It Looks Like Christmas In Here!

by

Indeed.

I answered the door three times and as I was leaving the house today in Cole Valley the postal service was coming up the steps with more packages.

The holidays are here and they are being delivered to the foyer at my job.

Santa brought me a little something too, I saw when I got home tonight.

With cold stiff fingers.

Oh, I won’t write about how cold it is, suffice to say it’s not the most pleasant riding weather I have ever experienced, but it ain’t raining and for a person who bicycle commutes five days a week to work and often another day of scooting around running various errands on my bicycle, I loathe the rain.

People are asshats when it rains here, biking in the city can be a challenge of constant vigilance, but when it rains the idiot factor seems to quadruple.

If it rains this week I will be screwed, it would probably freeze and or snow.

It does snow in San Francisco.

I have seen it twice in eleven years.

One year, when Juni and Reno were two and I was dating the guy who happened to be the engineer running the Red Wood Steam Trains (yeah, that’s exactly what happens when you are a nanny, you end up dating people who run rides where you take your charges, that would be how I dated someone who not only wore the striped bib overalls, but yes, the engineer’s cap as well.) it snowed and stayed put over night up in the hills.

Most of it melted in the first rays of sunshine here in the city, but G. called me up and said bring the bunnies, there’s snow up in the hills.

And there was.

It was probably the most romantic thing he had done, unintentionally, I am sure.

But it was beautiful, cold, the snow, white, so pristine and shimmering it was hard to not want to put your face in it.

Reno did.

Juniper stomped through it with her little feet.

They both got wet and soggy and freaking loved it.

I still have pictures of it and the thick whiteness draping the hanging boughs of the trees.

Then G. took us into the workshop and made cocoa for them and lit a fire in the wood burning stove.

I got all my favorite things in one spot, my bunnies, the smell of wood fire burning, and a cute guy to kiss me.

It lasted but a few weeks longer, the relationship, but that day I will probably never forget, simply for the rarity of all that snow up on the roof, so to speak.

I like the cold.

That may be from growing up in Wisconsin, I don’t know, I also like it warm, which may be from having been born in California and living the first four years of my life here.

I have some very clear, very vivid memories of sky and ocean and of all things, highway signs, of beaches, Muir and Stinson, of many things Californian and warm.

I, however, have many more memories of things cold and snowy and icy–I lived in Wisconsin from 5 to 29 with a few small stints elsewhere, but also cold predominately Midwestern states–frosty and crisp.

Legs so red from being outside ice skating that it took hours for the cold angry blush to fade off my thighs.

The smell of fire burning, so sharp, so intense and intoxicating when the air is cold.

The large, fat flakes that fall through the arc of the sodium lamps on Gorham Street in Madison, shoveling out the driveway to get to work.

Banging up against my frozen shut car door at four in the morning after getting done with work at the Angelic and hollering out loud, “this is why I am moving to California!” at the top of my lungs in frustration.

I have many cold stories in my head, and my toes are defrosting from the chilly bike ride home as I type, but again, I am glad, no rain.

I will happily ride in the cold, just please no rain.

Yeah, I know, we could use it, but I can be selfish too.

So, as I was saying before digressing into a whole long aside about the Wisconsin winter (-7 currently with a windchill of -ohmyfucking God) I got a package from Santa too.

My foam back roller has arrived.

I ordered one last week after using the one at the house in Cole Valley while one of the boys was napping and the other was busy crawling around my legs and snatching at the glasses on my face.

I guess Santa wants me to be healthy.

Thanks Santa.

I rocked it out already before sitting down and then did a quick hula hooping session.

Just to keep the muscles engaged and warmed up.

I am sore after yesterday’s yoga class.

But in a really good way.

Those muscles that I always wonder how am I going to work that out, are getting the work out.

My core is sore, my arms, but not my shoulders, are sore (my shoulder is sore, but not so bad, and I have been using the awesome new double stroller at work, as well as being very conscientious about lifting and moving the babies around), in that good kind of way that lets me know I did the right thing yesterday by going.

I will be getting in another class this week, just not sure when, I may wait again until Sunday.

Saturday is a pretty full day, but I might be able to sneak a class in early before a coffee date to do some deal and go down to the ocean and do some surrender.

I could feasibly go to a class both Saturday and Sunday in the morning.

I am also, yippee!

Getting a massage on Friday.

One of the moms gave me a gift certificate to get a massage for Thanksgiving and I finally was able to get in with the body worker.

Yes.

I work a half day on Friday, I’ll end around 3:30p.m. mosey over to the Mission, her office is at 18th and Treat, get worked on, head to 2900 24th Street at 6p.m., Sugarlump thereafter, and if I still have any zip left, go to a friend’s house up on Church and 30th for a Holiday Housewarming Party (where I am informed we should all be wearing bad Christmas sweaters.  I don’t have one, but I am anticipating that there will be some good ones there) followed by a cold, long bicycle ride back out to the beach.

That’s a good busy week.

Started out just right, too, what with the writing in the morning and the writing in the evening, a good day with my boys, an unexpected hello from a dear friend, a hug from another, a brisk bike ride (to and from work), and a home warm, cozy, filled with the sounds of Coleman Hawkins, and the smell of fresh Christmas tree.

Now excuse me while I heat up the teapot and go bask in the glow of my healthy amazing little life.

Lit up by the blue lights of my Christmas tree.

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