I moved into my little 8x8 room in North Beach on the saddest day of the Jewish Year—the Ninth of Av; it was on this day 2000 years ago that the Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by Rome and it was also, as recorded by Josephus an eyewitness to the destruction, the same day that the First Temple was destroyed five hundred years earlier by Babylon—a very sad day indeed, a day when the Jewish People fast from food and water for 24 hours, but I was happy to be in North Beach.

Six days later is another holiday this one the happiest day of the year—the full moon of the month of Av, the last full month of summer. It was appointed from ancient times to be the day of love when the young woman would go out into the streets and entice the boys to marry. Many miracles happened on this day and perhaps the high spiritual value of Tuba Av, the term by which this day is known, is so profound that there is no prescribed action as to how to observe this holiday.

I wanted to do something that I loved so I decided I would go play basketball. I had this basketball in my little room occupying a square of space it had gone with me through the 48 states while I lived on the road, but now I had found stability in the place from which I originated and left 45 years before when at was 17 to join the navy.

I felt a little self conscious walking to the bus stop and kept my head bowed until the end where the 45 bus stops at the eastern side of the Presidio; it is there that the Hyde Street steps climb at a vertical pitch so intense that the street has to end. The steps are used regularly by health enthusiasts who walk up and down for exercise and fitness amid the lush foliage and inspiring views.

I walked half way up the steps until the place where a street intersected to form a little plateau at the end of a cul-de-sac. There where the road widened into a half circle was a basketball hoop attached to a portable backboard replete with a net. I shot and missed completely; it had been awhile since I played, but after a time I got the grove back and was hitting shots regularly.

I had decided on the long bus ride, maybe due to my self-consciousness about how I must look at my age carrying around a basketball, that I would say goodbye to my basketball that I loved; I would leave it there as a sign that a new phase of life had begun for me—it would be a farewell to that which I loved on the day of love. However, the more I played the more I wanted to play.

Pretty soon I was realizing how much I truly loved this game and how thoroughly it had melded with my essence. “No,” I thought, “I will keep my basketball and return here many times.” Just then the basketball hit the rim bounced high in the sky ricocheted off the curb darted through a hole in the hedge and was gone.