Nineteen
years ago, my husband and I were walking the streets of San Francisco; we lived
there for one glorious year when he got the wonderful opportunity to work as a
postdoc in a molecular genetics lab at the University of California at San
Francisco. I also ended up working in the same lab (pretty large) but in a
different capacity. I remember loving the challenge of moving, setting up
stakes in a new city, finding an apartment for us to rent, going to look at
them in the evenings when he got home after work. All those things that make
for a life together and the stuff of great memories. I got to thinking of that
time in our lives because I saw our old address on a slip of paper as I was
going through my files recently and tossing old papers. We lived on Carl Street
(very near the intersection with Stanyan Street), a stone’s throw in terms of
distance from both Golden Gate Park and the Haight-Ashbury district. I googled
the address recently and clicked onto the street view—wouldn’t you know, there
was our old Victorian-style house, still looking the same as it did nineteen
years ago? I wonder if it still exists as apartments for rent? As I remember,
there were several apartments in the three-story house. We lived on the top
floor.
We loved
being there and each weekend was a new adventure. There were so many things to
do and see that year. Where should we go, what should we visit this time? Of
course we did all the standard touristy things—visiting Fisherman’s Wharf,
Alcatraz prison, Muir Woods, Chinatown, Golden Gate Park, different museums and
the zoo. And so many other things. We drove to Marin County, to Berkeley, and
to the Napa Valley wine country (don’t get me started on how much I loved being
there—it is one of the most beautiful
places on earth if you ask me). But what I remember most from our year in SF is
that we got outdoors and walked. It
is a great city to walk in, hilly yes, but easy to walk around in. And that is
how we discovered most of the interesting off-the-beaten path restaurants and
cafes and stores that we ended up liking to go to. And our trips to the beach
on the weekends, even in the months of February and March. Deserted beaches for
the most part, but what an expansive feeling to be there. I love being at the
shore during the winter months; I remember doing that when I lived in New
Jersey—driving to the shore in the middle of winter and looking out over the
ocean. In San Francisco, we took the cable car all the way out to the end of Irving
Street and then walked a few meters from there to the beach. We stopped and
bought homemade vanilla sodas at the little Italian deli that stood on the
corner of the last street before the beach. That was my first introduction to
those wonderful Italian syrups that come in all flavors—vanilla, coffee,
chocolate, and so many others. I took so many pictures that year, we had so
many visitors that year—my sister and her husband, my friends Gisele and Judy, my husband’s
friend Lars, colleagues from our Norwegian workplaces. I remember my husband’s aunt and uncle (Gunvor
and Åke) visiting us in the autumn, and her falling in love with the pumpkins
that were in abundance at that time of year; she helped me carve out a large
one for Halloween. And when my ten-year old stepdaughter Caroline came for
three weeks during that summer, we took her to Disneyland in Los Angeles and
then visited my friends Lucy and Steve in San Diego where we ended up visiting
Sea World as well. My brother got married that year as well—the wedding was in
NY which made it a pleasure to fly the short trip back to NY to be a part of
it. There was never a dull moment in all of 1993, and that is why that year stands
out in my mind as a very memorable year. It was full of adventures and new
experiences that we tackled and mastered and enjoyed doing so in the process. Perhaps
those are the things we should do more often in our lives—choose new
experiences that bring us out of our comfort zones, that stretch us and make us
broader. Who knows? It is easier to choose safety at the expense of all else,
and becomes much easier to do so as we grow older.
We often
walked around in Haight-Ashbury on the weekends, with its great old record stores,
clothing stores, cafes—you name it. Of course it had its quota of shady stores
and seediness, but what big city doesn’t? I wouldn’t have lived smack in the
center of that district, mostly because it attracted a lot of tourists and
there wouldn’t have been much privacy or quiet. But we were there often. It’s
where we discovered a little hole-in-wall Southern food restaurant that
probably isn’t there anymore. It served crab cakes and seafood gumbo and you
name it. We went there often, as well as to a barbecued ribs place that
probably should have been closed down by the health authorities, but boy were
the ribs good! We had an organic deli and bakery on the corner a few houses
down from us, where we bought fresh bread, and a small supermarket a few blocks
from us where we could get fresh fish. We didn’t lack for much that year.
It was the
one year in my life where my work really didn’t matter all that much to me. I
was employed in the same lab as my husband, working on a flow cytometry project
that I learned and mastered and that eventually led to a publication for my
boss at that time. I’m proud that I was able to come in and get the project
organized and on-track so that a publication became possible. I worked hard,
but I left work at the door at the end of the day. We met some great work
colleagues and hung out with them as well--concerts, picnics, parties. But
weekends belonged to my husband and me, our free time, relaxing because work
did not hang over our heads as it does usually. I miss that. I try to keep
weekends free now, but there is always something to do for work. I don’t mind
it, but I miss that feeling of being truly relaxed.
When we
returned to Norway, a new year awaited us. It seems almost impossible to
believe that nearly twenty years have passed since that time. But they have. We
sat and watched The Streets of San
Francisco with Karl Malden and a young Michael Douglas, that ran for a year
or so on Norwegian TV during 1994. We missed SF. It made us feel good to watch
the show, to try to identify the streets we knew and had walked on. Is it
possible to fall in love with a city? I think so. It happened to me during
1993. I don’t know how I’d feel going back now. I’ve changed, our lives have
changed. Perhaps it’s good not to go back? I don’t know. I’ve done it once,
returned to Cambridge in England, the city where I met my husband. It wasn’t
the same feeling. Of course it couldn’t be. Part of the original feeling had to
do with its being my first trip to Europe (1987), first time in England,
meeting my husband, falling in love—all those things. Can you recapture those
feelings, the feelings you first have
about a place or a person? Probably not. And that’s ok actually. Because other
feelings and thoughts have taken their place. New memories have laid themselves
up on the old ones. I dig deeper now to unearth the very old ones. But they’re
still fresh when I do so. The mind is interesting that way. A mystery that
holds our lives in its recesses. The heart likewise.
