( New lyrics by Steve Villano, with generous assistance from Paul Simon, and sung to the tune of “Me & Julio Down By the Schoolyard.”)

Mama Sonoma rolled out of bed

And she ran to the polling station.

When White Papa found out, he began to shout,

And started the investigation.

“It’s against the law; against natural law,

What the Mama saw, was against natural law.”

Mama ran down, campaigned around town,

Every time the name gets mentioned.

White Papa said “NO,” not a Castro,

I want to stick him in the house of detention.

We’ll we’re on our way, and we all know where we’re goin.’

We’re on our way—we’re takin’ our time, but we all know where—

Goodbye to Crazies, the Deans of Cojones,

See, it’s Hil and Julian up in the White House..

See , it’s Hil and Julian up in the White House.

In a couple of days they’ll try to take me away,

But the Tweets got my story leaked.

And when the radical Right tried to snuff out my life,

We was trending with all social news geeks.

Well we’re on our way, and we all know where we’re goin’.

We’re on our way—we’re takin’ our time, but we all know where—

See, it’s Hil & Julian up in the White House;

See, it’s Hil & Julian up in the White House.

Goodbye to Crazies, the Deans of Cojones,

See, it’s Hil and Julian up in the White House.

See, it’s Hil and Julian up in the White House.

See , it’s Hil and Julian up in the White House.

(Dedicated to “Mama Sonoma,” Mara Levy Kahn, whose wonderful full-of-life, full-of-love photo inspired this rendition.”

(A poetic parable, inspired by my granddaughters, ages almost 6 and 3 ½.)

Jack & Jill came home from school,

With empty pails for water;

Buckets for the bath & shower,

To catch runaway drops like we oughta.

The showers went on, the pails went in

And each one filled right to the brim.

“Now, careful! Don’t spill,” said Jack to Jill.

And gently, gingerly they went down the hill.

When they arrived, the plants were alive,

Leaves stretching up towards the sky, where rain

Once came, bye and bye,

Until the sky…just…went…dry.

Month after month, no rainfall fell

Making the ground feel hotter than… Well,

Hotter than it’s ever been,

Drier than anyone had ever seen.

Tomatoes shriveled on the vine,

And grapes just died before their time.

No sauce for the pizza,

No wine for the palate—

Just getting through the day

Felt like being hit by a mallet.

Lawns went dry; golf courses fizzled.

All for lack of a gentle drizzle.

“We’ve got to save enough to drink,” the Gov’nor said,

“Or we shall sink.”

So farms cut back, and frackers turned blue.

Cars went dirty, and sidewalks did too,

Just being sidewalks,

Like most sidewalks do.

Sprinklers didn’t sprink,

And people didn’t even THINK

Of filling up pools,

Or being greedy fools.

The grown ups had failed,

To fill up their pails,

Or save enough water,

For sons and daughters.

So Jack and Jill, came down the hill,

Joined by classmates by the mill…

Each kid had a pail, filled with melted hail

And each plant they saw, sipped carefully through a straw.

The plants began to cheer,

“Hooray, the future’s here!”

At last, the humans have found the cure:

It’s caring for each other, simple and pure.

So while awful dolts fought over puddles and piddles,

Sensible solutions came from those who were little.

They learned about sharing and caring in school,

And new cooperation was very, very cool.

Bucket by bucket our water grew,

One million pails, now there are two.

Keep ‘em coming , Jill, Jack & Janet;

You’ll be the heroes to save our planet!

The door to the tiny one room apartment was propped open. Boxes piled neatly on top of boxes, almost to the ceiling, made the skimpy SRO living quarters look even tighter.  The notation on the delivery sheet next to the resident’s name said: “Client hard of hearing; speak very loud.”

Phillip Petrasanta, a long-time volunteer for San Francisco’s Project Open Hand, shouted the client’s name past the open door. A tall, frail looking man, greeted us, smiling, and accepted the hot dinner.

“Thank you both for volunteering, “ he said .

“It’s our pleasure, “we said, almost at the same time.

“Have a nice evening,” Phillip added.

We headed back down the stairs in the dilapidated, small old Tenderloin hotel with the balky elevator, which, as one dignified, well-spoken resident told us, “only listens to the last button pushed.”

These were the folks most San Franciscans forgot: the frail, the elderly, the home-bound, those battling cancer, or substance abuse, or living with HIV/AIDS, the poor, the disabled, the mentally ill, the recently homeless, or those just down on their luck.   Tucked away in tumble-down tenements on Turk Street, and Golden Gate, Taylor & Jones, behind iron bars and attendants shielded by bullet-proof glass, where photo IDs were required of all who entered or left the building, these tenants of the Golden City on the Hill were invisible to most, except the humane beings at Project Open Hand.

The non-profit life-line serves 2500 meals per day in San Francisco and Alameda Counties, relying heavily on volunteers to hand-deliver food, along with a dollop of love and concern each day.  For some shut-ins, it’s the only human contact they have all day long. Supported largely by individual donors, Project Open Hand (POH) also operates a “grocery store” at 730 Polk Street, in the heart of the Tenderloin, where ambulatory clients can pick up fresh produce and grains for their carefully supervised, nutritious diets.

Project Open Hand was born 30 years ago out of the heart and hearth of Ruth Brinker, a special individual who began by cooking meals in her own kitchen for seven friends with HIV/AIDS related illnesses. Today, POH provides some 900,000 meals and 730,000 bags of groceries per year to its clients, who are battling many diseases and disabilities, including poverty, in uber-wealthy SF where micro-apartments command macro-rents. In too many cases, the food provided by 125 volunteers per day–and supervised by a registered dietitian–is the only nutritious food the human beings helped by Project Open Hand receive. Astounding to acknowledge in a progressive urban mecca that runs on the “Open Table” App, and brags about brunch dates and Bellinis.

For over four-decades I’ve worked with dozens of non-profits across the country, serving on Boards of Directors, as a volunteer, and as a CEO. Very few are as immediately life-saving, and essential to the human spirit as Project Open Hand, where the impact of your dollar, or devotion, is received the moment the person behind the peephole sees a friendly face, props open the apartment door and pays you back with a shy smile or grateful eyes.

This weekend, as you are about to access the Open Table App, opt for Project Open Hand instead. (www.openhand.org). Donate the cost of your brunch, a shot of bourbon or a Bloody Mary to nurture your spirit, your soul and your neighbors whose existence depends upon you opening your heart, the way the team at Salesforce has in the attached YouTube video. Food is indeed love, and in more and more lives in our communities, it has become an essential medicine for survival.

https://youtu.be/09um0Ucc7GY