Posts Tagged ‘four day weekend’

Almost Home

July 4, 2016

But not quite.

Sitting on the floor charging the laptop, downloading an episode of OITNB and waiting for the next plane to land at LAX.

I’m so close I can taste San Francisco.

But not close enough.

I understand now why the fares were cheaper by hundreds of dollars and I get it, I accept the consequences of saving a few bucks, and really, considering the fabulous loot, for me, I’m bringing back from New Orleans, I’m ok with the delay.

That being said.

I won’t be doing it again.

Next time I travel, direct flight please.

No more trying to figure out what terminal and no worry about making connecting flights or waiting at a gate for the next flight.

I feel like I have lifted and loaded my carry on many more times than I typically do and I am a little weary of it.

I have 52 minutes until the next boarding.

I’m almost there.

I have patience.

And I am grateful for the experience, the people watching in airports is extraordinary.

First.

I hate to say it.

But, folks are heavy.

I mean, having been a heavier person all my life, although not so much now, I was stunned by the heft of folks.

Also.

I love me some fashion.

But money does not necessarily supply style.

Next.

Please, attend your children, especially when they are under two years old, my God, I have seen some wandering children.

Perhaps I am just hyper sensitive being a nanny, I always seem to have my nanny goggles on, but seriously folks, corral those kids.

And nobody seems to care about anybody else.

I have seen some utterly strange and rude things, cutting lines, loud voices, demands for things and privileges that shocked me.

All in all, however, I am grateful, again, and again, that I get the opportunity to travel.

I want to live in a big house one day.

And have a large map and pin cushion the fuck out of it, I want to trace all the flights from city to city in red and blue thread and I want to put little pushpins in all the cities I have gotten to visit.

I have not traveled as much as some, I am not a touring musician, I don’t have bags of money, but I get about pretty well, and much more than I ever believed I would.

It is an extraordinary gift.

I remember dreaming about it and thinking it would never happen.

And really, I have traveled a great deal just in the last year–Paris, New York, New Orleans, LA–in fact I was reflecting on the last time I was at LAX.

It was last August, before my school retreat, my friend who flew me down, first class from SFO to LAX for a weekend of museums and walk about.

I don’t see that friend anymore.

Strange how fast things change, even when you can’t imagine that they will, they do.

I am also extraordinarily grateful to him as well, despite not talking to him or engaging with him, no facecrack, no texts, no doing the deal in the same church basement.

There is a softness there in the memory, in the heart, in the touch of nostalgia for the intense experience of the relationship and also a  vast amount of perspective in the reviewing of how the relationship coalesced and then collapsed.

I cannot change what happened and I wouldn’t if I could.

I got what God wanted me to have and I don’t look gifts in the mouth.

The experience the heart opening and the love I learned I am capable of.

So much.

Or thinking about being a solo traveler.

I travel well on my own, I have my system down, I get it done.

But yes, sometimes I do wonder, what would it be like.

“You can have anything you want,” a lover told me.

Why, just now, that made me tear up, I am not sure, so tired of trying to figure it all out.

“Oh honey, you are so smart and so strong, and you need a match, there aren’t going to be a lot of men that can match you, you’re bigger than life,” my new friend in New Orleans said as we wound our way through the French Quarter on the way to Magazine Street.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I hear that all the time.

But the thing is, I’m not so sure I believe that.

Anyway.

I’m tired, I’m sure that’s the gist of this and where I am going with this blog, oh tender hormonal heart, I don’t know.

Yeah.

Got the period a week early.

A week!

Fuck.

I had sex on the mind, happy 4th let me celebrate with the day off to sleep in and get down.

Nope.

Grr.

Oh well, so it goes, everything happens the way it’s supposed to happen.

And perhaps the travel anxiety brought it on, happens sometimes, a little anxiety, making the connecting flights, getting through security, etc, happens, I tend to ignore it mentally, but I suspect my body has its own way of working, with or without my brains permission or acknowledgement.

Or perhaps it was the heat and humidity in New Orleans.

Who knows.

I just looked up around the terminal and thought to myself, “my people!”

I recognize San Francisco people.

Not necessarily anyone I know, but the look, well, there’s a look, and I see it.

I may have been temporarily seduced by the warm sultry nights in New Orleans and the lush flora and fauna, the lilting Southern twang and the gentility, but San Francisco still has my heart.

I’m going to get in close to midnight and I don’t think I’ll be BARTing or taking MUNI.

One more car ride and then home.

Home to my sweet little studio by the sea.

It is not filled with magnolia scent and orange spray water in a mister or paddle fans or twelve foot ceilings.

There are not clawfoot tubs and verandas.

But there is my bed, heavenly and warm, and heaped with pillows and my duvet, a duvet I shall burrow into, I’m sure I’m going to have a moment of shock at the cold and the fog, but that will pass

And besides.

I brought my sweatshirt.

I’m not inexperienced with the prodigal daughter return home with out enough layers.

I’m ready.

Yes.

I am.

Boarding in 32 minutes.

See you soon San Francisco.

I have missed you.

Even the fog.

Shh.

Don’t tell.

xoxoxo

 

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Short Week

November 25, 2014

Starts out with a bang.

A caffeine bomb with my friend the Mrs. Fishkin in the Mission at Craftsman and Wolves.

It’s about the only thing that I will get at said eatery/cafe/decadence palace of divine sugar and pastry concoctions.

That and a few minutes to sit and chat and catch up with my friend who has been such a love and support through so many of my trials and tribulations.

It was great to check in and nice to have high end nanny go juice to start out the day.

I took the youngest boy over to Dolores Park after I had fueled up and swings were swung and sand box was dug into and the view was so mighty and all San Francisco that it blew me open to stand at the precipice of the park and think of all the time that I have gotten to live in this fair city by the Bay.

We had a nice little romp then strolled back to the house with a quick stop on the way back to make a market run.

Milk, eggs, spinach, mushrooms, bananas, apples.

Staples.

Then, a slight melt down at the market, which precipitated going home and going right into a nap.

Which was alright with me.

I had cooking to do.

Today I made a spinach and mushroom frittata with garlic and parmesan cheese.

Frittata

Frittata

I rather love this about my job, getting to cook and run to the market is a deeply satisfying thing for me.

I do have to be careful though to parcel  out my time so that I can do the food prep and cook whatever it is that I am making for the family to coincide with giving myself an adequate break.

If I wait too long I won’t get enough time to sit down and eat my own meal.

This almost happened today and I had a premonition I might not have the normal amount of nap time that I get on a Monday.

I was right.

And very glad that I sat down and ate my lunch before the little guy was up and about.

I needed to be conserving my energy for swim class.

Monday’s are a full day and I can get overwhelmed with them if I don’t practice taking care of myself.

I can get very prideful of the job that I do and want to be on top of everything–laundry, market, food prep and cooking, tidying the various toy areas, having the diaper bag packed and stocked with snacks and milk and then add a swim day into the mix and I have a gigantic pile of stuff to organize.

“Oh my God!” The mom texted me this afternoon while I was in the middle of sauteing the garlic and mushrooms for the fritatta.

“I forgot today is a swim day, are you ok with everything?” She asked and then a few minutes later came into the kitchen from the upstairs, “I completely spaced, and I,” she paused.

“You are shockingly on top of everything,” she glanced around the kitchen.

And I was.

And it was nice to be acknowledged.

“Have you sat down and taken a break yet?” She added.

“I am just about to,” I said and gestured to the large kale salad I had on the counter top.  “I am just going to finish up with the frittata and I will sit down and eat.”

“Good!  Please do!”  The mom went back to mom stuff and I finished pouring the eggs into the pan and prepped the boys plates for dinner.

Egg pizza and fruit.

Not that difficult a thing to make, but lovely to be acknowledged for the effort and to also be reminded to take the time to rest for myself.

A tired nanny is not a fun nanny or a productive nanny.

Life is really busy for me right now, and that’s a great thing, but I want to make sure that I take my rest when I can and not push too hard.

I have plenty more to accomplish.

This being a short week I am thrilled to have some extra time.

For sleeping in and other things.

And for working on my graduate school application.

The fall semester for 2015 is now open for application.

I got the second letter of recommendation lined up, affirmed that today, I have to send her the link for it as well as provide my other recommender my letter of intent so that she has a template to work from.

I will be working on all of that this weekend.

“Just send them a link to your blog,” she said to me tonight over tea at Boderlands Cafe on Valencia Street and 20th.

I love that I can meet up with the people in my life that I need to see on a weekly basis at a cafe a block from work.

I laughed.

It’s not a bad idea.

In fact, now that I am thinking of it, I could very well include a blog from the time when I had the epiphany, at yes, Burning Man, about going to graduate school to be a child therapist.

The fact that I have an active, current, spiritually principled blog may be just the ticket for the part of the application that is concerned with my quest for spiritual guidance.

I know.

I sound very crunchy and granola and let me be frank, I sort of am, but I don’t go around rubbing my Birkenstocks under people’s noses.

It’s helps that I don’t own a pair.

So much of my path has to do with guidance and love and spirituality (not religion thank you, I have no denomination I affiliate myself with) that it may look like I am a big old hippie.

Disguised underneath a hipster one speed riding San Franciscan with a lot of tattoos.

I am not definable, nor is my practice, but it is there, here, all around me, and despite not having definition, it is tangible and I believe I will be able to translate that well and succinctly in my application.

And if not.

Then perhaps this path is not for me.

But I won’t know until I apply.

And for that I express gratitude for Thanksgiving and the gift of time.

Four day weekend here I come!


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