Lis and I drove into San Francisco from the airport on Thursday, with time to kill before picking up Mom and Viv in San Jose. It was beautiful and breezy. We headed north on 101 to the hill that said SOUTH SAN FRANCISCO THE INDUSTRIAL CITY. I was struck by all the Spanish names, San Mateo, San Bruno, San Francisco, and I thought of how good they sounded in American, in sunny California American, and I was happy that we had kept these Spanish words for towns, though it hardly occurs to us they are the names of saints.

With nowhere to go we headed directly to Haight-Ashbury.