The Bay Area is a product of water. Tectonic forces shaped our peaceful harbor, protecting it from the crashing Pacific. Every day we feel the presence of water, in the fog or the smell of salt, or if we venture toward the sea on a weekend stroll, the waves crashing against the rocks in an affirmative spray.
Carl took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings with proud contentment. With dirt under his fingernails and the knees of his khakis stained green, he felt at home and accomplished in the formal gardens of Filoli. Finally, he had found a way to use his gifts again.
The voices come from across the Bay Area. Some are regulars, having called before, their trembling voices becoming familiar, their fears and loneliness becoming known. Some are voices reaching out for the first time—their pain and sadness overtaking them, they strike out in the darkness looking for something to hold onto and hoping to find someone who will listen, and who will care.
These days, most people can’t imagine working at any job for 25 years. Work has become a series of short-term gigs and bouncing around to many in the younger generations. But, sometimes, a person finds a job she loves, and stays. For Florence Rigney, a nurse in Washington State, it meant staying in a job for 25 years—25 years after retirement age, that is. In fact, she’s just recently celebrated her 90th birthday at Tacoma General Hospital, where she’s worked since 1946.
There’s a magic alchemy to the holiday season, some kind of diffuse miracle that transforms the darkest, longest, and coldest nights of the year into some of the warmest and happiest. That miracle, that warmth, is the thrill of being surrounded by the people we love and the friendly goodwill abundant on the bustling city streets.
Edna looked forward to each Wednesday with a special sense of excitement—it’s when she volunteered with 5th grade students in Sausalito. Over the past year, she’d formed a strong bond with not only the children, but their teacher as well: her lifetime of experience and knowledge was deeply valued inside the classroom, while seeing students grow motivated her to return time and again. After several years of retirement, these weekly volunteer sessions helped Edna connect more deeply to her community and form new, long-term relationships.
Issa looked out her window. It was a typical San Francisco December, cold and with a persistent fog, one of those clingy ones that, Issa thought, was the only thing left. When she was younger, this kind of day thrilled her. It was exciting to walk in the fog with Harold, when you could almost imagine yourself alone in the city.
Ed looked up from his desk to see a young woman waiting patiently. She asked where to find books on teaching—she was starting a night course in education and wanted to prepare. The older man smiled and pointed her in the right direction, then went back to cataloging the new books that had just come in, with a smile on his face.
Most cities are built with a certain geometric order in mind. They have a plan, and a system—all hard angles and neat lines. Streets blend into each other, and one block flows to the next: orderly, structured, and sensical. Graffiti, then, is a delirious blow against that order, an explosion of color and chaos. It’s an eruption against our long-held assumptions.
One of the best parts of getting older is the potential for more free time—and what better way to spend it than exploring the city you live in. Especially for those lucky enough to call a cosmopolitan hotspot like San Francisco home, the list of things to do is seemingly endless. Chalk full of galleries, museums, outdoor activities, and fascinating historical sites, this city is one of America’s best. Not to mention it’s also very accessible for wheelchair users, ranking quite high for mobility friendliness.
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