Nice, Like Nice With Cheese Butter On Top

“Say cheesebutter!”  I urge one of my charges when I take a photographs of him.

It’s a word he made up.

“Cheesebutter, it makes everything better,” I smile and take his picture.

I am going to 850 Bryant tomorrow after I get up and do my daily routine and make sure that I am all nice and calm and serene and in a good head space and spiritual and shit.

And I am going to be nice.

Nice.

Nice.

That was my decision tonight when I was talking to someone about the red light incident on Tuesday and how I did a lot of writing about it and began to not only have forgiveness for the cop but actual compassion, hey, how much fun can it be doing his job?

I mean, my job?

Loads of fun.

Today I went to two different parks, was told I love you by my charge, had my hand-held as we walked through the Pan Handle park, got hugs, had her request that I sing “Hush Little Baby” to her, had her fall asleep in my lap in her rocking chair, had an Americano at the Mill, walked all over NOPA, took fabulous photographs of street art by E. Claire Bandersnatch,

Bandersnatch

Bandersnatch

Bandersnatch

 

went to Bi Rite for an apple and a bag of Holler Mountain Stumptown, had an amazing lunch with my lady, who slept two hours and twenty-five minutes, and then we capped off the day with a play date at Alamo Square Park and ran into a friend from Music Together class.

My job does not suck.

That cop, he has a job I would not want to have.

So, compassion for a person doing a job I don’t want to do and am really grateful that I don’t have to do.

Plus, as I was sharing with a woman who told me that the same night that I had my ticket incident, she hit a pedestrian in a cross walk, did not see him coming and he flew up over her windshield.

Now that makes one grateful for a ticket.

I did not get hit on my bike ride, in fact, I realized, I was slowed down, I was slowed down tonight riding that same route back home, slow, stopping not “running” any reds, and what do you know, I got to see three cops pulling over another person with a traffic infraction and listen to sirens wailing for another accident down the road.

None of these had anything to do with me except that I slowly, and cautiously rode past them.

So, tomorrow, grateful that I have a day off during the week, I  don’t normally, when I can actually go and spend time standing in line for room 145 at 850 Bryant.

Show up.

Suit up.

Let go of the results.

I know I was at fault and I am just going to go pay the fine.

I don’t have to be right.

I can just be happy.

And nice.

What if my only purpose was to go spread some good cheer at 850?

How many folks resolve to be nice when they go to 850?

I don’t believe all that many.

And I am not going to go and be nice because I think I am going to get off the ticket, I don’t think I can, I ran the red.

Granted, yes I was at a full stop and yes, I did look both ways, and yeah, the light was going to change, but was I in the wrong?

Yup.

So, be the adult and sack the fuck up.

Then I thought about my friend who had his bicycle stolen off the front of a MUNI bus.

I didn’t have my bike stolen.

I got to ride it to my awesome job today.

I did not get hit by a car in an intersection on foot.

I did not spend the last two days in the psyche ward at General.

Loads to be grateful for.

Oh, and like, hey, I have a three-day weekend!

I will pay my ticket then go on up to the Castro to see Barnaby, who just happened to have a cancellation in his schedule and will fit me in to touch up the stars on my neck and add two more for my anniversary.

Yes.

Afterward a manicure.

After that?

Well, I will be in and around the Castro neighborhood, then over to Our Lady of SafeWay to see some fellows.

Then if I have it in me, dancing at Public Works.

I’ll have it in me.

Unless something else awesome comes my way, which it might, you know, I have some special good feelings, like with cheese butter on top good, about tomorrow.

I will get to sleep in tomorrow.

I will take a leisurely hot shower, eat an awesome breakfast, drink really good coffee (I went to Bi-Rite!), write for a while, then take a sunny ride through the Pan Handle, then on down to 850 Bryant to see what happens when I show up and have accountability.

Life, I suppose.

A really good life.

A life built on responsibility, showing up, taking actions, letting go of the results, a faith-based life where I go despite the fear of financial insecurity, because I can afford it and ultimately, the money is not my money, it’s just this energy that I have been given to spread about me.

I shall spread it cheerfully.

Like a warm golden pool of cheese butter over grits.

I am going to love it up tomorrow at 850.

I might get obnoxious with it.

I will have fun with it.

I am actually, haha, kind of looking forward to going.

I will make sure I have a book to read and I will pay whatever I have to pay, and then you know what I will do?

I will fucking leave.

That’s the best part of it all.

I don’t have to stay.

I did not do anything to incur a real “visit” there and I haven’t in just a touch over 9 years.

That, that is what is really nice.

Like, cheese butter nice.

 

 

Tags: 850 Bryant, bicycle commute, bicycling, cheese butter, cop, E. Clair Bandersnatch, faith, fear, Irving Street, love, Nanny, nice, postaday, practicing the principles, principled life, Room 145, San Francisco, street art, tattoos, traffic incident