EDITOR’S LETTER
I was at a hotel when the dreaded double red bars came for me. It was my first trip home to the Bay Area in more than three years. My family and I were in San Francisco at the Inn at the Presidio, a warm, low-key refuge in a former officer’s quarters on the military base turned preserve that sits at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d felt out of sorts the day before but chalked it up to travel fatigue. When I woke up and couldn’t stop coughing, though, it was time to take a test. When I apprised the hotel staff of our situation, they were gracious and calm. Over the next few days, a steady procession of fresh towels and carafes of water arrived at our…