Posts Tagged Under San Francisco
Making Musical Memories
Recently my husband, David, me, our daughter, Alicia, 27, and son, Dante, 22, saw Sir Paul McCartney and his band at a concert in San Francisco. Talk about a night to remember! It was all that and more. For my husband and me to experience the former Beatle belting out hits from our youth with our beloved children by our side meant the world to us.
Paul told us stories about his famous songs. He said he wrote “Blackbird” during the civil rights movement to try and create positive change through peace and equality.
As he paid tribute to his slain former band member, John Lennon, he coaxed the crowd to chime in together with, “All we are saying — is give peace a chance.” Continue… »
By Cynthia RoveroHow Sculpture Crafted My Family
Just as one can be drawn to another in an electric way, a piece of sculpture had that same effect on me. It was African modern consisting of a father, mother and child in a circle of dance. Tall and sturdy, the stone thousands of years old in a palette colored mustard, cumin, black, white and gray.
Though pricey, I had to have it. I collected large, abstract paintings. This was my first sculpture.
When art speaks to you then you need to answer its call. The piece represented what I wanted most: my own family. I wanted to fall in love with a wonderful man and have his children. Together, I would create a new family. Continue… »
By Dawn YunA Different Kind of Tour
I completed the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in San Francisco on July 11th and 12th. I walked 13.1 miles on Saturday and another 13.1 on Sunday for a marathon total of 26.2 miles. I could not have designed a better tour of San Francisco. The itinerary, the tour group and the tour guides were inspired and unique.
I walked with Debbie, my dear friend from high school. She is a 10-year breast cancer survivor. Yep, 10 life-affirming years. Debbie was a lucky talisman for so many walkers who found such hope from meeting someone who has not only survived, but thrived. And this gal can throw out so much love and support in the briefest of conversations. Continue… »
By Marianne LonsdaleOnce a BFF, Always a BFF
My friend Deb called me last October. I hadn’t seen her in about seven years. Our 35th high school reunion was coming up and she wondered if I’d want to go with her. I was thrilled to hear her voice although I’d been hurt and confused during the past several years, wondering why she’d let our friendship wither. I’d long considered her one of my closest friends, but calls and cards had gone unanswered for a few years before I’d stopped contacting her.
The high school reunion was a blast. Deb spent the weekend at my house. We gabbed for hours. She made no mention of her silence over the years and I’d decided beforehand that I would welcome her back, no questions asked. I honestly don’t think the years of silence were anything personal – probably more to do with living one-hundred miles away, raising two teenagers and finding time with a husband who worked long hours. I can’t say I felt no resentment but mostly I was glad to have her back.
By Marianne LonsdaleA Mother’s Wish for Children
I want something. Something good. And important. For Children.
It costs $200 million dollars.
Impossible, right?
The Buddha said, “Love each person as if they were your own child.”
By Avvy MarA Mother’s Rights
For three years I’ve been petitioning the Department of Homeland Security for the return of my daughter Olivia’s sealed adoption file. First, with forms to Immigration in Los Angeles, then with letters to Immigration in San Francisco, and finally, with appeals to the behemoth keeper-of-all-records in Lee’s Summit, Missouri.
Access to that file is my right as a United States citizen, guaranteed under the Freedom of Information Act. Which doesn’t mean they make it easy.
Parents like us who adopt children from Guatemala are handed a sealed envelope at the U.S. Embassy in Guatemala City and instructed to surrender it sealed and intact at the first point of entry, which for us was L.A. The temptation is to steam the envelope open and make copies of everything in it: original photographs, birth certificates, foster care facts, birth mother information. But who would dare take that risk? It took almost two years to get our daughter home, and that only happened after I moved there for six months and learned enough Spanish to plead our case myself.
By Jessica O'DwyerBaby on Board
Yesterday, I saw an orange “Baby on Board” diamond dangling in a minivan. I remembered seeing lots of those signs in the eighties, but I thought “Baby on Board” had disappeared, like torn Flashdance clothing, excess black eyeliner and fluffy hair.
As a twenty-something, I thought the signs insinuated that I had some control as to whether I collided into the parents’ car. “Oh no, they have a baby on board,” I would tell my college friends as we drove to the I-Beam nightclub. “We’ll have to rear-end someone else!”
Now, I can see the point of a baby on board sign. It is not a warning FOR others drivers, it is a warning TO other drivers. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve held the wheel with my left hand as I reached back with my right hand to locate and then stuff a pacifier into my screaming infant son’s mouth while driving sixty miles an hour.
By Beth TouchetteDreaded Dermatologist Can’t Spot What a Mother Sees
I know my way around San Francisco’s 450 Sutter, an art deco building that I frequently haunted in my drug-peddling days with Parke-Davis. On every floor you’ll find doctors’ offices stacked like building blocks, and a stream of patients with bad teeth, intestines, hearts, arteries, bad breath, poor eyesight, permanent acne.
There But for the Grace of God
She still has all her teeth except for one. The gap occupies the upper corner of her mouth. It’s a dark space that can be easily missed if you weren’t looking closely for missing teeth, the way I am.
Her skin is good. There are no sores, no blemishes. She has the skin of a thirty year old, I have the skin of a fourty-three year old, but we are both thirty-nine.
How can she have such creamy skin and how can she look so young after everything she’s be through? I feel jealous and bewildered by her skin, then ashamed. Do I need to begrudge her this? This is the very least she is entitled to, good skin and youthful looks.
By adminPerfectly at Home
Today I find myself in the unenviable position of having to entertain guests in my home. These are not just any guests, but guests I haven’t yet personally met.
Three weeks ago I placed in ad on craigslist announcing my intention to start a parent-run childcare co-operative. At the time, I felt at the end of my rope parenting my toddler alone day after day. I suspected there were others out there who felt similarly and that they would be as reluctant as I am to pay for a daycare service. Through the Internet my suspicions were confirmed and I was able to electronically communicate with parents who responded to my ad and who were interested in building this thing with me.
Tonight is the night we will meet in my home, and there is only one problem: I don’t feel ready.
By admin
