elizabethlevett

Walking this world, and in this city, you can see most anything. Especially on Divisadero Street. The street name roughly means, a portal, a place from which to view a long distance. Divisadero Street is essentially the dividing line between sun and fog, a long strip beginning down in the Marina District, ascending over Pacific Heights and winding all the way to the Castro District. In the early days of San Francisco, Divisadero provided a line between the city “proper” and the grazing lands to the west. The section nearest our house, where it intersects with Hayes, Oak, and Fell, and then on towards Haight Street, has changed a good deal over the years. Long gone is the Church of Saint John Coltrane and the Curios and Candles shop, where you could have a special candle “dressed” especially to bring love, money or “fast luck.” Even the car wash is gone. You can still find Popeye’s Chicken across from the posh Bi-Rite grocery and the tiny but always packed Ed’s Diner still sits in its little corner. Sandwiched between the Western Addition and the Haight and negotiating the winds of gentrification, these few blocks are always interesting, sometimes jarring, sometimes even just comfortably weird. There is the little wall of rubber ducks, a garish and playful installation by some local artist, a yoga studio, assorted cute coffee shops, and the Ebenezer Missionary Baptist Church.

Last Saturday afternoon, I thought I’d take a long walk and get some errands done in the Castro. I need a new coffee dripper since the cat knocked mine over one early morning, spilling hot coffee and drama all over the kitchen in the wee hours. I look forward to my walks, even when there’s no specific goal in mind, and a beautiful afternoon in the blessed in-between time of early November is absolute perfection. It had been a tough week in the world and, like so many of my friends, I’d been concerned for days about the division and hostility that seemed to pervade every aspect of daily life. I was finally feeling the familiar impulse to head out in the sunshine and look for whatever beauty and magic I might find. I didn’t expect anything as miraculous as encountering a host of angels just around the corner.

Leaving behind the busy four lanes of Oak Street, I turned onto Divisadero. Almost immediately, a woman passed by me on the sidewalk, with beautiful brown skin and the traditional, flowing white dress and veil I recognized from so many moms of the Ethiopian students I’d taught. She smiled and hurried by. Soon two more Ethiopian women came along, in animated conversation and carrying plates of food covered in aluminum foil. These two also smiled broadly at me as they passed, and I wondered momentarily at the coincidence. I wouldn’t wonder long. I kept walking, past the comic book place, the coffee shop, and the antique kitchenware shop run by the crankiest woman in town, who somehow finds it necessary to be rude to everyone. (Once when I was browsing through antique tea pots and cookie canisters, she snapped at me, “Are you planning on actually buying anything?” Not wanting to make the trip a waste of time, I bought a glorious old waffle iron and vowed never to set foot inside again.)

Just outside of the old Ebenezer Church, a crowd had poured out onto the sidewalk. There were at least 60, perhaps more, of the most beautiful Ethiopian people I’d ever imagined in one place, young and old, all laughing, talking, passing around food, and all dressed in soft, gleaming white. I suppose I could have crossed to the other side of the street to avoid disturbing the gathering, but somehow it seemed I’d be missing something. Plus, it seemed rude. I didn’t want to be one more person in a rush, didn’t want my own schedule to become more important than joining, however briefly, in the joy and beauty of a celebration. I felt out of place and yet, inexplicably welcome. Was I dreaming, or had I, by some miracle found the secret portal to paradise right here on Divisadero Street?

One of the gorgeous young men called out something suggesting that folks needed to move back and allow people space on the sidewalk. As I moved slowly along, I noticed the party must have started inside the church where a banner stretched over the entrance announced, “Happy Anniversary.” A young woman approached me and apologized for the crowd. She smiled. It was the most beautiful smile possible. Her face was open and warm, like the face of someone turned up toward the sky to greet the first drops of rain after a drought, the face you’d wear watching a small child take its first tentative step. “Please, no!” I stammered, “I don’t mean to interrupt. It’s a blessing to see you all!” Soon a few more ladies came over and asked whether I’d like a plate of food or a cup of coffee. We shook hands and an older woman took my arm. “No, thank you, really. Have a wonderful afternoon and thank you for your hospitality.” What else was there to say? “So many beautiful smiles! Thank you again.” What else was there to say? It would have been tempting to stick around and talk, but knew it was time to move on and secure my quarry from the hardware store.

It’s true; you can never tell what you’re going to see on Divisadero Street. But now I know what heaven must be like and I definitely want to be there one of these days. See, I know what it’s like to walk among angels.