Replace A Permit

But let me start the blog by saying.

Acceptance is the answer to all my problems.

Good lord.

I had this odd feeling to read that little bit in my favorite book, not a book that I talk about much, well, here, but I do talk about it a lot, I read it daily, I have a sort of morning routine and it was suggested to me last time I met with my person that I read it.

“Ugh,” I said, “I just read that, I mean, literally, I just read that.”

“Read it again,” she said and continued on making the suggestions.

Of course I totally didn’t read it, I already have my morning routine, I don’t need another thing in it, don’t you know who I am?

Don’t you know how fucking busy I am?

Don’t you.

Um.

Heh.

Shut the fuck up, Martines, and take the suggestion.

And I remember to do so this morning, it was just the oddest little reminder, hey you, remember that thing that was suggested to you?

Yeah, that, read it.

It will come in handy today.

I did my regular readings and then I flipped open the book to that part and I read it again, for the who knows, 100th time, at least, and of course.

I got something from it.

“There are absolutely no mistakes in God’s world.”

Oh yeah.

Thank you.

Yes.

Exactly!

I promptly forgot that, but it came back to me as I prepared to launch out into my day.

Already feeling like I had had quite a day.

Morning routine, little kneel down, say the good words, get the acceptance on, ask for some guidance, ask to be of service, help me get to work safely and home safely on my scooter, be patient, kind, tolerant and loving, you know, the basics.

Breakfast.

Coffee.

More coffee.

God damn I love coffee.

Thank you God for coffee.

I digress.

Writing.

Face Time with Saturday’s date.

Slightly awkward, bad connection, he caught a screen shot of me with my mouth wide open in what looks like a classic horror movie still.

Or.

A really bad blow job face.

Ugh.

Erase that now, I asked.

I don’t think he erased it.

We chatted, it was a bad connection, so phone check in re all the things.

Then off to scooter to the optometrist to pick up my fancy schmancy new prescription sunglasses.

My first ever pair of prescriptions and I spent a pretty penny on them, most expensive pair of glasses I have ever bought, but the frames are gorgeous (I actually rued not getting them as a straight up pair of frames with my regular prescription, I think they may look better as just plain glasses, but oh well, I got them now) and I was absolutely astounded by how good everything looked.

Like.

Man.

I should have done this sooner.

They are fantastic.

I could see everything clear and crisp and there’s not glare on the road and whoa.

Plus, it’s nice to have sunglasses, I haven’t really worn a pair of them, outside of that thing in the desert, since I started wearing glasses again right before my 40th birthday.

Yes.

So lovely to see.

Even though.

Sometimes.

I see things I don’t want to see.

Or I see things that are missing.

LITERALLY.

Fuck me.

My child care parking permit was not on my scooter this morning.

Really?

REALLY?!

Where the fuck is it?

I’m not going to be able to park on the block at work without the permit, I’m going to get tickets, I’m going to have to ride my bike again, I’m so used to the scooter, I don’t want to.

I.

Shhh.

Acceptance.

Ah.

Big old sigh.

It’s not like I got hurt or lost something that can’t be replaced.

Even though when I told my employers, the mom acted like I wasn’t going to be able to get another until the permit expired in November.

Well.

I guess I’m getting back on the bicycle and bike commuting again.

Grrr.

I have to meet my person in the Castro tomorrow night at 18th and Diamond.

I hate that hill on a one speed.

Frogs.

Except.

Hmmm.

I bet I can still ride my scooter in.

I did today and the parking meter dude zipped right past me without bothering to stop and he did not chalk my tire.

“I bet they’re used to seeing your scooter and they know that it’s got a permit,” the mom said.

“You could park it in front of the garage if you think you’ll feel better about it there,” the dad said.

“I think it’s ok and I’ll figure out what I can do to replace it, if I can replace it, and if I can’t, I’ll be riding my bicycle back to work again,” I said, thanking them and getting on with the work that needed to be done.

Run to the market, get fixings, run to Lucca Ravioli, get tortellini and pesto for dinner, make a vat of broccoli soup, cook up some rice, make snacks for the boys, God, they were adorable today.

“I’m going to marry Carmen when I grow up,” the youngest said today.

Now that’s a first, it’s always been the six year old who has said I was his betrothed.

Then.

“No, you can’t, she’s too old for you,” his brother said.

Ouch.

I mean, yes, of course.

“Besides, I’m marrying Carmen, you can marry somebody else,” he finished.

Oh my God.

The cuteness.

He tugged on my hand later as we were walking to the park.

“Yes pie,” I asked looking at him, “what do you need?  Do you need a snack?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “I just need to kiss you.”

Oh.

Heart melting into puddle on sidewalk.

Then he kissed my hand.

Love my job.

Sometimes it just astounds me that I get to do this job, that I am entrusted with these two children, that I have gotten to have a little hand in raising them, loving them, being there for them.

And I have loved all the children I have nannied.

They have all left a little impression of themselves on my heart.

Some bigger than others.

Fingerprints smudged with childish laughter, the first I love you’s, the first smiles, the first hugs, the moments when they fall asleep on my shoulder, soft and heavy and luscious with the smell of sleep.

Luckiest girl in the world.

My little love bunnies.

My heart is full.

Deep and satiated with happy.

And it turns out the I can get a replacement permit from the SFMTA for the small fee of $18.

Although I will have to show up at their office, to do so, it has to be done in person.

Fine.

I can spend a morning doing that.

I think that’s called “adulting” or something like that.

I can accept that.

I was primed to do so this morning.

May I always be so flexible.

It really is the easier, softer way.

Something like this would have wrecked me for weeks, now, today.

Not so much.

I have other things to think about.

Dream about.

Plan for.

Papers to write.

Articles to read.

Ships to sail, tattoos to get, check books to balance, kissing to be had, dancing to be done, bills to be paid, life to be lived.

One beautiful.

Infatuating.

Glorious.

Day at a time.

 

Surf’s Up

In less time then I would ideally like I will be getting into that cold, cold water, wearing my wet suit for its virgin run.

Yes, that’s right.

I am going surfing tomorrow morning.

“I will send you a message around 6:30a.m., that’s when I will leave the house,” he said to me tonight on the phone as I was walking my bike up one of the few hills in the city I have to walk my one speed up.

I had just gotten down with a full day at the Maker’s Mart down at the Old Mint building on 5th and Mission.

Come by tomorrow!

I will be there again from noon until 5:30p.m.

I am honored to help my amazing friend and artist Arin Fishkin sell her prints from her quintessential San Francisco Series.  They are a series that speaks more to the native San Franciscan, using iconography that someone who lives here would really appreciate.

I have my eye on a particular one that I want most bad, Baker Beach, it’s just gorgeous.

I rub my greedy paws together with glee.

Yes, it’s true, I will work for art.

Especially when it’s this good.

Plus, it’s nice to spend some time with a dear friend, check out some local art and have good coffee from Blue Bottle which is located just behind the Mint building.

So I had a full day when the offer was made and I have a full day tomorrow.

But.

“You make the time,” he said, “the swells have been perfect, I have a ton of stuff to do but I am going to make the time,” he paused, “and you can too.”

Yes sir, yes I can.

I will be up at 6:30 a.m.

That’s when the alarm is set.

I don’t think I will have breakfast, just some coffee.

I will make breakfast after the surfing.

I will still need to shower and change and haul my butt back over the hills and valleys to downtown but I won’t need to be there until noon.

The event opens at 11a.m. but since we were able to leave the gear all set up there won’t be much to do in the morning, so I have an extra hour.

I doubt we will be in the water more than two hours.

“I want to be in the water by 7:30 a.m.” he said and I agreed.

Oof.

The Dawn Patrol.

Making it happen, however, and saying yes to spending time with my friend.

Saying yes too because I know I will sleep when I am dead.

Ok.

I don’t necessarily mean that, but I will have six days off after I get done with work on Monday.

I feel I can push it a little tomorrow.

I will get to have my inaugural dip in my new wetsuit.

I will bring my boogie board too.

Might as well.

I am excited.

I don’t know that I will have much of a restful night.

I feel pretty jacked up after my bike ride home.

It is a blast to hit the long down hill stretch along Lincoln, but I find that after the steady up hill climb from the Mission, or the long drop into the Mission from Noe Valley, where I was at this evening, to the Castro, up the Wiggle, through the Pan Handle and onto Lincoln, that I have gotten all pumped up and warm and adrenalized.

It is a challenge to settle back down when I get home.

Plus I needed to take care of a few things before getting my blog started, it’s 11:15 p.m. and I am going to easily take another hour to an hour an a half to wind down.

Another hot cup of tea.

Some time to breathe.

Some time to kick out the last few words for this blog and to dwell on my life for a moment.

It’s a damn good life.

I got to see a lot of dear people tonight.

I got to ride my bicycle a lot.

I rode from my house at 46th Ave and Judah to Mission and 5th Street.  Then from Mission and 5th up to Diamond and 24th Street, back from there to home.

Round trip not sure how many miles that is exactly, but I clocked in over an hour today on my bicycle, probably closer to an hour and a half.

I have the thighs to prove it.

Strong, healthy, fast.

“You should have seen her,” he exclaimed to his friend around a mouthful of hand rolled cigarette as I was bidding my adieus this evening unlocking my bicycle and putting the lights on the handle bars and seat post.  “She turned that corner on Valencia and 16th like a bicycle messenger!”

“She’s fucking fast.”

I smiled.

Sometimes I am fast.

But I often get passed by other bicyclists, I think that what looks fast to another who is on foot feels quite slow to me.

Then again, I do take corners fairly quick, I lean into them and the connection to my bike is such that I take certain streets fast, nimble and without much thought.

My body becomes the bike and the bike my body.

It is just an extension of my thoughts.

When it is really good.

And often of late, it has been really good.

“I am getting OLD,” my friend complained to me.

“Old.”

I kicked him and smiled, I am older, although you wouldn’t always know it.

But I do know that feeling when your body is doing something that it is not used to.

You walk many miles after driving around in a car your body will be sore.

You ride a bike up and over hills you are going to be tired and you may feel old.

But I have gotten used to the commute and what used to horrify me now seems sort of second nature.

This is just the bike ride I do and it takes about this much time.

I can feel my body adapting to being in the saddle a little more and my legs getting stronger, my lungs pulling in air more efficiently.

Tomorrow, though, I am sure that I may feel, well, old, after some surfing.

But I am willing to have the experience.

Not just of getting up early when I could sleep in, but saying yes to spending time with a friend and making space for another new experience.

New experiences are pretty awesome even when I think they are not.

Spending time with friends is always worth the time.

Is what I am finding more and more and for that I promise to make the time.

And with that, time to get what little beauty rest I can wrest from the rest of the evening.

No rest for the wicked.

Or, perhaps I should say, the “old.”