Living on the Northern California coast, I often miss living life in four seasons.  I miss the snow and the storms, the long beautiful springs and autumns, and the relatively brief summers of Oregon and Washington. I miss the way we change our lifestyle to fit the seasons.  We have our winter things to do and our summer things. In summer we go berry picking and we make jam.  We picnic and hike can fruit and make jam, and spend time at the beach or mountains or desert in family cabins. In winter, we hole up and read, play music, entertain, and knit, crochet, bake bread, and sit around the fire, being quieter than usual. We get some snow days and marvel at the ice storms. We slip on icy sidewalks and are constantly on our guard for black ice. Someone goes off the road and drowns in the rivers every season.  We start looking for Crocus in late January or early February.  In San Francisco, some trees planted in concrete and dirt boxes have only just turned colors.  It's as close to autumn as we get here. 

 Tonight is one of those rare nights when I can hear the rain coming down and the cars swishing through the streets.  It rained all last night, and hopefully it will continue through tonight.  The weather here in San Francisco is similar to Monterey, where my home is. Unlike Oregon, when it rains here, people stay off the streets, so it's quieter than usual.  We get a little taste of midwinter, and yet I long for the northern lights and sense of really burrowing in for the long winter nights.   

I'm staying at my daughter's, taking care of my lovely 3 1/2 year old Granddaughter. Tonight we made cupcakes, and tomorrow she and her friend  will frost them as they celebrate her friend's 3rd birthday. I never imagined what it would be like to have grandchildren. Now I can't imagine life without her and without the experience of being her grandmother.

We live in a turn-of-the-century (20th) old wooden two-story house on Rincon Hill on Guy Place, a one-way 1/2 loop that turns into Lansing.  We are surrounded by more modern structures and a few older buildings like ours.  On the street, that is really more like an alley, we keep track of one another, and everyone knows just enough about each other to keep a watchful eye out, share a friendly conversation, and share the ups and downs of life with our neighbors.  Last year one of the older guys passed away. We all still mourn him, and I still dead head his roses, and keep him in our prayers and hearts.  It's still Bob's house and Bob's roses, and we all still miss him.  

Every morning I wake early to go into our kitchen to make a cup of tea. As I stand at the sink filling the tea kettle, I see people lined up at the Mexican Consulate across the street.  Every day there is a line, and every day the lines have already formed, waiting for the Consulate to open by the time I'm fixing tea.  Families tend to their children and solitary men and women wait patiently to handle the business of traveling back and forth between the City and their homes and families in Mexico.  Just before major holidays, the lines increase. Rain or shine, I've yet wake to find no one standing in front of the boxy brick building.  

Down the block, under the bridge live about 4-5 homeless men. It used to be just one guy who sat on his blanket, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, drinking a cup of Starbuck's coffee, and intently reading a worn paperback book.  Now there are at least four other men who find shelter under the bridge.  The City just eliminated the the police patrol that checked on the street people, making sure they were safe and physically okay.  Some of the  nearby condos have hired off-duty police to patrol the neighborhood as there have been a rash of burglaries and drug deals in our alley-like street.  These guys now go down and check on the men, making sure they are not harrassed by anyone.  We all keep an eye out for each other.

When I was a child, I never saw anything like what I see in the City. Makes me wonder what my grandaughter's perspective will be seeing the poverty and problems faced by our fellow urbanites on a daily basis. This is normal for San Francisco.  There's no where you can go without being aware of homelessness.  I shared my Thanksgiving leftovers with one fellow who hangs out at the gas station.  He offers to wash people's windows and reminds me to buckle up whenever I stop to get gas.   I wonder where everyone is tonight, and hope they are dry, warm, and safe.  Actually, the temperature goes up when it rains, so the rain is a blessing in many ways.  

A rainy night in San Francisco, and everyone has already gone to bed. Being the night owl that I am, it's way too early for me to think about sleeping.  The night in the rain, warm and safe in my room, the family has already gone to sleep.  The constant din of traffic and the chorus of hydraulic noises from trash and recycling trucks, provide the backdrop for another rainy winter night in San Francisco. Sweet dreams.