Comments on: The Relocation Consultant http://dervala.net/2005/01/29/the-relocation-consultant/ A love letter Mon, 21 May 2012 18:31:03 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.7.1 hourly 1 By: Bernie Goldbach http://dervala.net/2005/01/29/the-relocation-consultant/comment-page-1/#comment-971 Bernie Goldbach Sun, 30 Jan 2005 01:23:32 +0000 http://dervala.net/?p=654#comment-971 Out on the left coast, you'll find people who want to be in your pack-rat collection too. I vividly remember the faces of the people I saw on my first walk-about of San Francisco in the 70s. I remember the girzzly faces of Italian, Polish and Irish playing bocce ball near Little Italy's Aquatic Park. I lost an hour of time on a park bench there, totally enthralled by conversations in languages I had never heard together. I remember the way chocolate should smell when cooked, not burnt and seeing the shiny chocolate face of a woman named Christina who served semi-sweet shavings on top of an ice cream cone near Ghiradelli Square. I let dozens of retired firemen and military veterans regale me with stories in a community center near Diamond Heights. As I recall, Peter had the most imaginative forays in the defense of freedom, both in Europe and the Pacific theatres. Then there were the migrant farmers hawking fresh tomatoes graded in ways I have never seen again. Tomatoes for eating like a man, others for slicing for a sandwich, the best for simmering in a sauce. Tomatoes without any hint of greenhouse gas, picked fresh that day by Emelio or Javier and sold off the back of an open pick up truck. The beauty of San Francisco's street people is the two-season weather of the Bay invites them to walk around outside. They have some of the most interesting park benches and if you've the time, they'll share some of the most intriguing stories. And then we'll get a chance to read them here. Out on the left coast, you’ll find people who want to be in your pack-rat collection too. I vividly remember the faces of the people I saw on my first walk-about of San Francisco in the 70s. I remember the girzzly faces of Italian, Polish and Irish playing bocce ball near Little Italy’s Aquatic Park. I lost an hour of time on a park bench there, totally enthralled by conversations in languages I had never heard together. I remember the way chocolate should smell when cooked, not burnt and seeing the shiny chocolate face of a woman named Christina who served semi-sweet shavings on top of an ice cream cone near Ghiradelli Square. I let dozens of retired firemen and military veterans regale me with stories in a community center near Diamond Heights. As I recall, Peter had the most imaginative forays in the defense of freedom, both in Europe and the Pacific theatres. Then there were the migrant farmers hawking fresh tomatoes graded in ways I have never seen again. Tomatoes for eating like a man, others for slicing for a sandwich, the best for simmering in a sauce. Tomatoes without any hint of greenhouse gas, picked fresh that day by Emelio or Javier and sold off the back of an open pick up truck.

The beauty of San Francisco’s street people is the two-season weather of the Bay invites them to walk around outside. They have some of the most interesting park benches and if you’ve the time, they’ll share some of the most intriguing stories. And then we’ll get a chance to read them here.

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