Out All Day


Up all night.

Well, maybe not all night.

But I realized that I drank caffeinated tea up in ye olde Noe Valley and that was not my intention to do that at 8:30 p.m. in the evening, not at all.



What’s done is done and I won’t die, despite having a speedy mind and some rapidly moving fingers over my keyboard.

Hopefully once I get my frenetic energy expatiated out via my blog I will be able to unwind with some non-caffeinated tea and chill out.

I have things to do tomorrow.

Two things.

Perhaps three.

I really don’t have jack to do tomorrow, but I like to tell myself that I will be keeping busy.  I will make some soup for the week, thinking split pea, and I will go out for a ride or two on my scooter.

I say two, because I believe I may actually get my butt out of the Outer Sunset and go maybe, perhaps further, say to Church and Market.

I have a commitment in that neighborhood at 6:30p.m.

It will go an hour, then I can zip back.

I feel like the traffic on a Sunday at that time won’t be too bad and once I get through the Wiggle I can hit a stretch of streets that brings me down to the Pan Handle and on through the park.

I shall play it by ear.

There’s a big piece of Fell Street that I may not want to navigate until I am a little more comfortable on the scooter.  The park I won’t have a problem with, but Fell, that could be busy.  I will get on my vehicle and scoot around in the morning and see what is what.

Then cook some soup.

Then, I dunno, nap?


I was told to explore the joy of living, so whatever that looks like.


I actually did ok with that today.

I spent the morning doing my normal little routine, with an extra cup of coffee, one of my few extravagances on the weekend, that and a longer meditation.

I know, coffee and meditation?

But I find I can do it.

And I do enjoy it.

Slowing down for me is not a bad thing at all.

In fact, I slowed down a lot today, I didn’t even ride my bike.

I took the train to my meet up at Tart to Tart, spent an hour there checking in, doing the deal, letting go of some inventory that had to be discussed, then being told to go explore the joy of living.

I got picked up shortly thereafter and rode over the hills and through the woods, sort of, to the Mission and perhaps not to Grandma’s house, but grandma would have approved, to Mission Pie.

Where, I discovered there’s more to them than just pie.

Sat there for an hour then walked with my companion to Scarlet Sage and bought some pretty smelling candles and canoodled about the store.

Afterward I walked back toward Valencia and Cesar Chavez, hit up the Salvation Army, on the hunt to replace my jean jacket, and decide to walk up and down Valencia until I was to be in Noe Valley–dinner date with a salad bar at Whole Foods and a catch up with a girlfriend soon off to Paris.

I walked down one side of Valencia from 25th to 16th, then turned around and walked up the other before heading up to 24th and going up into Noe Valley.

I felt a bit like a tourist and I acted like I had never been there before.

I went into a bunch of stores.

I window shopped.

I found a sweet sweater at Therapy and I got the best tea mug at Viracocha.

In fact, the stop at Viracocha might be my favorite and most adrenalin producing, shopping of all time.

It’s a very cool little store, bit of an artists co-operative, from what I can see, a venue, a vintage store, a music shop, there’s a person playing the piano, the clerk sitting behind the desk is in an old barber shop chair, there’s repurposed furniture, art, cool things that need to be picked up, touched, stroked, appreciated.

I had poked into it hoping the lending library was open, but it had been shut down or was not in evidence so I just noodled around and I saw this very cool Mason jar with a leather tea cozy sewed around it.


I was torn.

Do I want to spend $20 on a tea cozy?

I mean, yeah, it’s cool, but a Mason jar costs a buck, maybe two, do I need this?  Don’t I have enough tea like things already?

But it sort of called to me.

And then I saw the sign by the piano.

“Recite a poem from memory and receive half off one item in the store.”

Now that could be a big freaking deal if I was buying the $1200 reupholstered vintage couch in the back.

I just wanted the tea cup.

But I wasn’t sure I could do it.

I left the store, but it stayed with me, and yes, when I was walking back from 16th and Valencia, I swung back across the street and peaked in the store.

I walked over to the tea mug and picked it up.


Really, it’s a tea jar.

Went over to the counter, said “nice chair,” and then asked if the sign was true.

“Yup, recite a poem and I’ll give you half off,” the clerk said, I was beginning to think he might be the owner, or manager, but I wasn’t sure.

I stood in front of the register, a beautiful old one with the swinging handle to open the cash drawer, and drew in a breath.

“Ok, I’ll do it,” I said and prepared to tell him a poem.

I have done this at Burning Man, recited a poem to a stranger, how could this be any different, but it was.

It was miked.

“Oh, great, now turn around and speak into the microphone,” the clerk said with a wry smile.

My body temperature went through the roof, I could feel myself about to actually start sweating.

“The mic?” I said.

“Yup, into the mic,” he repeated.

Which happened to be next to the piano, which happened to have some one playing jazz on it.

And, yes, I did it.

I recited one of my poems from memory, listening to the soft plink, plonk of the piano being cajoled into a deconstructed and slowed down jazz rag, the mic was mic’ed through the store and I almost jumped when I heard my voice drift down from the rafters.

But I did it, to soft sweet applause after, and I sketched a quick curtsey, told them my name, paid for my half price teacup and collected my new mug.

“That was nice,” the pianist said to me, coming up on my elbow as I was departing the store, high on adrenaline and the quiet applause of the people in the store.  “I really enjoyed playing underneath your poem, we found a nice place together.”

“Thank you,” I smiled, and floated away down the street.

San Francisco you may be a bit gentrified right now, but that experience, surprising, sweet, slightly anti-establishment, kind, and generous, resembled the city I came to twelve years ago.

Came to live.

Came to love.

Glad to make your acquantaince once again.


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