Preserving, Conserving, Deserving

by Tanya Joyce

The June/July Metro included much to heighten our awareness of neighborhoods. From the 1890 photo of Altenheim to the latest on business possibilities at High and MacArthur, current needs for sensible growth can seem too vast to handle. The loss of adobe bricks from the Peralta hacienda bricks which had been in Dimond Park makes such situations even more poignant.

What is a person to do? Many of us feel that a phone call, writing a letter, or even an extra e-mail takes too much time. Ancient wisdom has an answer, as it often does: start with yourself. Do just a little, something that may seem too little, something that is not likely to result in 15 minutes of fame.

Give a copy of the Metro to someone who doesn't often read it. I had copies on a table during East Bay Open Studios. Take someone to lunch, to a bookstore, or to buy produce in the Laurel and Dimond. Talk about the neighborhood when it comes up in conversation.

Here are a few results. A friend who used to live near Mills College (like me, he's a Dimond and Laurel expat) continues to be concerned with future plans at High and MacArthur. He's a songwriter with a David Byrne-like interest in daily life. Never know what he might write next!

Armed with the June/July Metro, I went to have a look around Altenheim, thinking of the 11 years of seasonal flowers, shrubs, and blossoming trees I had appreciated when I lived in the Dimond District. Did I tell anyone how great the plantings looked, how the colors and greenery raised my spirits? Well, I'm doing it here and now for whatever inspirations these thoughts may spark in other minds.

I went to the Full House Cafe for the first time recently. I'm a late riser, appreciative of their "breakfast all day." I stopped by the House of Produce and Farmer Joe's. I gave a friend handmade rainbow soap from Komodo Toys and bought two bright, summery bowls at Dollars Plaza.

You may be tired of reading how much I appreciate ease of parking and walking to destinations in the Dimond and Laurel, but it is these daily activities that endear people to neighborhoods. My car's energy is conserved; my own energy is expanded.

A few weeks ago, I needed a book on fats in diet and paid my first visit to the Laurel Book Store. I found what I needed right away and browsed for a while. The upshot was a conversation about paths in Redwood Park, a possible place to take guests from England after Pride Week in San Francisco. I mentioned the Laurel Book Store to a friend who knows Redwood Park trails. Now she's excited to visit the store, maybe with a few deserving minutes lounging in the deep couch at the back.

What good does it all do? I have an answer by analogy. Since 1984 I have had a painting studio in Hunters Point Shipyard in San Francisco. In 1985 artists and small businesses were perilously close to losing space there. Preservation experts thought we'd be out years ago, but we have worked hard to stay.

I kept that studio all the time I lived in the Dimond, and I still have it because the community meant something to me, so I was willing to work for it. The same holds true here in the Laurel and Dimond.