Ought To & Can (A San Francisco Fable)

Ought To & Can (A San Francisco fable): Prologue

Among all the refurbished Victorian houses in San Francisco, the most photographed would have to be the six three-story Queen Annes on the city's famed Postcard Row in the 700 block of Steiner Street. Built between 1892 and 1896 by developer Matthew Kavanaugh, these gingerbread showplaces survived both the 1906 earthquake and draconian attempts at urban renewal in the 1960s. Today, thanks to the efforts of preservation-minded residents, their pastel facades combine with others on Alamo Square to create an elegant visual feast.

-Viamagazine.com, November 2007.

"I feel sorry for you, living in one of those houses."

Sabrina Himmelschein was confused when the chic grandmother in the seat next to her on the flight from Tel Aviv responded that way. Whenever Sabrina shows anyone the Christmas ornament with her house on it, they were usually in awe to meet someone who lives on Postcard Row® in a Painted Lady™.

But after a moment she caught on. "Yeah, it's always crowded. There're always people taking pictures and tour groups and lookie-loos. Every day at least a dozen people stand on our front porch to take a selfie or have someone else take their pic."

"No, that's not what I meant," the grandmother replied.

Sabrina had found the Christmas ornament with the houses on it in a gift shop at the San Francisco airport when she'd left for Israel a year ago. It was a good convenient visual aid, and convinced people she was telling the truth. When a 22-year-old Jewish woman shows you a Christmas ornament and says it's her house, it's one of those things that's too weird to be false.

She just regretted that she couldn't find an ornament with that picture that also said "I don't care about Full House. Don't ask me about Full House."

"No, what I mean is that you'll never be able to look at those houses the same way everyone else does. Everyone else sees them as beautiful and classy and they dream of living in them. You can't ever do that, because that's your neighborhood. That's the house where you threw up in the toilet and had your first period. You'll never be able to appreciate the romance of that house. You can never appreciate that house from the outside, because you know what goes on inside."

She was right. A similar thought had occurred to Sabrina before: all those people in Alamo Square Park, they look across the street and they see San Francisco at the peak of its charm. When she's in the house and looks across the street, all she sees is Alamo Square Park. Pretty in its own way, but she's missing out on something.

She misses the show because she's one of the performers.

The star of the show is Judge Frederick F. Himmelschein, Superior Court of California, County of San Francisco. He'd adjourned court early today so he could pick up his daughter from the airport. He was thrilled to have her back home, excited to see in which ways his daughter changed. Spending a year in Israel changes you no matter what, but especially at her age Bree (the family nickname for Sabrina) undoubtedly was affected deeply. Going from 21 to 22 is such a huge leap anyway, but to take that leap in the Promised Land is something that must've left a deep imprint in her soul.

As he stood in the SFO terminal waiting for her, people turned their heads as they walked by him. Tall (he'd played forward on the Yeshiva University basketball team), with a suit hanging off his body perfectly, and a well-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, Fred commanded respect from those who had no clue who he was. He was somebody; no question about it.

Sabrina wheeled her case from the luggage carousel over to where her father stood. They hugged. "Did you ever think you'd make it back home?" he asked her.