Sicilian Stories

 My mom always said that San Francisco is such a beautiful city that you could fall in LOVE anywhere there.

San Francisco the city by the bay was my home. Me, Gina Marie, born June the 8th, 1971 in San Francisco, California at Saint Luke’s Hospital.

I’m third generation Native San Franciscan and proud of it. No matter how much the city landscape changes, it always remains a vibrant, fun, picturesque city.

My grandparents met at a big band dance while my grandpa chig’s naval ship was docked at Pier 39 back in the 1940’s.

It was a night like no other. My Sicilian grandma Rose, who resembled the movie star Rosalind Russell, dressed up in her latest black tight knit dress from I Magnins.

Red lipstick, her jet black hair upturned on the ends, high heels, click clack,  headed with her sister Mary to the short walk from their parents’ flat on the corner of Mason and Lombard.

Mare and Roe what a sight. Both lookers for their day, and as they stopped by their father’s crab stand to have a bottle of coke a cola-- before the dance, they ran into their Uncle Nunzio who was working the six to midnight shift, “up the wharf.”

“Hey Mare”, Rose cried. “Wouldn’t it be neat if they played Artie Shaw’s in the mood and we danced all night with a naval officer?”

“Get your heads outta the clouds Roe,”  Mare said.

Rose ever the dreamer, was dreaming that night of finding her love and sure enough, a tall and lanky fellow by the name of Harold E. Hill, just like the main character in the play, The Music Man asked Rosalind to dance. 

North Beach is home to Saints Peter and Pauls where Joe Dimaggio and his first wife wed. You hear the church bells chime every hour. Weird part is the address: 666 Filbert Street, sounds more like the devil’s calling card then an address for a cathedral. 

Mason and Lombard is one block from the crookest street in the world, also known as  zig zag Hill, and you can hear the cables from the cable cars running all night long. With no air conditioning, the flat was equipped with wooden framed, single paned windows which rattled in the night, followed by fog horns which sounded and resounded like clock work.

Cue in the rain.

God cues in the rain.

We were lost and we needed to be found. It was May 2020 Covid abounded but no one could take away our time on the beach in San Francisco, as we climbed the steep sand encrusted mountain we reached a peak so high it was as if we could touch the sky. Lucas and I, excited that we’d reached the top, were astounded to find a virtual rainforest of adventure, green grass with little white daisies in the grass, people, lots of people walking their dogs, smiling in the sunshine. It was as if we’d reached heaven and down below where we could hear the waves crashing onto the shore, see the seagulls flying above the ocean floor, we had reached some sort of heavenly realm at the top of that monstrous sand mountain. We both simultaneously said, “it’s as if God has cued everyone.” 

Then we started making sense of the scenes as if we were the assistant directors in the play of life. I shouted “cue in the rain.” Lucas shouted, “cue in the dogs.” There were so many dogs that day walking their owners.

The writing on the wall.

With the farllon islands in the background. My parents took me for a walk on the beach. Gina get your tennis. As we walked the sand cave, my dad said, “I’ve been to this beach before.” As I looked on the sand wall, the writing was literally on the wall, Emblazoned it read: “Life is not a dress rehearsal.”

It got me thinking about the way I was living. A newborn, a teenage stepdaughter and a young eight year old daughter. And husband.

It got me thinking quite a bit of my happiness. 

A few more clicks for you for apricots.