One Christmas, a friend gave us a gift. It was large and heavy. We couldn’t guess what it might be.

We opened it. A coffee table book about San Francisco. The photographs were by Morton Beebe.

Joyce, our friend Jennet and I grew up in San Francisco. A book about our city? Why? We live here. Strange choice.

He said, “Don’t worry. Just look through it. You’ll see.”

So, we did. About two-thirds through, we hit a two-page spread. And there it was. A photo of the three of us. At Baker Beach. Building a sandcastle.

Suddenly, it all came back. About ten years earlier, we had entered a sandcastle contest at Baker Beach. No plan. No idea what to make. I happened to look down at my feet and thought, why not?

We sculpted massive feet. Four or five feet long. Modeled after mine. We didn’t think much of it. Just some fun at the beach.

But Morton Beebe was there. He captured the moment. We didn’t even realize it.

Seeing ourselves in that book? We were stunned. We looked at each other and laughed. “Well,” we said, “guess we can never leave San Francisco now. We’re in the book”

Years passed. One day, we got a message from another friend.

“Hey,” they said, “I saw you on Post Street near Union Square.” We were confused. “What? We haven’t been to Union Square in forever.”

“There’s a picture of you there,” they said.

A few days later, we went to see for ourselves. Sure enough, there it was. An empty storefront at 250A Post. Instead of leaving it bare, the owners had commissioned Morton Beebe to fill it with his work.

And one of the four photos he chose? The sandcastle feet.

My feet.

So there’s no way we’re leaving San Francisco. We’re in the book. We were on Post Street. This city doesn’t just hold our memories. It’s part of our story.