Posts Tagged ‘China Town’

What is The Opposite of Fear?

January 21, 2014

Love.

I was struggling this morning checking in on the phone, acknowledging that I have this extra time off this week and it’s almost a habit, a bad one at that, I realized as I was leaving the message, of automatically going to fear.

Fear of financial insecurity.

Fear of not having enough.

Fear that I basically won’t get mine.

Which is bullshit.

First, rent money is already in the bank, the only other bill have this month is my student loan, which will be more than adequately covered with what I do make this week.

And there is another week of full-time work next week in the month.

I am fine.

It’s just a habit that I recognized as I was checking in.

Do not pass Go.

Do not collect $200.

Go straight to fear.

An action, then is what is needed.

What is the opposite action?

Faith.

What can I do to show faith, at least in that moment, in that time that was trying to sort out my brain and show it that all was well, no need to worry, something better is being planned.

My first thought was let me get excited.

I have Friday off!

Woot.

Instead of trying to figure out what I am going to do Friday, get excited that I get to do something that is not work related.

Go somewhere maybe I don’t normally go on a Friday.

Take a trip to the Conservatory of Flowers.

Go to China Town and buy a kite.

There is an astoundingly good kite store on Grant Street in China Town.

Get my nails did.

Go to Kabuki and soak in the hot tub and steam in the sauna and cold plunge in the pool, and repeat, repeat, and repeat again.

Sleep in.

Walk on the beach.

Write.

Read a book.

Go out for coffee.

I mean, I live in San Francisco, there are a few things I could do.

I could also go check out Cajun Pacific, which is in my neighborhood and I am always working or in Noe Valley when the restaurant is open–it’s only open Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

Saturday evening is free for me too, my typical commitment is not meeting and I suddenly have even more time.

I mean, something is happening here.

Time is being arranged in a way to make space for something new.

This is exciting.

Get into it.

Instead of getting afraid of it.

Then I spent the day with the boys.

Oh, my boys.

Love.

Love.

Love.

When the oldest one says my name it just melts me down.

Or hugs me.

Please.

It is so good.

We went to Golden Gate Park, weather being all things amazing, then in the later afternoon we went to Kid’s Kingdom.  There was snacks and slides and swings and sand.

Lots of sand.

“Oh, ha,” I said to him as I reached into my pocket, “sand and crackers,” I laughed dumping the concoction into the trash next to the tea and coffee service at The Beanery.

I wouldn’t be surprised to find some more of it in my bra tonight.

Oh.

And the one year old.

Or soon to be one year old, his birthday is on Wednesday, which is why I have so much time off, his family is all coming to town to celebrate, started smacking my breasts today.

Like hey, where’s the food?

He’s in the process of getting weaned.

“Honey,” I said, as he grinned up at me with his little flirtatious self, this kid is a serious charmer, “these don’t work for you, good for snuggling, but not for noms.”

He burrowed right in.

No sleeping though and when I realized the teething was not going to let up, I just acquiesced to it and took him out to play in the kitchen while the other napped.

I did not get upset about anything at work, not even when mom got stuck on the bus and I had to stay a little late.

Everything worked out.

That’s the real habit I want to cultivate, knowing that, everything always works out just fine, without the unneccessary anxiety around it.

Love.

Not fear.

Sunshine.

Not darkness.

Getting grateful for free time and knowing that it may not be a carnival, but then again, heck, it just might be.

Things always work out better than I can imagine it anyhow.

I could see if Barnaby has an opening and get the color fixed on my stars (one of them needs a little color brush up) and maybe have another two added to the seven.

I don’t have to know.

I suspect wonderous things.

They are always in the making anyhow.

Especially when I show up where I am supposed to show up and of service to anyone besides myself.

“It sounds like you really showed up for your family,” me friend said to me tonight as we were catching up.  “It’s hard, family.”

“Yeah,” I said, and then, “if I talk about my sister I am going to start crying.”

“Like I haven’t seen you cry a hundred times,” he said and slipped me a folded napkin as the tears welled up and over.

Love.

Blows out the cobwebs in your heart and shows the cavern as full of sparkling crystals and light, pure, love, explosive, blinding you to anything else, engulfing you, pushing you inside out and remaking you.

All the time.

Love.

I told my friend about my family, the trip, the experience, and it was really good to check in about it.

And keep showing up for it.

I owe my mom and my sister a thank you card, which I have sitting out waiting to be sent, take care of that tomorrow, for sure, keep the contact going.

Grow more.

Grow up more too.

Love more.

Let go the fear habit and let in the sunshine.

It will stop you in your tracks if you let it.

Let it.

You Are Going To Be A Travel Writer

April 30, 2012

I am?

I am!

China Town's Living Room

Early afternoon Portsmouth Square

Holy crow.  I am going to be a travel writer.  That’s it.  I get to do my two favorite things in the whole entire world–travel and write.

Ok, I am down with that.

Today I attended Joh Ater’s Photography Workshop in China Town.  I learned a lot.  In fact, at one point, I was so visually over stimulated I thought I might pass out, but then I realized I was well beyond my normal lunch time.

Which, when you are in China Town can be an overwhelming issue as well.  But John’s got a favorite little spot that we got to go to and it was perfect–I had a vegetable curry with rice and a large ice tea and I was back amongst the living.

I learned an enormous amount, actually, ‘a lot’ does not suffice.

First, I learned to clean my lens.  I never had cleaned my lens on my camera–the same camera has been with me to Burning Man twice–it was a little dusty. How funny, I just needed some one else to point out the obvious there.

Next, I learned to bring back up memory cards and batteries.  This would have been a handy thing to have done as my camera lost juice today.  It did not completely die, but it was so close that I chose to stop taking photos at one point so that when we sat down to look through what we had taken over the course of the afternoon I would be able to access my photographs.

Oh, and they are photographs, not pictures, as John so succinctly told me.

Or scolded me, as the case may be.

He’s right though, I took photographs.  I am learning that I have a good eye and I have a natural way of framing.  I am also attracted to depth, and textures, and layers of textures.

I learned about the rule of thirds and how to break  up a photo and not center things dead on.  I learned about negative space and how to use it.  I learned that you have to change how you photograph the scene you are photographing by changing your perspective.

I learned a whole boat load of things.

I took over 200 frames.

I have never taken that many photos before.

Ever.

And I was in Paris for ten days in May of 2009.  If I had known when I went what I know now, I would have taken 500 times as many photos.  But I will have the chance to go back and take more photographs of Paris.

In fact, I may go back more than once.

Or twice.

Before we launched out into the back alleys of China Town John talked to us about any number of things, but what struck me was what he said to the two other women in the group–one of whom had such amazing equipment I was a little shy to pull out my Fuji–you are going to do weddings he said to her, then to the next woman, and you are going to be travelling, “and you,” he said looking at me,

“are going to be a travel writer.”

I inwardly gasped.  I flipped open my notebook and wrote it down.  He said it so off the cuff, so flippantly, almost that I could scarce believe he said it.  But it was with total conviction and believability.

I believed him.

Completely.

The next thing he said, he quoted a famous female photographer from the 1930s, Irma Jean Cunningham, when he was looking over the camera equipment we all had, was this:

“What’s the best camera?  The one you have with you.”

Oh my god.

How true.

I love it.  I suddenly went from feeling just a little inferior with my little camera to feeling like it was alright, and I did not have to ask permission to break from the group and just start shooting.

In fact, a few times I was so lost in taking a picture, ah, excuse me, a photograph, that I was back a block and a half or squatting on the side-walk, or losing half of what John was saying as I was trying to frame the exact shot I wanted.

It was awesome.

I was so in the moment, I cannot describe it.

And I knew, I knew when I got the shot.  I got a great one of Meghan in profile that made my jaw drop.  I am not sure how it happened, but it did.

I also took so many shots that when I got home I could not believe that I had over two hundred frames.  I went through and looked at them all and some are ok, some were just boring, a few were good, and two made me skin goose bump.

They were amazing.

Then I thought, that’s actually not bad, two fantastic frames out of 200. That’s actually pretty damn good.

I have so much to learn and I am beginning to see how working at the bike shop is helping me too.  I have been learning all these computer skills, which are becoming more and more relevant to what I am planning on doing.  Plus, I get to practice taking photos of bicycles at work–we always take photos prior to shipping out a bike.

I have to learn about backing up my work.  I have to learn more about my camera.  I have to learn about where I am going to go.

And I have some time.

I confirmed with Tami when she’s getting married, it’s October 7th, which is on a Sunday.  I have time to learn from some masterful photographers right here in San Francisco.

I get to explore the photography wings at the MOMA, which are always my favorite to look at.  I get to work on mimicking other artists and I get to find my style.

I have an idea of what draws my eye and I have an astounding rich and varied palette to work with–San Francisco–for the next five months.

I have the perfect place to practice and get ready for the world tour.

I am so excited.

Exhausted, yes, absolutely, my eyes hurt a little and my brain is teeming with images, but my heart is full and I get to work on realizing my dreams.

My dreams that I have kept secret for so long now that it seems silly to look back and see all the years I wasted not taking photographs.

I have a lot of catching up to do.

Weekend Wrap Up

October 10, 2011

And that’s all she wrote.  The weekend she be done.  Well, not quite, after I write my blog, then it’s done.  It’s nine pm on a Sunday do you know where your children are, er, where your blog is?

It was a bit of an emotional day, but in the end, it worked out for the best.  John Ater took some awesome shots of me weeping in a China Town bakery.  The idea I have for the book cover for Baby Girl is a photo of my eye welled up with tears while over layed with a photo of myself as a little girl approximately 22 months old on my tricycle–I want the picture of me on the trike as the iris of my crying eye.

The old photo was taken the day my mom brought my sister home from the hospital.  I was apparently not happy that she had been gone.  If you’ve read my book you may surmise what the unhappiness stemmed from.  If you have not, well, you’ll have your chance.  Especially since I took the action and showed up for John to take the picture.  It only took me a full on year of him offering to do the photo for me to accept.

Let me not to do that again.

Yes, as I was saying, an emotional day.  A bit of a roller coaster.  I woke up in fear just like I went to bed in fear.  I tried to rationalize it away.  I tried to meditate it away.  I tried to pray it a way.  The last one worked.  I just asked to have the fear removed and direct my attention to what should be done next.  The answer was really quite simple.

Eat breakfast.  Make coffee.  Write.

Then, do the dishes.  Pay the phone bill.  Re-apply to Sallie Mae.

See, last night when I got denied, I flubbed a little on the application, which of course haunted me.  I went back online, re-did the application honestly and guess what?

I still got denied.

Sigh.

No Sallie Mae for me.  Then I e-mailed the financial aid officer for the school and said, hey I got denied, what do you suggest I do next?  I will find out tomorrow.  There really was no more for me to do this morning.  Although I did cry a little more checking my e-mails before I went about the day.

I got myself ready to go out in the world and received a call from Beth confirming my where abouts and what I would be doing in the relatively near future, aka doing the deal.  I got on my bike and went to the coffee shop and for one glorious hour it was not about me, it was not about the “what if” fear factory.  It was about some one else.

What a fucking relief.

Then off to meet my fellows.  After which, the photo session with Ater in China Town.

I found it really amusing that the bakery, The Washington Street Bakery, that we met at was next door to the Sweet Shop that I bought a rubber bouncy ball from on my first trip to San Francisco eleven years ago when Bells and I wandered around following the ball where ever it bounced.  A decade later I live right up the street and consider it part of my neighborhood.

Albeit an annoying neighborhood during my commute, but my neighborhood none the less.

After John and I parted ways, and I had wiped my face of the water works.  I headed home and sacked up.

I called my mom.

We had a nice talk.  And when I felt like I needed to be getting off the phone and taking care of what needed to be taken care of, I got a phone call from Cass.  Perfect timing.  Got off the phone before I started to go crazy making in my head.

John and I had talked earlier this week about my making contact with my mom again.  As I realized that I missed her.  There was no anger there, just missed my mom.  And it was nice to discover that I wanted to catch up and start re-establishing the relationship.  I did not want to be vulnerable, but I got to be anyhow.

And I got to have a lot, and I mean a lot of gratitude for where she is and where I am.  And the fact is, I have done so much work to get here.  I could acknowledge that work and appreciate the results.

I heard today, “what if this is the exact moment I have been waiting for all my life?”  And I had to laugh.  Right now is the exact moment I have been waiting for all my life.

Uncertainty.

Change.

Life.

I am alive.

I feel totally naked, but as John suggested, there is vast freedom in that.  I am beginning to embrace the naked and see what happens.  Not literally folks, get your heads out the gutter.

Speaking of not naked, Jackie came by and we got to reconnect, it had been too long, and she brought me over three really lovely bits of clothes that she thought I would like as she’s cleaning out the closet.  She was totally right, I love them!  I will be wearing a new ensemble tomorrow.  Yay!

And we had us a good catch up and a spot of tea.  It was really good to suss out a few more things about school and get her perspective on things.  Perspective, who could imagine that I would seek out some one else’s perspective?  Thank god that I do!

Funny, too, I had so many people today, over the weekend in general, actually, tell me that I looked amazing.  Or that I was beautiful, what was I doing?

Crying.

Growing.

Expanding.

And as Cass said to me early, “glowing”.  I did feel that glow yesterday.  I feel it today.  I may have moments of what is tremendous fear, but there also co-exists these miraculous clear ringing bouts of joy.  I alternate between being really scared and really excited.

They apparently can exist side by side.

The best, the absolute best, however, is realizing the depth of my community.  The amount of incredible people in my life that are pulling for me.  Probably harder than I am pulling for myself.

Yes, I may be in free fall, but I realized today that I have a safety net–my miraculous friends.

So, thank you Universe for the gift of seeing that.  Thank you for perspective.

And humility, let’s not forget that tasty side dish either.  I have certainly eaten a lot of it the last few days.

It’s filling, in case you were wondering.

Ten Years Later

June 18, 2011

I just got home.  Well, not entirely true, I have been home long enough to change the cat box, eat a little snack, make a cup of tea, and send out an e-mail that had to go out.  So, half an hour.  But really, I just got home.

I was having a momentary flashback brought on by biking past the Coppola building on Kearney.

It was one of the first places I went to with my friend Bells.  He had picked me up at SFO and was driving me around the North Beach China Town area.  I was in awe.  I was in love.

Really, I was just in infatuation.

I am really, really, really good at having impossible relationships.  Let us to count the ways that Brian was a poor choice for me.  First, he was an ex-employee, I had been his boss, hard to be in a relationship with the boss.  Second, he lived in Berkeley, I lived in Madison, Wisconsin.  Third, oh, I don’t know, he had a girlfriend he was living with.

But I was a died in the wool romantic and I felt that there was something so wrong it was right about our unrequited status.  I have no idea if Brian ever really had romantic feelings for me.

Yes, we did eventually have sex.

Too bad I was in a grey out.  Damn you Packers in the Super Bowl, Shawn Wilkinson, and tequila shots.  Damn you.

Suffice to say, I was not at that point in my relationship with Brian.

Bah ha.  That’s funny, relationship.  I should say, I was not that far into my manipulation of other people.  I was still in the, “we can make this work”  some how portion of my life.

Let’s just rehash, not in the same state, not single, and not interested in me, so, yeah, I really see a viable future with this one.

What I did see however was the romance and the beauty of San Francisco.  He drove up and down the hills like a maniac in his Jeep Cherokee, red, and I was just in awe of this city.  I fell so hard-core for San Francisco.  I do not know what exactly possessed me, but I made him park by the Coppola building and we went in right before the cafe was closing.  I had an espresso romano and an aged tawny port.

I do not know who I was trying to impress more, Brian or myself.  I was not otherworldly, I was not sophisticated, but I wanted to be so badly.

I am remembering this fondly, by the way, I have moved on, I believe.  Oh, I’m still a bit of a romantic, but I don’t chase boys across country any more, especially ones that are in relationships.

Although I still do have the occasional fantasy relationship in my head.  Having one now.

Oops.

Oh well, I get to be human today.  Let us to leave it at that.

Back to the unrequited love portion of our blog, shall we?

Brian and I closed out the cafe and proceeded back to the Jeep, but not before getting sucked into some dive bar in North Beach that had a rock-a-billy band playing.  I don’t know where we parked, but I do remember the bouncer made us go back to the Jeep to get my id.  Which I did and at some point in the walk back, past the Victorians smashed up against one another, I caught a private glimpse of a couple in an apartment and spun myself a fantasy.

One in which I am living in North Beach or above China Town in a one bedroom apartment with wood floors listening to jazz while my love, tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, walks down the hall bare-chested and bare foot in a pair of jeans while I’m on the couch with the Sunday crossword and a cup of coffee.  I of course thought, hoped, prayed, it would be me and Brian.

Brian, by the way is married with two kids living somewhere down the Peninsula and I haven’t talked to him in over six years.  Hope you’re still doing well my old friend.

I think I even wrote a poem to this effect at some point in my stay.  I was here for one week.  Well, I was in Berkeley for one week.  Brian and I came into the city one day later that week.  We walked all over the place.  Somebody asked me for directions.

I was a local already!

We climbed up California St.  We swung on the swings in Huntington Square Park.  We ran around China Town.  We rode the freaking cable cars to Fisherman’s Wharf.  We shared a sugar cookie with white frosting and rainbow sprinkles and we each had a hot chocolate with whipped cream.  We went to dinner at The Roxanne Cafe on Powell St. and had paella and a really horrible bottle of white wine.

Then we went back to Berkeley and his girlfriend picked us up from the Ashby Bart Station.

Gosh, I wonder again, why this just did not work out.

I had all this flash through my head as I raised my right foot up to position my pedal just so as I got ready for the light to change at the intersection of Kearney and Pacific.

I was riding my bike home, past the Coppola building, past North Beach, headed up into China Town, to Nob Hill, to my one bedroom.  With its wood floors.  I almost gasped out loud as I looked at the building all lit up with the San Francisco sky line dropped behind it.

The fantasy has happened.  It is for real.  It is entirely different from anything that I could have imagined.

There’s not jazz playing in the back ground, but old R & B, Bill Withers to be exact.

I got what I wanted so badly, love, self love, not unrequited, and an apartment in San Francisco with wood floors, a fireplace, a clawfoot tub, just a few blocks from Huntington Square Park.

How exactly did that happen?

Come have a cup of coffee with me, sans the port, we’ll read a book together, sit across my kitchen table, you and I, while the fog creeps on little cat feet through North Beach and I’ll explain it all.  I bet we have some  similar stories, yes, yes, I bet we do.

Artist Date, Artist Walk, Farmer’s Market

May 7, 2011

My morning plans were switched up on me when I got a call from Cass last night on my way to my first rehearsal for the play I agreed to be in.  Cass had to cancel our meeting and I decided that after the day I had at work, that I was going to sleep in.  That meant, 9 a.m.  And when I normally get up at 6:30 a.m., this is sleeping in.

I lay in bed for a while feeling lazy, but even though I went to bed late last night, I was a little hyped with the coffee I drank at rehearsal, I was ready to get up and go about my day.  Although I had no clear-cut idea about what my morning and early afternoon was going to look like.  After a leisurely breakfast and a cup of coffee I did some writing, my daily long hand three pages, and decided that I would take myself on an artist date and an artist walk.

I haven’t been on an artist date in a little while and it felt nice to set aside the time for me to spend time with me.  I had been harboring thoughts of going to Rainbow this morning and getting my weekly shopping out-of-the-way, but truly, I wasn’t feeling like getting on my bike.  I will tomorrow, but today, I just wanted to walk.  So, a journey down the hill to the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero was called for.

I love that I can walk from my studio in Nob Hill to the Ferry Building in 25 minutes.  And this at a slow pace.  Not as slow as when I’m pushing the girls around in the stroller, but a nice moving pace.  Fast enough to get around the tourists clumped up around the corners as I entered into China Town, but slow enough to enjoy the wind on my face and the to take in the little minutiae of the walk.

I also like how I get to have layers of memories stacked up one upon the other as I have more experiences with the neighborhood I’m walking through.  My first time through China Town as an adult was in March of 2000.  I was with my friend Brian and we wandered all over China Town.  I was visiting from Madison and staying out in Berkeley. It was my first time back to San Francisco since I had left as a child.

I bought a T’ai Chi jacket, as I was studying martial arts at that time and working on learning a T’ai Chi form.  I ate steamed pork buns and crispy egg rolls.  I laughed at the sushi shop that tourists were going into, go to Japan Town folks! We went into the Sweet Shop on Washington St. next to the park and bought weird candy.  And I got a rubber bounce ball from one of the vending machines outside the store.  At the corner of the street I would bounce the ball and whatever direction it bounced was the way we would go.  This is how I traversed China Town.

And now, ironically enough, I live on Washington St.  I remember my day with Brian as I rambled past the Sweet Shop and on down toward the Embarcadero.  Then I passed Washington Park, where one day Calvin and I were driving back from having had burgers at Taylor’s (now Gott’s) and I saw a flock of the wild parrots.  Then I saw a man standing with his daughter and a bag of bird seed and the parrots were flying all around them in a bright nimbus of colors.  I demanded that Calvin pull over so that I could look.

We hopped out of his car and went to investigate.  The man, said, here try it, it’s amazing.  I cupped my hands in front of me and he dumped a bunch of bird seed into it and there after I had parrots all up and down my arms.  I actually had a couple on my head too.  I was stunned, standing there in the park covered with parrots.  How amazing is my life?

After the park I crossed over the Embarcadero, catching a brief conversation about the ice rink in the park that is there every holiday season.  I went skating there two December’s ago to celebrate my birthday and fund raise for the Aids Life Cycle.  Fifteen wonderful friends came out and we shared German Chocolate Cake with a little girl whose birthday it also happened to be.  I don’t eat sugar, so I gave her my piece.  I had not been ice skating since going with my ex-boyfriend Justin and his friend Naboysha one very cold winter in Madison.  We went to the Tenney park lagoon and warming house and I strapped on ice skates for the first time, at that time, in probably a decade. It was now another decade later. Funny, time really is starting to move faster for me.

Then I was at the Ferry Building.  I took my time and walked around the entire market.  I had the morning free for me, and frankly I’m pretty damn good company, so I really checked out all the stalls.  I still spent a lot more than I had planned on, but I got the most gorgeous goodies.  My first purchases were baby dill pickles.  I wasn’t planning on doing any pickling or canning, which is what they are really good for, but just plan old eating.  Baby cucumbers are so damn tasty, I never get to the pickling part with them.  Then a bundle of flowers, a bunched head of curly headed parsley (for my soup, another batch will be in the offing tomorrow–I’m starting to think about actually truly canning it and setting it up.  I like giving it away to my friends–Joan, Scott, Pell, and Tami have all gotten had it), one beautiful heirloom tomato, a huge bag of organic Pink Lady Apples (the closest thing I can find to the apples that we grew in the orchard behind the house in Windsor–Cortland–but although, I have bought Cortland apples out here, they aren’t the same as the ones back in Wisconsin, Pink Ladies tend to come closer to the flavor profile for me), a bag of home made corn tortilla chips, and one stunning little basket of raspberries–the first of the season.  Literally, only one stall had them.

And the minute I popped one into my mouth I had to have a basket.  Raspberries aren’t truly a favorite, I prefer stone fruits and apples, probably even bananas more, but they serve my memory.  Putting a fresh picked raspberry in my mouth always, and I mean always transports me back to the coolness of air in my grandma Munz’s kitchen.  I have one specific memory of picking a white plastic pail with a wire handle full of raspberries from the vines growing in my grandpa’s garden.  The bucket was an old 5 gallon Scheopps ice cream pail.  And it took a long time to fill.

Partially because I would put a lot of the berries in my mouth, partially, just because it was big.  I can feel the earth under my feet.  I was bare foot.  I could hear my grandmother nattering with my mom.  My sister was in the house watching tv.  The sun was starting to get hot and the grass always felt so delicious after paddling around in the dirt.  I walked the full pail back through the yard, into the back door of the garage, cool cement now on my feet, then up the two cement steps to the screen door leading into the kitchen.

That screen door was always open, even when my grandparents were not there.  I can tell you of numerous times when I was driving through Lodi on my way to Devil’s Lake and I would stop.  Often times, I must confess, if the my grandparents car wasn’t there.  Sometimes I just needed a pit stop and a quick swoop through the garden and a cup of water from the kitchen sink.  There water was the best in the world, from their own well, sunk deep in granite.  Pure, cold, minerally.

When I set that bucket of raspberries on the counter I could feel the breezed coming in through the kitchen window, I ran the tap water until it was cold and icy from the well, and drank a big cup out of the green pebbled cups in the left hand side cup board.  I had a favorite glass I always used.  Then my grandmother washed off the berries and gave me a big bowl which she sprinkled with sugar and poured cold milk over.  I sat down at the table and drank another cup of water and ate those raspberries.

The milk would be tinged pink by the time I was done, then I picked up the bowl and drank the pink sugar milk.  Raspberries remind me of my grandmother and they probably always will.

I caught the California Cable car line back up the hill from the farmer’s market giddy with anticipation to have my lunch.  I ate a beautiful raw marinated vegetable salad–the heirloom tomato, the baby cucumbers, as well as one sweet carrot (from the Wednesday Farmer’s Market at UCSF’s campus), and 1/2 a cup of broccoli which I dressed with fig infused balsamic vinaigrette and olive oil, sea salt, fresh black pepper, fresh rosemary and a little dried basil.  This was accompanied by a handful of the tortilla chips, 1/2 a pint of the raspberries and 1 of the pink lady apples and a little piece of L’amuse aged Gouda I had gotten at Rainbow last week.  My tummy is happy and full.

My heart is thankful and my life is blessed.


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