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COLE VALLEY While others slumber in their warm beds, I love nothing better on a Sunday morning than to be the first person at Doug's Suds. The magnetic lock turns off promptly at seven and I know that all will be well for the day if I'm the first person to cross the threshold. With the laundromat all to myself, I can breath a sigh of relief knowing that I've avoided the nerve wracking task of washing our duds during the cut throat hours of Sunday afternoon. There's something that turns normal people into monsters when it comes to a limited number of washers and dryers. On a recent Sunday, I walked out of Casa Chawazek* only to bump into a neighbour who’d moved up the street and around the corner. I was the recipient of a big hug and an invitation to dinner. Upon crossing the street, I ran into another neighbour, a dog walker who invited me to a baseball game the following evening. The dog walkers had formed a baseball team and were about to have their first game against the “Matzo Balls,” a Jewish youth league team. While I was stuffing the front loaders with my dirty clothes, one of the cheese gods from the local cheese shop waved hello on his way to work. Three greetings before 9am! I’ve lived in Cole Valley for five and a half years and I haven’t experienced community like this since I left home for University a gazillion years ago. It could be the dogs (small dogs on long leashes are bona fide people magnets), but I’d like to think that it’s something more (no, not my wonderful personality). I think there's magic in Cole Valley. It's like a happy Brigadoon, hidden in the San Franciscan fog. * Champ + Powazek = Chawazek. 11/12/2006
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