Growing up in San Francisco was wonderful. There was always something to do and see, but what I remember most is the delight my Mom brought to those small adventures. One of my favorite things was going downtown with her. The cable car stopped around the corner from our flat, and we rode it to the end of the line, Powell and Market Streets. Across Market Street stood the Emporium, a huge department store my Mom loved. I loved watching her take it all in—the familiar streets, the busy store, the simple pleasure of being out together.

On nearly every visit, we saw an older man with a green pushcart in front of the Emporium’s main entrance, selling flowers—especially gardenias. My Mom always noticed them, and I was fascinated by the flowers too. The gardenias were beautiful, fragrant, and wrapped in bright green around the stem, with a pin to attach the flower to your date. Each time we passed the cart, I would hound my Mom for change so I could buy one for her. I can still picture the happiness on her face when she received it, as though that little flower had made the whole outing even more special.

How gallant of me, asking my Mom for money to give her a flower she had actually paid for herself. I don’t remember whether the gardenias cost a dime or a quarter, but they were top-notch, and she always admired them. She would thank me with such genuine pleasure that I felt I had given her something enormous. Those moments stay with me: her smile, her warmth, and the quiet joy she found in being remembered. The gardenia in the image here is from a plant I’ve nurtured at home, and caring for it brings those days back to me. I loved our time together, and I loved seeing how happy she was. Thanks, Mom, for everything.

When I was a kid in San Francisco, we got through life without being concerned with the things that are around today. Now, every day I read about people’s current concerns that were unheard of when I was growing up. I didn’t know a single person then who was a vegan, lactose-intolerant, concerned about GMO issues, or allergic to gluten products.

We weren’t concerned with bottled water (or the bottles). At home, we had tap water in the kitchen and bathroom, and best of all, we drank from a hose. It all seemed fine to me. There were plenty of drinking fountains at school and in public places, and not a single person I knew died from contaminated water. Or, by the way, ever had their “eye put out” by a pencil? No one had a car seat; seat belts were for future airplanes. Cars had metal bumpers that did a superb job of protecting them. They actually protected passengers and prevented significant damage to the vehicle. I recall one car (I think it was a Buick) that had huge, torpedo-shaped, pointed bumpers. Now that was classy.

My mom shopped nearly every day, as did my grandmother. Like it or not, we ate everything served; if you didn’t like it, too bad. We’d sit there until the offending item was gone. While my mom’s cooking wasn’t restaurant-quality, it included fresh vegetables long before boutique Fresh Market stores emerged. Our corner grocery store was the equivalent of a modern-day Kroger. It was about half a block from our house, and my mom dispatched me regularly for whatever we needed. My favorite thing to watch was a gas flame resembling a large Bunsen Burner. It was used to singe pin feathers off the skin of fresh chickens. We had never heard of packaged chicken.

We used to have this amazing social media platform—imagine a 4-party telephone line! It was just wonderful; four families sharing one phone line, each with their own distinct ring. It’s funny to think that everyone was listening in on each other sometimes. That was like instant social media, way before the 5G speeds people are eager for today. I could go on and on about thoughts like this. I know many others have similar childhood memories, and it warms my heart to see how small things can create such meaningful connections. To everyone who has supported me along the way, I truly appreciate you!