Posts Tagged ‘Fisherman’s Wharf’

Took The Day

January 17, 2017

Off from school.

But not from work.

Monday is Monday and the work week has begun.

The monkeys had off today, Martin Luther King Jr. holiday.

One of them had a play date with a school friend and so the oldest and I had our own solo adventure.

We went to the Exploratorium on Pier 15 down by Fisherman’s Wharf.

I have not actually been to it since it moved from the Palace of Fine Arts.

It was awesome fun.

The whole day was pretty much awesome fun.

We rode the bus, we took the train, we caught the F-Market trolley.

Riding the MUNI when I have no objective, no schedule, no rushing, is actually rather a pleasure.

The 24 line has extraordinary views.

The F-Market trolley is historic and just a sweet and awesome adventure, especially on a pretty day in San Francisco with a 6 1/2 year old boy.

We talked trains a lot today.

A lot.

We even got stuck on the F-Market for a while when  the bus in front of us ran out of gas.

I shit you not, on Market Street by the Powell cable car turn around.

The bus just crapped out.

Of course we were stuck, but there was so much to see and explore, most the people got off and went their ways.

Me and my charge stuck it out, explored the trolley car, talked to the driver and eventually caught another bus to The Ferry Building.

We walked around there, hit the loo, got him a banana and me a cafe au lait, then caught the next F-Market to pier 15 and spent literally the entire day there.

We had a blast.

We had lunch there, the cafeteria much better than I was expecting and the view, well fuck, it was basically the span of the Bay Bridge.

Really can’t complain about a window seat right by the water looking at a glorious piece of architecture.

My charge and I ran around all day and occasionally I would sit and just watch him play.

The sweetest was watching him engage with a group, three girls, of just barely pre-teen or tween girls who had still enough playful enthusiasm to be taken with my precocious charge and his directing the play.

I watched and it just melted my heart.

I had no need to do anything, not check my phone, or corral or coerce, I just sat and watched them play.

My charge had told me about his recent crushes on girls and he was in 7th Heaven.

I wasn’t going to ruin the moment for him at all.

The only interruption was taking a photograph that all the girls were happy to comply with.

Such sweetness and generosity of spirit and simple joy.

It was just such a nice afternoon and really nice to take a break from school work and reading and getting my syllabi in order and my practicum stuff.

That being said.

I have my next readings outlined for Couples Therapy and I have them packed in my bag for tomorrow.

I will get some reading done tomorrow, even if it’s just to pick up the kids from school.

I am really digging the getting the kids from school.

It’s nice to have some time out in the world by myself and getting paid for it.

I get to make phone calls and check messages and connect with people.

I feel more seen and I feel that although my schedule has been a little up in the air, and will be for a few months, I’m ok with it.

I’m getting 35 hours a week minimum and when the baby is a little older and mom and dad are back at work it’s going to be 40.

If I don’t work the 35, if they let me go early or ask for me to come in late, I still get paid a minimum 35 hours.

Thank God for regularity and for sustenance.

I am so grateful and I didn’t even have to ask about last week, they paid me for the 35 hours.

Even though I had to call out two days in my first two weeks of work.

So there’s that.


I have had my moments of having to assert myself around my pay and when I receive it and what I get paid for, or don’t get paid for, and it was just easy and light and not weird.

I just took the check and said thank you.

I asked when they want me tomorrow and I got my start time.

I may be taking the middle charge to dance class.

Our own little solo adventure.

And at some point this week, not sure when, I will be taking a short side trip over to The Liberation Foundation on Folsom and 18th and speaking with the director there about the practicum program.

I have an open house to go to next week Wednesday and I want to be on top of the next moves.

Today I just wanted to have it be a Monday at work and not worry about school.

I knew that the most important thing was to show up on time to work and show up for my job, then to show up and do the deal with my people at 6:30p.m. tonight, and that if that was all I did today, that would be alright.

Of course.

I did sneak a few other things in there, some grocery shopping, and some writing, aside from this blog I got a good four pages in this morning.

I wrote a lot about Paris.

I realized how excited I was to be planning a trip there again.

I also realized that I have never really been to Paris in May.


Paris in Spring.


The first time I went was in 2002 and it was August and it was hot and the city was pretty emptied out, a lot of stuff was closed and did I say it was hot.

Holy shit it was hot and I had not realized that it was going to be that warm and I had not packed great clothes.

The next time I went was in June, 2007.

That time I was sober and smarter and had a much better valise of clothing.

Then I moved there in November of 2012 and was there until May 2013.

But I left on May 1st.

So technically I didn’t really get to experience it.

The last time was last Christmas, 2015, and though it was far warmer than when I had lived there, it was cold and a bit dreary, as Paris tends to be in the winter.

I am so stoked that I will be there in May.

Soft warm nights.

Warm to hot days.

Flowers blooming.

All the trees in the gardens blossoming.

The smell of the city, not too hot yet, but warm and inviting.

Ooh la la.

I am looking forward.

It’s a few months away, but as I have come to see, the days they do go by when I am pre-occupied with school and work and doing the deal.

Paris will be here before I know it.

Until then.

One more evening of reprieve before I dive back into the books.

I do think it only just and fair to let myself have at least a full day off.

Even if it’s not from work.

It still feels like a break.

Time for more tea and a quick video before bed.

Good night.

Sleep tight.

Don’t let the bed bugs bite.


I hear they have big teeth.



Contempt Prior to Investigation

September 11, 2011

My god has a funny sense of humor.

I know I had this conversation rather recently with some one either pre-Burning Man or at Burning Man.  Was it Mrs. Fishkin?  Was it Sarah?  I don’t know.  There’s event the distinct possibility that I wrote about this recently, maybe three or four blogs back.

The joke being this–that because I have always expected to meet the “One” at Burning Man I would not meet the “One” at Burning Man.  That, because my God has a sense of humor I would most likely meet the “One” at Fisherman’s Wharf.  And who the hell knows when that would happen, as I never, underscore never, go there.

Guess who had a date tonight at Pier 39?

Guess what had a really amazing date tonight at Joe’s Crab Shack in, drum roll please, Fisherman’s Wharf.

Guess who had a date with someone, no, you will not believe this, who has never heard, yes I’m serious, never heard of Burning Man?

Guessed yet?

Good God.  I actually came this close, picture thumb and forefinger a scant centimeter apart, from cancelling on Jeremiah, the kettle corn man, and I had an absolutely phenomenal time.

I had to drop my “cool” attitude.  I had to let down my guard.  I had to deign to go to the Wharf on a first date.  And guess who had a ridiculously good time?


Well, that would be me.  I still cannot believe it.  How in the world?  I have never had more fun on a date then I did tonight.  I have also never worn a bib on a date.  I believe we broke a lot of the cardinal rules of dating, not that I was ever really good at following a bunch of rules.

Cardinal rule number one of what is probably a dozen–don’t take your date some where they are going to have to wear a bib and get messy.  Cardinal rule number two–don’t take your date to a restaurant that sings happy birthday to it’s clientele or dances through the dining room every half hour or wear’s shirts that say “Got Crabs?”

I cannot tell you how many times I had to suspend my belief, to use a cinema term, and just let myself enjoy what was happening.  I did not get snarky, I did not get hipper than thou, I just let myself enjoy what was happening.

Jeremiah picked me up at 8p.m. on the dot.  We small talked and made our way down to the Wharf.  I have not been to the Wharf at night since the first time I visited San Francisco 11 years ago.  My God, has it been that long?  That must be right.  I came to visit Brian who was living in Berkeley with his girlfriend.  We had a day where we went all over the place and at some point I think we took a cable car to the Wharf and went to Pier 39 to see the sea lions.  I remember we drank overly sweetened hot cocoa and split a large sugar cookie with sprinkles.

This date was much better.  First, because it was a date.  Second, because it was with some one who is not in a relationship. Third, because it was with someone who was really excited to be on a date with me.  I don’t know that I have ever had so many nice things said about me to me by a date as I did tonight.

None of them slimy or sexist or pushy.  All of them said with sweetness and genuine regard.  This man really likes me and was not afraid to say it.  He complimented my dress, my hair (he noticed that I had it colored), my smile.  He said I was gorgeous and he could not believe that he was actually on a date with me.  AW! He told me about the first time when he noticed me and that it took seeing me four more times before he had the courage to say something to me.

I remember it well, he told me that I had a beautiful smile and he called me “darlin'”.  Then that it took him another four weeks to ask me out. I find this really endearing.  He made me laugh and I can’t recall a time that I felt this at ease with some one.

At one point he made me laugh so hard I snorted.  He did the maniac dance from Flash Dance.

Good lord, I laughed so hard I thought I might wet my pants.

I even told him my family nick name–Bubba.

I don’t tell anyone that for heaven’s sake.

I might be a little unexpectedly smitten here, folks.  He gave me his coat to wear when we left the restaurant, held out his arm to walk with me and opened the car door.  Paid for over priced parking in a garage next to the restaurant so that I would not have to walk far in my heels, and paid for the meal without batting an eye.  And asked me on another date.  He also drove an hour to see me after having worked a sixteen hour day.  Turns out he is working his ass off to go back to school.  Huge respect.  Huge.

And what do you know, the food at Joe’s Crab Shack was good.  Really good.  I had a bunch of steamed crab and clams and peel and eat shrimp and a piece of Andouille sausage that was delicious.  Yes, I wore a bib.  Yes, the server sat down next to me in the booth and wrote her name on a piece of paper towel.  Yes, I licked my fingers–it was fucking tasty and the only way to eat was to use your fingers.  Yes, cheesy music played.  Yes, the servers sang to a table of ten and danced around the dining room to YMCA.  And yes, I had a really, really, really good time.

I was going to cancel this date.  I was not going to go.  I was about to have contempt prior to investigation.  I told you, my best thinking is shit.

This pretty much proves it.

My God has a very funny sense of humor.  And the best part?  I could not invite him in because my toilet broke and was backed up.  He had to pee.  I knew he had to pee when he walked me to my door.  We had been looking to grab a late night cup of coffee but couldn’t find parking anywhere, so he brought me back to my house.  Parked, and walked me to the door.  He asked if he could use my bathroom.

And I had to say no, not because I did not want him to come in, because I would have happily had him in, but because my damn toilet was backed up and I don’t have a plunger.

God is chuckling right now.

Hell, I’m kind of laughing too.  I did not explain why I could not invite him in.  I just said no, he could not use the facilities.  He completely understood, he did not push and then he kissed me.

Oh my.

Such a kiss.

God damn good thing I don’t have a plunger.

Settling In

July 4, 2011

Into my skin, into my new apartment, into my life.

Today was such a peaceful, serene, simple day.  I just felt like I was floating one foot above the ground all day long.  The city was beautiful and half empty, I love holidays for how they clean out San Francisco.

I saw more tourists than neighbors in my hood today.  There were parking spaces everywhere!

The day was gorgeous, so divinely warm, that once I got to the Mission with Calvin I actually went and bought a summer dress.  I was in jeans and a tank top and I was too hot.  That happens so infrequently that it must be embraced when it happens.

I popped over to Therapy on Valencia St.  and there she was, my white maxi-dress that I have been looking for all my life.  Pretty, long, flowing, embroidered lace flowers, I felt like a Frida Kahlo painting, with lots of tattoos!  Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the weather, I don’t know, I don’t care, it was a day like no other.

And the absolutely wonderful thing was that it was just a day.

I got up, ate my breakfast, took the bike to the shop to get a tune up.  Walked over to Calvin’s place and we took his Vespa over to the Mission.  There is something so freeing in a scooter ride.  I trust Calvin completely and I just relax on the back of the scooter and coast along in the air.  I love going over the hills and down into the Mission.  It is exhilarating.

Although I did have a moment going down Gough St. when I remembered how my old friend Earl had taken it too fast and caught air and crashed out.  Fortunately he was not hurt, but I always think about that when I go down Gough on a scooter, catching that air.

Boy oh boy would that suck with a new tattoo.  Eek.

Suffice to say we made it safely down Gough and headed over to Valencia Gardens to do the deal.  I meandered to Therapy, found my dress, got an iced coffee–such a small decadent treat–and then back over to the community center.  After I got to meet with a few friends at Four Barrel.  And as it turned out, Brian had a rental car for work.  He asked if I had my bike and whether or not I would like a ride anywhere.


And off to Rainbow we went.  It is such a treat to get to ride in a car.  I am always so grateful to my friends and fellows when they help me out with a ride.  To not have to haul groceries home on MUNI or on my bike is a blessing.  I do it every week and I will continue to do it every week, but that once in a while that I have some one give me a lift to the grocery store and then to my house, why it changes the whole dynamic of my day.

I stocked up at Rainbow, which was empty, empty, empty, and got the lift back to the house.

I put away my groceries and put a chicken in the oven to roast.  I rubbed it down with sea salt and black pepper and onion and garlic, rosemary and tarragon, and bacon fat.  Drool.  I popped a couple of potatoes in the oven as well.  Then I mixed up a grapefruit and seltzer over ice in a Mason jar and wandered over to Huntington Square Park.

It was divine people and puppy watching.  I sat on a bench in the sun sipping my juice cocktail and being so happy and buoyant and delirious in my simple sitting on a bench in my neighborhood park kind of way on a sunny day in a pretty new white dress, that I could have just floated away.

Sun soaked and life satiated, I went back to the house that was quiet, no one in the building seemed to be home, at least not on my floor, and completely drowned in the smell of Sunday roast chicken dinner.

I swooned coming in my door from the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen.  I checked the chicken and basted its lovely little organic, free range, bacon rubbed skin and set about getting the rest of dinner together.  I steamed up a little broccoli and prepped my baked potato and sat down in my new apartment with a little Paul Simon on the Ipod player and ate my sumptuous dinner.

Blissed out after dinner I washed the dishes, brushed my teeth and headed down the hill to China Town.

I hopped a 30 Stockton headed to the Marina.  The bus driver told me I looked like I was off to get married.  I beamed at him, showed him that I had on no ring, giggled and wandered to the back of the bus amidst a gaggle of Russian tourists that were actively seeking out Fisherman’s Wharf.

I silently thanked them for spending their money here in San Francisco and helping to support the local economy.  I did not even get annoyed when the woman behind me screamed at the bus driver for missing the stop–which he had not missed–she was confused.

I got off the bus a few blocks before my stop and walked over the top of Fort Mason and just soaked up the view.  It is a rare day in July in San Francisco that the fog has not engulfed the Golden Gate Bridge, but it was utterly clear and the mountains loomed over the Bay and the Bridge spanned it succinctly and preciously.

I just kept breathing every thing in.   The smell of the grass and the clover.  The feel of the warm air on my skin.  The sun starting to set.  The boats bobbing up and down in the marina.

I ran into a bunch of folks I had not seen in a long time, caught up, gave and got hugs, made a lunch date with a woman I met through a friend of a friend, and hung out with Pell.

She and I ended the night by heading over to The Grove in the Marina.  I normally would not have a latte at 9:45 p.m. at night, but tomorrow’s a holiday!  So I splurged and we caught up.

Nothing special, my day, nothing dramatic or overly exciting.  Yet, it was such a sweet day.  I am so lucky, I am so blessed.

I am goosebumped with gratitude.

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