Looking Up

When you live in a city as diverse, rich and culturally, well... friggin' awesome as San Francisco, you can become so used to being surrounded by amazing things that you can even come to not notice them.

I had a moment the other day, while waiting for my friend at the farmer's market that made me realize, again, just how amazing this city is. All you have to do is look up. Or down really. But just look.

As I waited for my friend I decided to walk around and just wander a bit. I found myself wandering into the Rincon building. A building I've been in over a hundred times. I am ashamed to admit this, but as a typical head-down, eyes on your own paper, urban city dweller... while having been in this particular building oh so many times-- I had never looked up. I don't know why I did this time, but I did. I was shocked. There, up along the ceiling was a collection of amazing murals. I was dumbfounded. How in the world had I never noticed? I mean I teach art history fer chrissakes! 

But look up I did. There were images highlighting California and San Francisco history. The good, the bad and the ugly. Strikes, corruption, death and gold all done by one man: Anton Refregier.

As I stumbled back out into the daylight, kicking myself for never looking up all these years I wandered out to the pier. I was kind of pouting and looking down at my shuffling my feet when some words glinted in the sun. I bent down and found this:

A poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti of City Lights Bookstore/beat poet extraordinaire fame. The poem "The Changing Light" is about was San Francisco looks like, truly.

"The changing light

         at San Francisco

    is none of your East Coast light

        none of your

              pearly light of Paris

The light of San Francisco

            is a sea light

                    an island light

And the light of fog

          blanketing the hills

     drifting in at night

           through the Golden Gate

                    to lie on the city at dawn

And then the halcyon late mornings

    after the fog burns off

      and the sun paints white houses

                  with the sea light of Greece

         with sharp clean shadows	

            making the town look like

                it had just been painted



But the wind comes up at four o'clock

                   sweeping the hills



And then the veil of light of early evening



And then another scrim

         when the new night fog

                    floats in

And in that vale of light

           the city drifts

anchorless upon the ocean"

Lesson two learned that day: Look down. I love this city.

EB

Comments

[lunch at 11:30]

geez. the more i hear about sf from you and nicole (i.e. cucina nicolina) that more i think it must really be an amazing place...

baltimore can be nice sometimes. the city skyline twinkling off the inner harbor is pretty. that is, when the water doesn't stink to highholyhell and all the bottles and whatnot bobbing up and down aren't ruining the view. ;)

[EB]

Oh wow. Um. Stinky eh? Well weve got our fair share. Certain hoods *ahem* like mine require that you walk on the shady side of the street unless the smell of warmed bodily fluids (yes plural) are your bag...

[lunch at 11:30]

(silence) wow. well glad to know it's not just baltimore then! we've got a whole lot of that, too. i'm not sure what's worse tho...smelling it or seeing it, uh, "leaving" ppl. i'd say it's a tie.

and again i say: now i know why ppl move to the suburbs. not that we're going. i'm just saying ;)