Escaping Reality on a Monday Afternoon

Five friends and I ran away today, all the way back to Gold Rush Days. Did we attend a lecture? Drive up Highway 49 to tour the towns that housed the mines? See a film? 

No. We booked an hour in an escape room, which is kind of a scavenger hunt held in a series of locked rooms that reveal clues to help you and your friends “escape” before an hour is up. Read more here. We played at The Escape Game San Francisco. 

Full Disclosure: We escaped, with just 1 minute and 55 seconds left on the clock! 

The Takeaway: It was fun! It was not easy, but it was fun, and we were quite proud of ourselves for finishing, though we did have to buzz our game monitor for a lot of clues. The set up was kind of corny and most of the clues were not intuitive. In fact, some of the clues seemed obvious only after we sorted it out and we all were discouraged at the sight of one clue that required algebra. Algebra! 

Other than dealing with that annoying math, together we used logic, analysis and imagination. In the course of the game, we found whiskey bottles with numbers on them, unlocked many a combination lock with some of those numbers, handled rifles, counted points on deer antlers, opened more locks, used jumper cables to blow up some dynamite, finally figured out what the flashing lantern meant and even siphoned the contents of a canteen. Two friends opted to climb through the mine shaft.                                        

And at last, we found all the miner’s gold!

Phew! Good thing we went out for Happy Hour afterward.    

Inspired by my son's enthusiasm for Escape Rooms, starting about a month ago, I spent an hour doing the research and getting a recommendation for a game that was perfect for people who have never tried one before. Then I had to talk my friends into taking part — some of us had concerns — and then I nailed down a date and booked the game. 

What were our concerns?

I worried that in spite of a lot of experience (A LOT) with word games, I would be bad at this. I was not entirely wrong — my contributions were small — but it’s too late to impress these friends anyway. One friend worried about claustrophobia, but anyone is free to leave at any time. We all wondered if we would fail to solve the puzzles and be stuck forever in a dead gold miner’s cabin. (At least it was air-conditioned on a ridiculously hot day.)  

Here’s how I sold the idea: “It's ONE HOUR. Ever had a root canal? Even if the escape room doesn't turn out to be your favorite new thing, it will beat an hour in the oral surgeon's chair." (I know whereof I speak.) I reminded everyone this adventure was all about fun, and we would make it so.

The History of Escape Rooms

An off-shoot of first-person video games, a concept that grew in popularity in 2004, in-person escape rooms started in 2007 in Kyoto, Japan. In 2012, a company called SCRAP opened the first escape room in the U.S., in San Francisco. Today, cities in more than 60 countries offer the games, driven by an increasing demand for “unique and immersive entertainment experiences.”

We happened to choose an historical theme, but escape rooms also are available in several genres, including horror, fantasy and science fiction. One marketing assessment noted that 75 percent of escape rooms “prioritize narrative and thematic elements to enhance player engagement."

According to Allied Market Research, “The global escape room market size was valued at $7.9 billion in 2022, and is projected to reach $31 billion by 2032, growing at a compound annual growth rate of 14.8% from 2023 to 2032.” MarketWatch has reported that in the U.S., the market is expected to reach $1.75 billion by 2026. Our adventure cost us $52.50 a person, because we opted to keep it to the six of us, rather than the eight allowed in any one escape room at a time. 

Families visit escape rooms. Corporations send employees for team building. Friends book sessions for fun, as we did, and the experience reminded us that it's always good to try something new! 

(Thanks to my friends who took the photos!)  

On Wrangling Author Interviews

People — I need people! 

That’s my conclusion after investing many hours searching the internet, making phone calls and sending emails in attempts to line up interviews with book authors.

In some instances, I suspect the effort required to help promote an author’s work sometimes takes me more time than the author spent writing a single chapter! Why? Book authors who have hit the big time have people — publicists, agents, editors and personal assistants — and connecting with any of those people often is difficult, though most authors I've encountered do want to promote their work by talking to reporters like me who enjoy writing about books. 

For four decades, I’ve interviewed authors about their latest work, their process, their future projects and even their personal lives. In the past, I loved talking with Phil Rosenthal. Read my interview with Louise Penny here; my article on Daniel Pink is here; and here’s another favorite, my interview with Mary Pipher. And that's just a few examples.

Occasionally, scheduling interviews is a snap, and I easily meet my deadline. Sometimes, publicists and agents even come to me, requesting that I interview an author they represent. Other times, I spend weeks, even months, trying to schedule an author interview. 

Few of these writers are ever aware of just how many guard dogs I’ve had to disarm to get the interview, and many have sent me lovely notes after we’ve spoken — often thanking me for having read their books before I interviewed them, which apparently is rare. 

Where I Spied Anne Rice's Secret Message to Readers

I know that from personal experience. I’ve written books, 15 of them, for national and regional publishers. Once when I was a guest on a morning TV talk show, the host kept flipping through my newest book — clearly the first time he had held it — and remarked repeatedly how great the photos were. As it was morning, I was barely awake, or I would have pointed out I didn’t take any of the pictures.

Reading a book before an author interview always pays off, for some obvious reasons and others as well. I once spied a sentence in a book that seemed to directly address a recent public admission from Anne Rice about her pen name. When I interviewed her, I mentioned that sentence. She said I was right, and added that I was the only person to ever ask her about it. 

Finding that subtle announcement years ago was easier than securing some interviews today. At one time, most book authors included an email address on their websites. That’s no longer so, though some do provide a contact form. I’ve filled out dozens of the forms, and rarely hear back. Apparently, many authors’ personal assistants do not monitor interview requests sent through contact forms on websites. 

On one form I submitted, I pointed out that the author’s name was misspelled on the site, but no one cared enough to answer — and it hasn't been fixed, either. 

Here's the Number to Call to Order a Book

A phone call to a publisher’s editorial division used to work well. The individual who answered (gosh — remember those days?) would kindly provide the name and email address or phone number for the author’s editor, or, at the least, contact information for the publicity department. Today, few publishers make public the phone number for the editorial division, but they all are happy to offer a number to call so you can place an order for the author’s book.  

Here's one of my secrets: Often, authors express thanks to various editors on the acknowledgements pages of a new book, and that's a great place to score a name or two. That said, editors and publicists seem to change jobs often, so even when I find email addresses online, a lot of the time they are out of date, and my interview request emails bounce back. 

Book Authors and Your People: If I can’t reach an editor, a publicist, an assistant or the author, how can I schedule a time to talk and help promote the book? I suspect part of the problem is the volume of interview requests received by the people who work for authors, especially famous ones. Of course, sometimes, when I’ve established contact with exactly the right person, I get a flat “no’ for an answer — though on at least one occasion, that decision was reversed.  

After repeatedly turning down an interview request, an agent called early one morning to offer me 15 minutes on the phone with the author — right then. Ironically, my “I-just-got-up” voice matched author/playwright/actor Harvey Fierstein’s distinctive gravelly rasp, but I got the story. 

Promises I Hope Authors' People Will Keep

Some publicists try to satisfy inquiring reporters (and bloggers and influencers and other social media stars) with releases that feature a canned Q&A session with an author. When I was offered one recently, I replied that parroting a release would not suffice, as I had a contract from a publication that requires original work from professional journalists. 

That seemed to satisfy the publicist enough to offer me an email interview, where I submit questions and the author responds via email. That’s never ideal, as it isn’t a real conversation, and offers no opportunity for spontaneous follow-up questions to surprising answers. Plus, I wonder why publicists haven't sorted out that email interviews always take authors more time than a 20-minute phone interview.

Still, I accepted, I crafted five meaty questions and I told the publicist the author had a month to respond. That deadline has come and gone, but I remain hopeful. On June 12, I requested an interview with another book author. I’ve now “met” electronically seven different people on her team, and two of them have hinted that soon I may be granted an interview. Stay tuned! 

All the barriers in place that keep writers from interviews with book authors seem so counter-intuitive to me — but maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. Instead of trying to wrangle interviews, perhaps I need people of my own to do it for me.

Crazy Connections: San Francisco, Gaslight Square, the Mooses and Me

Who knew? A casual question led to hours (and hours) of enjoyable research that ultimately ties together people and places from days gone by — fun! Read on. 

“Did you know Ed Moose when you worked at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch?” The question comes from John Ferguson, my Pilates Reformer instructor, as I slip my feet into loops for the next exercise. I thought for a bit, and said I did not. 

John then told me that Moose, who’d worked for a time as a sports writer, had moved some years ago from his native St. Louis to San Francisco, where he and his wife, Mary Etta, had owned two restaurants. 

I, too, am a native St. Louisan who ran off to San Francisco. I'm also a former food writer and restaurant critic at the Post-Dispatch and I’ve written a book packed full of insider foodie lore. I was intrigued.

My Search for All Things Moose

Back home, I looked online for information about the couple, both of whom are gone now. An obituary for Ed Moose ran in the San Francisco Chronicle after he died in 2010 at 81. In the piece, Carl Nolte — a veteran columnist and a graceful and insightful writer — described Moose as “the genial host who for 32 years was the presiding genius behind the Washington Square Bar & Grill and Moose's.”

Both places were popular, Nolte noted, attracting “mayors, senators, sports stars, musicians, writers, celebrities, artists and a smattering of tourists and ordinary San Franciscans.” 

Two books have been written about the Washington Square Bar & Grill.  “The Square: The  Story of a Saloon” is by Ron Fimrite, a sports writer who worked for  Sports Illustrated and then the San Francisco Chronicle. Judy Berkley, who worked at the restaurant for a decade, wrote “WSB&G: A San Francisco Memoir.” 

Fimrite described Moose as “complex,” but the author clearly was a friend, noting, “He’s what this town used to be all about: color, character, wildness.” Berkley, who had a somewhat fractious relationship with Moose, tells delicious tales about the restaurant business.

From completely different points of view, both authors hold forth on Les Lapins Sauvages (The Savage/Wild Rabbits), the restaurant’s softball team that played on fields in Paris, Moscow and Hong Kong and in ballparks across the U.S. (In regard to the big leagues, Moose reportedly divided his loyalty between the St. Louis Cardinals and the San Francisco Giants, as do I.)

The St. Louis Beacon, an online publication from 2008 to 2013, also published a fascinating obituary for Moose that included a profile penned by Judith Robinson in 2002, based on oral history interviews. Guess what that profile revealed? 

Ed Moose in Gaslight Square 

Robinson wrote that Moose learned his restaurateur skills in St. Louis’ storied Gaslight Square; the same skills he later used to develop his restaurants in San Francisco. In its heyday — from the mid-1950s through the mid-1960s — Gaslight was home to jazz clubs, taverns, cabarets, delis, restaurants, theaters, sidewalk cafes and antique shops.

Robinson wrote that three brothers — Fred, Jay and Eugene Landesman — were among “the innovative entrepreneurs who built [Gaslight Square] into a popular night club attraction,” and many viewed the Crystal Palace and Golden Eagle as the centerpieces. Eventually, both were owned and operated by the Landesmans and Jay’s brother-in-law, Sam Deitsch. 

In his book, Fimrite describes Moose as “a fixture” at the Golden Eagle, and some reports indicate he may have been an investor as well, noting he was “attracted to the area for the jazz and camaraderie.” (I highly recommend Thomas Crone's book on Gaslight, filled with wonderful stories from those in the know.)

The lively entertainment district drew such future luminaries as the Smothers Brothers, Miles Davis, Phyllis Diller, Lenny Bruce, Dick Gregory, Alan Arkin, Mike Nichols, Elaine May, Jerry Stiller, Anne Meara, Barbra Streisand, Odetta, Woody Allen and Josh White.

Gaslight Square attracted the literati as well. One cold night in February in the early 1960s, Allen Ginsberg came into O’Connell’s Pub, which was located there at the time. Owner Jack Parker later told me that Ginsberg sat down in the lotus position in front of the fireplace, took out finger cymbals and recited from “Howl.” And to think I missed that!

During Gaslight’s glory days, I was too young to be a regular denizen, but in the mid-1960s, as the storied district was fading, I was lucky enough to have dinner at the posh Three Fountains restaurant and later attend a theater performance. (Related street cred: From the early 1970s on, I was a frequent customer at O’Connell’s, Jack Carl's 2¢ Plain and Moskus in Exile, three former hot spots in Gaslight that had relocated elsewhere in St. Louis.) 

Robinson wrote that while Moose was renting a fourth-floor walk-up once inhabited by playwright Tennessee Williams (okay, I’m name dropping), the Landesman brothers sent Mary Etta Presti, their “Girl Friday,” to show him a different place, one they owned. Moose turned down that apartment, but apparently was taken with Presti. 

Ed Moose in San Francisco 

In 1961, while working for St. Louis University, Moose traveled to San Francisco, which he described as “paradise —  flowers everywhere." Soon after, he headed west permanently. He invited Presti to join him, and they married in 1964. Two years later, Deitsch moved to the City by the Bay. In 1973, the three friends bought Rose Pistola’s restaurant, a former Prohibition speakeasy in North Beach. 

They named the place the Washington Square Bar & Grill, and it is said to have had a bit of a New York bar vibe. Patrons enjoyed cold drinks, live jazz, original art on the walls and a varied menu from the kitchen that Mary Etta co-managed, which often featured Italian food. (With wine aficionado Brian St. Pierre, she later wrote "The Flavor of North Beach," which included some of her recipes.) Michael McCourt tended bar there for a time, telling the kind of stories from his childhood that so enchanted readers of his brother Frank's book “Angela's Ashes.” I missed that too. 

The Mooses and Deitsch sold the restaurant in 1989. Three years later, they opened Moose’s on Stockton near Filbert St. Robinson described Moose's time there as “the consummate publican who greeted his guests effusively, peripatetic, in constant motion, eyes darting around the room, nattily dressed in galluses, colorful ties and tailored suits until 2005, when the Mooses sold the restaurant.” 

(“Galluses” are suspenders; I had to look it up.) 

I moved to San Francisco in June 2010, eight years after Deitsch’s death and two months before Ed Moose died. Mary Etta lived until December 2023. Inspired by  that casual question I recounted at the top of this piece (and enamored with San Francisco history), I’ve spent two weeks discovering what the Mooses and I have in common — including assorted Landesmans.

Our Connections to the Landesmans

In the late 1950s, Jay Landesman and Theodore J. Flicker wrote “The Nervous Set,” a play inspired by Landesman’s unpublished novel about his experiences as part of the Beat Generation. Jay’s wife, Fran Deitsch Landesman, wrote lyrics for the musical numbers in the show, which premiered in Gaslight Square in March 1959, and then in May moved to Broadway for a short run.  

In 1985, my editor at the Post-Dispatch assigned me to write a feature story about a revival of “The Nervous Set” by the Theatre Factory, a local company. I learned that Joseph Pulitzer, the grandson of the paper’s legendary founder and my boss, had backed the show on Broadway. He had a copy of Landesman’s novel, which he lent me as background for my article.

(Previously, Mr. Pulitzer and I had spoken only briefly when encountering one another in the stairwell at the paper.)

Two years later, The Muny — America’s oldest and largest outdoor theater, located in Forest Park in St. Louis — presented “Big River,” a musical that had premiered on Broadway two seasons earlier at one of the theaters owned by Jay and Fran’s nephew, Rocco Landesman,  the longtime Broadway producer and then president of Jujamcyn Theatres. (https://www.jujamcyn.com/) 

My editor sent me to interview Rocco for a feature story. We met at The Muny, and we hit it off right away, though I did tell him his elephant-skin boots looked better on the original owner.  We’re about the same age, and we determined that as kids, we’d likely waved to one another across the one busy street neither of us was allowed to cross while riding bikes in our adjacent city neighborhoods. 

A Twist at Pilates Reformer Class

Exhilarated with my research on All Things Moose, I called Charlie Davis, a St. Louis native who used to drive a taxi in San Francisco. I asked him if he’d ever heard of Ed Moose. “I have,” Charlie said. “He was in my taxi one evening, and I thought about telling him that my mother had been to his restaurant in St. Louis — but I didn’t say anything.” An extra dollop of irony: Charlie was my date those few times I was in Gaslight Square. 

Turns out the Mooses and I have one more thing in common. Ten days or so after John first asked if I had known Ed Moose, during a break in Pilates class I told him about the many Moose-related rabbit holes I'd been down since then, and I asked how he knew the couple. 

John grinned and said, “I was their Pilates instructor.” 

Calling All Whale Watchers!

Whales —blue whales, humpback whales, gray whales and orcas, all in one place! Yep, I’ve seen all those (and more) while aboard whale-watch boats, but this particular sighting was in the new guide “Whale-Watching on the Pacific Coast: Easily Identify Whales, Dolphins, and Other Marine Mammals.” 

Packed with useful information on different species of whales, dolphins and porpoises, the guide also reveals the best spots from Alaska to Southern California to board whale-watch boats and where to spot the animals from land. 

Here too are an informed discussion on whale conservation, terrific photos of whales and their typical behaviors and tips on what to wear at sea. Plus, this handy, spiral-bound guide is the perfect size for your backpack.

If you are assuming I wrote the guide, you are wrong.

Stan Minasian is the author. He is the founder of Whaleopedia, a free educational website that is a project of Bluecology, a marine conservation organization. (I am privileged to manage the weekly Facebook posts for each — look ‘em up.) We share a deep love for whales, and I’m proud to know him.

I first learned about Stan in 1984, when I bought "The World's Whales: The Complete Illustrated Guide," which he wrote with whale biologist Kenneth Balcomb for Smithsonian Books. Since then, Stan has written, edited and produced 16 documentaries on marine mammals and natural history for all the top television nature channels, here and abroad.   

When my copy of the new guide arrived, I read every word and then settled in to relish memories of my past whale-watch trips. They date back to 1982, when I took my first trip, out of Barnstable Harbor, Massachusetts. Since then, watching whales from boats large and small has been my passion. I’m sharing photos from some of the trips in this post.  

I’ve boarded boats in numerous coastal cities in Alaska, California, Hawaii, Oregon, Massachusetts and Maine, as well as Argentina, British Columbia, Mexico and Newfoundland. Sometimes, I was out on the water just for the afternoon. On other trips, I stayed a week and went out at least once every day; sometimes twice. 

Over the years, I’ve written about almost all these trips for dozens of newspapers and magazines (including USA Today, Disney Adventures Magazine, Cruise Travel and United Press International, a syndicate) and penned online features for Next Avenue (the PBS-sponsored site for readers 50 and older), and for Enterprise’s Pursuits, an online travel magazine. I also wrote a whale-watch guide (two editions), a nature book for kids about dolphins (with amazing photos by National Geographic photographer Flip Nicklin!) and another kids' book on whales. (The books all are out of print now, but some are available used online, so I have a few copies stored away.)  

Reading Stan’s guide helped me recall my many interviews with whale scientists, marine conservationists and boat captains about the different whale species and the threats they face. When I first started writing about whales, I got lots of encouragement from Erich Hoyt, a book author and whale and dolphin researcher, and from Roger Payne, the biologist and environmentalist famous for discovering with Scott McVay in 1967 that humpback whales sing haunting songs. (Roger, who died last summer, wrote the foreword in 1990 for my guidebook, and remained my friend for decades.)   

Almost a dozen other whale experts have shared their experiences and their expertise with me, and I especially enjoyed boat trips with Hal Whitehead, an expert on sperm whales; the late Stephen Leatherwood, an expert on gray whales; and the late Izzy Szczepaniak, a naturalist with Oceanic Society. A shout-out also is due here to boat captains Jared Davis and the late Roger Thomas in San Francisco and Peke Sosa in Argentina. 

All whale watchers (and wanna-be whale watchers) and marine conservationists will be happy to learn about Stan’s latest project, one that once again reminds us all to always honor whales. I’m so happy to help spread the word. So soak up all the wisdom in Stan's new guide and book a whale-watch trip this summer. This could be your passion too! 

(Caption info for my whale photos, from top: Me, meeting a gray whale up close and personal in San Ignacio Lagoon in Baja California, Mexico; three orcas in Haro Strait off British Columbia; a teenage humpback whale in Trinity Bay, Newfoundland, that slapped our little rubber boat with its 15-foot-wide tail; the biggest female Southern right whale in the bay off Peninsula Valdes in Argentina (so said Captain Peke Sosa) and the Very Best Whale Photo I've ever taken); a Southern right whale calf indulging in people-watching off Peninsula Valdes; that same calf and mom heading off at sunset.)  

Hop On and Have Fun!

How windy was it as we crossed the glorious Golden Gate Bridge seated on the top deck of the San Francisco Deluxe Tours bus? 

It was so windy that I had to sit on my tote bag to keep it from blowing into the Golden Gate Strait, that mighty body of water where the Pacific Ocean rushes into San Francisco Bay even as California rivers, creeks and streams rush out to sea. 

It was so windy that I had to keep hold of the chin strap clasp on my hat, so I removed the hat and stuffed it in my bag. It was so windy that once the hat was off, my glasses started to bounce around on my face! Unlike the tote or the hat, prescription glasses are expensive — so I took off my glasses and hung onto them with both hands. 

The whole time, I was laughing for the pure joy of it all. The sky was blue, sunlight shimmered in the 64-degree weather and we had wind gusts over forty-twelve mph (okay, upwards of 30 mph at least) — and it was glorious! 

This was my second afternoon playing tourist on a bus in the city where I live. A decade ago, my friend Carol and I rode the downtown loop so she could photograph the towering buildings from the top deck. Then, on the very last day of April this year, my friend Julia and I signed up for the 21-stop tour that offers live commentary. 

Riders are welcome to hop on or hop off at any stop, including those that follow — in no particular order — plus stops at the edge of Golden Gate Park (home to amazing museums), Pier 39 (say hi to hundreds of sea lions) and Ghiradelli Square (grab a sundae or catch a cable car) — and more. We opted to stay put for most of the full loop. 

So what did we see? 

I will never tire of admiring the Golden Gate Bridge. I even carry a tiny piece of it on a key ring, purchased from Golden Gate Furniture Co. (Read my Next Avenue article about how that company got started.) Here is a lovely photo of part of the bridge's support structure, which was as high up as I dared raise my phone to take the photo because of wind shear. 

Below is a look back from the popular "vista point" in the Marin Headlands, just north of the bridge — a fetching skyline photo of the City by the Bay, which measures only about 7 miles wide and 7 miles long and yet is home to about 809,000 people. (And at least that many stop signs.)   

Another stop on the tour is at the Palace of Fine Arts in the Marina District, originally built for the 1915 Panama–Pacific International Exposition to exhibit works of art. It's the only structure from the exposition that survives on the site.

Here's what's under that brilliant white dome, should you hop off to see more. (I took this shot a long time ago.)

City Hall, which boasts a dome larger than that of the U.S. Capitol and features  gold leaf up top and elsewhere on the building, was looking good. The massive 500,000-square-foot-building was damaged in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, when the dome was "twisted like a corkscrew." The quake measured 7.1 on the Richter scale.   

Of course any good bus tour in San Francisco is going to cruise through Haight-Ashbury, where our driver pointed out one of my favorite local stores: Sockshop Haight Street. The driver also made sure everyone aboard paid tribute to the Jimi Hendrix mural, Amoeba Music and this fun-loving woman: 

Palm trees are not native to San Francisco, and yet they are all over the place — and I love them. This one is standing tall at Union Square. (Fun fact: There are 2,600 species of palm trees in the world.)

Even taller, of course, is the Transamerica Pyramid, a 48-story, 853-foot-tall skyscraper in the Financial District. (Photo by Julia) Of course it was controversial when being built — but then, everything in San Francisco is controversial. This is a city of People With Opinions. (I fit right in.) 

Francis Ford Coppola's office is in the Sentinel Building, which he owns. Because the wedge-shaped building was under construction at the time of the 1906 earthquake — just a skeleton, reports say — it survived. Cafe Zoetrope, on the ground floor, features mementos from Coppola's career.

We hopped off at the next stop in North Beach, just a handful short of the full loop, to have dinner at Flour + Water Pizzeria. Because the day seemed so celebratory already (and because lots of fresh air makes people hungry) we even ordered appetizers. And someone ordered a Negroni! (That's equal parts gin, vermouth and Campari.) 

Full disclosure: That was me. And it was delicious! 

From Socks to Pilates to Pilates Socks

Stretching, twisting, raising my left leg while others in the exercise class raise the right, I notice my rowdy tie-dye socks complement perfectly the shirt worn by the instructor. 

That would be one Abigail Munn, the "high-flying" founder and director of the splendid Circus Bella. She kindly offers a free exercise class once a week at my building, home to independent seniors 62 and older. 

At an appropriate moment, I draw Abigail’s attention to my socks, which are mostly orange with some peachy pink and yellow highlights. 

"They’re great!” she enthuses, “and this shirt is my favorite color. I call it ‘porange.’” I immediately promise to wash the socks and give them to her next week. I'm unsure whether Abigail believes me, but she giggles.  

Friends were relieved when, almost 14 years ago, I packed up my tie-dye shirts, socks and scarves and moved from St. Louis to San Francisco. “Finally,” they said, “you’re going to live somewhere that appreciates tie-dye!” (Have to add that Hawaii is a fan, as well — see below.) 

Soon after I moved, my tie-dye wardrobe grew. I bought a vintage shirt or two off the tie-dye rack at Goodwill (true fact) and discovered great socks at the SockShop on Haight Street. They were hand-fashioned by a couple in Fort Bragg (164 miles north of San Francisco), and many people reading this own a pair, because I gave the socks as gifts for DECADES. Sadly, that vendor went out of business a couple of years ago. 

While researching an article for Next Avenue on communities that support the arts in the Carolinas, I found a new source for beautiful tie-dye socks when I interviewed owner Jessica Kaufman at WAXON Batik and Dye Studio in Asheville. (Click on the Etsy shop.) We just reconnected, and I ordered two new pairs to expand my stash. 

As it happens, water shoes, not socks, are in order for my favorite form of exercise — water aerobics, which I started more than 50 years ago. Since 1980, I’ve also worked out on many a fitness machine, mastered at least two poses (legs up the wall and corpse pose) in yoga, tried (and failed, though no one cared) to stay in step at assorted Zumba and Jazzercise classes and wrestled repeatedly with the elegant Swimming Dragon exercise in Qigong class. 

(What — you didn't realize I was a bit of a jock?)

More recently (sigh), I’ve relied primarily on physical therapy — in and out of the water — and assorted stretching classes (thanks, Abigail!) to help alleviate lower back pain. Now I'm ready for something new! Last October, my friend Lison raved about the benefits of Pilates, and she convinced me to try it. 

After a series of scheduling conflicts (mine and the instructor’s), 10 days ago I finally attended a demonstration on a Pilates reformer. Wait — did I say “demonstration?” That's what it was called, but I’m the one who was asked to hop on the table and try 50 minutes of exercises! I did it, though not always correctly or gracefully, but I liked it a lot! 

Now I’m enrolling in three private lessons so I can then sign up for a beginner-level class by the end of March. I look forward to improved core strength, better mobility and stamina. Maybe I'll even get taller! This new endeavor has called for new socks, because my beloved tie-dye socks aren’t grippy enough. But as of this morning, I am prepared. 

How I Spent My Covid Vacation

Napping. Coughing. Napping. Sneezing. Napping.

Repeat.

As I opened my fourth box of tissues today after three full weeks of testing positive — the initial infection rebounded 11 days after it was Almost Gone — I decided to assess my time away from the larger world.

As symptoms waned during Week Three, I live-streamed a Jerry Orbach tribute show from 54 Below, a supper club in New York City. I’ve been a fan of his since the mid-‘60s, when I bought the original cast album for “The Fantasticks.” After Orbach ended his memorable Broadway career, his acting lured me to “Law and Order.” He's gone; I'm still watching. 

Also this week, I whined at a nurse on Kaiser’s Advice Line about how long it’s taking to recover. He informed me that it may be two or three more weeks; not to fret just yet. Heartened somewhat, I streamed a show from SFJazz, which offers a “Jazz at Home” show every Friday night for just $50 a year. 

I composed and shot “Still Life with Bananas and Fingertip Pulse Oximeter.” As Birthday Card Manager for my building’s Residents’ Association, I addressed cards to the 10 people here born in February.  I sent out my laundry, ordered in groceries and occasionally had food delivered. For the most part, I’ve kept up with my physical therapy exercises, and at 9:30 one evening, I vigorously vacuumed the ceiling vent in the bathroom. 

One afternoon I listened to dynamic tenor Jonathan Tetelman’s new album “The Great Puccini” and then boldly bought a ticket to The Met’s production of “Madama Butterfly” in May, when the opera will stream to a local theater. (Tetelman is Pinkerton.) Plus, I made future plans for drinks with one friend and dinner with another. (That ticket and the two dates are my Faith in the Future ploys — eventually I WILL test negative and go out again.)

An unexpected freelance opportunity came my way with no hard deadline, and I turned in a big piece for Next Avenue on a new exhibit that opens in April at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. That article required several phone interviews, which I was able to complete during Week Two in between coughing spells. Full Disclosure: I’m so excited to be working again that I splurged on four new fancy bath towels, on sale online for half price! 

Week Two also brought a flurry of Apartment Therapy, which is how I view spring cleaning and decluttering as long as it does not require the elaborate folding of underwear. Randomly, slowly and only when in the mood, I cleaned out the pantry, tidied up desk cabinet drawers and culled some raggedy cloth napkins. I replenished the barren freezer with new options: fig and walnut bread, grilled salmon fillets and currant scones! I shredded December's paper receipts. I even sewed up a tiny hole in a baggy sweater that serves as a warm layer over my pajama top.  

One friend insisted Pringles had eased her path through COVID, so I experimented with that. She later delivered a wonderful meal to complement my snacking. When another friend picked up and delivered a needed birthday gift, she also brought me delicious homemade chicken noodle soup. Neighbors fetched my mail and delivered packages to my door, bags and boxes that held new face masks, extra COVID tests and more Kleenex. On chatty phone calls, I learned about friends’ bouts with the virus, which I caught after three years and 10 months of avoiding it. Eventually, I’ll even forgive the one who told me after a positive test result, her nose ran for two days — and then she tested negative. 

Week One was the hardest. Fatigue was the worst side effect for me, and I slept — a lot. “Obey The Body,” I always say, a lesson learned a long time ago while navigating an entirely different disease. The fatigue wiped me out completely for about four days and then demanded multiple naps in the days to come. When awake, I read. I also watched TV (some good, such as "The Holdovers" and "Maestro;" some silly, such as "House Hunters International," where people moving to exotic locales expect American-style amenities with authentic local "charm"). 

Now and then I pondered how I may have caught COVID. My Best Guess is in the hot tub at my gym. The virus may have been lurking in the vapor I inhaled as I relaxed in the glorious bubbly water — and then it invaded, in spite of the seven COVID shots I've had and my judicious masking all this time. One friend reminded me her doctor had predicted every one of us eventually will get the illness. 

What have I missed since embarking on this unwanted “staycation?” Plenty.

Seeing a play put on by The Boy’s class, exercising in the pool, enjoying a facial, attending a Pilates demo to determine if it's for me, spending time with the family and settling in on the table for a weekly therapeutic massage. I also had to miss a long-awaited group outing for monologist Josh Kornbluth's performance at Club Fugazi, a birthday party in my building, a dentist appointment, a haircut and a residents' meeting. (Hard to feel too bad about missing a meeting…) 

Through it all, I’ve had to enlighten concerned friends who worry that after so much time at home, I am climbing the walls. I’m not. I love my nest. I love my routine of playing complex word games each morning. I love sitting on my 13th floor balcony, where I talk to the hummingbirds and my ginkgo tree, tune in to the sounds of the city and try to sort out whether the cactus plants on the table are dying or are already dead.  

A little perspective is in order here. Six months ago, the Centers for Disease Control told U.S. News and World Report that “while a little more than half of American adults think they've had COVID-19," the reality, according to new government data, is that "about 77.5 percent have been infected at least once.”

More recently, the World Health Organization reports that from Dec. 11, 2023 through Jan. 7 of this year, new hospitalizations and admissions to an intensive care unit both recorded an overall increase of 40 percent and 13 percent with over 173,000 and 1,900 admissions, respectively. 

Hey, at least I’m not one of them, so I will endeavor to be a patient patient. You — stay well!