Today, I couldn't help but notice, outside of my accountant's office down on The Embarcadero, the large wireframe sculpture of a woman and her child called "The Wanderer." Elliott joked that this sculpture is supposed to be move around the city every six months, but it's been outside his window for eight months now, and he doubts it will be moving.
That brought to mind the lyrics of one of our city's most famous songs, "San Francisco,"
San Francisco, open your golden gate
You let no stranger wait outside your door.
San Francisco, here is your wanderin' one
Saying "I'll wander no more."
Other places only make me love you best,
Tell me you're the heart of all the golden west.
San Francisco, welcome me home again;
I'm coming home to go roaming no more!
***
This is the first spring in a number of years that I won't have a son playing little league baseball.
The air here is warm tonight, the city feels sultry, open to possibilities. Baseball season is approaching, which means I soon will be happily following my favorite teams, the Giants and the Tigers and the A's.
Plus, I'll be drafting the players for my Mud Lake Mafia fantasy team soon.
But there won't be any reports from my softball team, the Michigan Mafia, because we are now defunct. And, of course, there won't be any more reports from Aidan's little league games, because those are now done, too.
On nights like this, with warm air and sweet-smelling blossoms, I love my city, and I wouldn't be anywhere else. But I also am cognizant that everything passes, all we know is temporary.
-30-
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