I left my heart in San Francisco

I am an obsessively proud San Francisco resident. I love this town with the same vigor that New Yorkers love their town. I love the fog, the food, the hills, the Lyon Street steps, the parks, the beaches, the Gays, everything.

The day I drove my 1989 Nissan Sentra from Chico to San Francisco with my futon shoved in my back seat was the most excited I have ever been. After exiting the Bay Bridge to my tiny Nob Hill apartment, I: nearly ran over a very accentric prostitute in the Tenderloin; almost hit a cable car on California Street and; nearly killed my clutch trying to navigate my 5-speed up the hill. As I miraculously found parking a block away from my apartment (the one and only time that ever happened in Nob Hill), I took a deep breathe of the fog and realized that I was Home.

After 13 years here, my husband and I are facing the unpleasant truth that, although we are both still in love with this city, we can’t afford to buy a home here AND raise children here. We have a baby due in 5 weeks, so we are beginning the very unpleasant task of looking for a home in the DREADED East Bay.

To deal the depression of my inevitable departure from my favorite city, I decided to pick up the Tales of the City series again, written by Armistead Maupin. Set in San Francisco from the early 70s to the late 80s, the books chronicle the lives and adventures of the residents of 28 Barbary Lane: Mary Ann, Michael (aka Mouse), Mona, Brian and their all-knowing, pot-growing landlady, Mrs. Madrigal.

Maupin, a long time resident of San Francisco, was one of the first authors to write about AIDS in literature, and has an intimate knowledge of the city that reader/residents will recognize immeidately when reading these highly entertaining stories.

My next few entries will focus on the six volumes: Tales of the City, More Tales of the City, Further Tales of the City, Babycakes, Significant Others and Sure of You.