 2012.

Sun Rose High

October decided to greet San Francisco with the summer it's been missing. And greet it did. It got up to the high 90s in downtown this week. It is probably the first time I ever wanted to stay in doors on a beautiful day and not walk all over town. Intense heat is not made for San Francisco. Everyone looks miserable on the bus. The streets smell even worse, if you can imagine. And when icecream can't be enjoyed because it is so hot outside then you know there's a definite problem!

I shouldn't admit this, but I already miss the cloudy days sitting in doors with a hot cup of chai and a good read. I won't have to wait too long...Oh look, the cold weather is already back.

Riding Buses For A Hobby

As a Southern Californian advocate for public transportation I just had to live in San Francisco. Moving liberated me from my automotive chains. No longer do I worry about finding a parking spot, paying outrageous gasoline fees, or receiving a ticket. But the transition from LA freeways to life on the bus took some getting used to. Often I am away from home the entire day, so I learned how to be resourceful and organized before venturing out in the city. I always ask myself, “What’s the forecast? Where am I going and how do I get there? Do I have enough food to last me seven hours?” Not that I’ve become a nomad, but living in San Francisco has brought out my adventurous spirit.

Though Belle and Sebastian sing in The State That I am In, “Riding on city buses for a hobby is sad/Why don't you lead me to a living end,” taking the bus is more pleasant than most would believe. You have shelter; you don’t have the anxiety that driving brings; you can sleep, read, listen to music, meditate or daydream. Of course you’ve got to accept what comes with travelling by bus: a mix bag of personalities, being off schedule, breaking down, and having less personal space. But anyway you commute there is always some small sacrifice. I find myself riding the bus, for what feels like 60% of my waking time. Because of it I’ve become more productive with other aspects of my life. I base when I leave the house, how much I am going to carry, and where I’ll end up in the city all on riding the bus. No longer do I sit in traffic in Southern California or feel too lazy to commute. Here in San Francisco the bus has become an extension of my home—a place where I can sit and ponder as the world pans by.   

Trouble Coffee Speaks the Truth

Neil Young & Stevie Wonder have left just as quickly as they've come. Now we can get on with our lives.

The Night Fog

Growing up in Southern California, I have distinct memories of hot, restless summer nights. With all of my windows open, and one sheet loosely draped over my legs, I would eventually fall asleep to the cricket's song. This year is the first summer in which I've experience no summer at all. It is hard for me to fathom. The calendar reads July, but outside the fog is quick-moving and thick. In August I grew accustomed to wearing three layers minimum, always having my toes covered, plus sporting the same long coat each day. I've learned not to let those few clear-sky days fool me. If the sun is out, even in the Richmond District, I know it won't be warm when I return home that evening.

Without having a real summer I try to make believe one exists every once in a while. Sometimes I'll go outside wearing sandals and a sunhat, fully aware of the inevitable suffering the night fog will bring upon my return home.

*This photo was taken by Andrea in the Richmond District on an August night. 

Architectural Bits--A Tour of SF Exteriors

*All photos were taken by Andrea in San Francisco in 2012 from June through July.
*The sketch drawing is by Paul Madonna.