TWO GODS in the BUILDING

 Bittersweet became our favorite restaurant in our short time in Aptos. The name conjures up all kinds of feelings about this last year. I think of our move and what changes in a neighborhood over time.  People move in and out. Children play, grow, learn to drive and leave. Cars drive into garages, the door closes, and the street returns to the quiet of an adult-filled neighborhood. Bill and I have witnessed and joined the migration from neighborhoods.

 One last evening at Bittersweet, Zeus served us. His first name, an unusual one, given to him by his mother so that he would grow up strong, made me laugh. My family's name is Heimdahl, the guardian of the rainbow bridge into Asgard, the Norse mythical home of the gods. With the two of us in the same room that evening two gods existed in harmony together at Bittersweet.

We still spend a lot of time traveling back and forth to the East Bay. Coming back recently and driving down a street, I realized what I missed about living there: overhanging street trees. We are now living in San Francisco, we are surrounded by concrete buildings, and we look down from our windows on a relatively quiet city street with a children's park across the way and see the tops of the well-trimmed street trees that line the block. Not the same feeling as the enveloping canopy of an avenue of stately, old trees, who could if we could talk in the same language, tell me the stories of what they had protected for the last 50 years.

Watercolors aren't working right now,
but this one I saved by using markers on top.

Our new place in the city is different from either the East Bay or Aptos by the sea, but we lucked out in finding a two-block-long street that runs along the channel that separates the rest of San Francisco from Mission Bay and is a walk from the Giants ballpark and the Warriors Chase Center but also runs near other streets where the trolleys, trains, and buses of a busy city clang along their way. The park across the street is called Children's Park and we can hear the happy chatter of little kids playing among the structures of the park. We've noticed many people walking their dogs (pandemic dogs?), bringing them into restaurants and grocery stores, and reminding us of the well-behaved dogs who would sit quietly in a seat at a Paris cafe.

Instead of a 55+ community, we have landed in just the opposite. Most of our neighbors are 45 and younger. We watch as parents struggle with bags, strollers, and dog leashes and remember those days. We hear conversations about work and coming events at Golden Gate Park. Once in a while, we notice French among the many different languages spoken around us.  

The local grocery store is around the corner and offers organic fruits and vegetables, a butcher's shop, a good deli, and long lines at certain times of the day. Across from the grocer is a wine and cheese shop that serves small plates including various panini with one called Paris, a ham, gruyere, and cornichon pickles concoction on sourdough (the best of San Francisco and Paris). We haven't lived in a city since we lived in Paris and these little shops and our tree-lined street remind me of Rue de Lasteyrie in the 16th Arrondissement.

Our new go-to place is just at the corner. Reveille Cafe offers light fare as well as coffee and tea drinks. We noticed the barista wore a T-shirt with Japanese characters across it. The phrase was in support of Ukraine the barista's homeland. He told us that his dad was Ukrainian and his mother was Israeli. Our mouths dropped open uncertain how to reply.  He talked of family in both places. I thought of Zeus and Heimdahl and wished those mythical figures could intervene in both places.

As we sat down for lunch, we felt lucky  to be in a place that was safe. We are discovering once again that city life is exciting, bustling, noisy, and overwhelming. Bittersweet in many ways.