Posts Tagged ‘Indian Summer’

I Saw Your Car

September 6, 2016

In the parking lot at the 7-Eleven on the corner.

It sounds like the start to a really bad country western song, doesn’t it?

I kept right on right on, moving on.

I did stop.

I did pause.

I did have a wave of something come over me.

I suspect that you were thinking of me, I had you sudden and random in my head as I switched out my glasses and put on the frames you liked to see me in before leaving my house this evening to walk up and do the deal at the place up the road.

I am tan and my hair is in braids.

Like you like.

Like that.

I conjured you to the parking lot, heir to Slurpees and candy bars, to hot dogs on a rolling tray, glistening under the heat lamps, oily and delicious, the crisp coated chicken wings, baking under another set of lights, waiting to be scooped up into thin white paper bags, that spot with grease upon contact.

God only knows the years people have lost consuming such junk.

Devious in it’s siren song.

Though not so delicious as the memory of the first time we kissed.

And then.

I realized.

What the fuck am I doing standing on this sidewalk?

Do I really need to replay that mess?

No.

I have had these odd moments.

Moments when I feel like I’m being given a chance to go back and repeat old behaviors.

Or.

Move forward.

I fished in my purse for my phone, as though I suddenly had some momentous phone call coming in and I had to answer it.

Why was I there, on the sidewalk, stopped in my tracks?

Skin a glow.

Warm.

Soft, skirt billowing about my knees.

Then.

I put the phone resolutely back in my bag, there was no incoming message, there was no sign from God.

Although, there was.

There it was.

Make the decision.

Stay and talk and get wrapped up in a man who is not available for me to get wrapped up in, fantasize about a nothingness that is there, scuttling like a Kit Kat wrapper discarded in the parking lot.

Or.

Jump the other direction.

I was reminded that I was not to chase.

Not to pursue.

To know what I want.

And to sit and wait for that.

That the desire to chase was going to come up and I could let it pass through me and let it go out the other way, run down to the beach, sink into the sand, softly paddle down to the waves lapping at the moon.

And disappear underneath that yellow buttercream frosted moon, a dusted crescent sugar cookie, a soft bitten kind of love sailing over the black velvet waves.

Buh bye.

Bye, my baby, good bye.

I walked up the sidewalk.

I thought about all ways that I took care of myself today.

From sleeping in, to washing my bed sheets and making a fresh bed.

The good food I cooked for myself.

The writing I did.

The quiet time I took.

The phone calls I made and the conversations I had.

The gift I gave myself of not leaving the neighborhood, not seeking to have an agenda, to do something, to make something happen.

No need.

There was no need.

No.

The need was to go slow.

To languish in the sun.

Languid, liquid, warm, soft, sluiced with the sunshine.

It was not foggy today.

It’s Indian Summer in San Francisco.

And thank God.

It finally came.

Granted I spent much of “Fogust” out of town, but the few days that I was here in August, it was surprisingly grey and foggy and cold.

To come back, to be out of the first weekend of my second year of grad school and to have a day where it was sunny, warm, and without fog, was a huge gift.

One that my brain was eager to sabotage by running around and “getting stuff done.”

I have no real idea what this stuff was that needed to get done.

I went grocery shopping yesterday and I really didn’t need to do anything.

I was directed to get my “mind of me” and to go outside, go to coffee, go walk on the beach, get out of myself.

So.

I did.

I took a few phones calls in the back yard, checked in with my people, then walked up to Trouble Coffee And Coconut Club and had a very hot, very wet, very expensive latte.

I sat out in the front parklet and watched the ocean from the wooden top beam of the fenced in space.

I let the sun splash down on me.

I tasted the espresso and milk and let it envelop me.

I went to The General Store and actually found a dress I just adored and even though it was much more expensive than I wanted to spend, I liked it too much to not get it.

I spent the majority of my clothing allowance on it and smiled with sweet happiness that I allowed myself the gift of getting it.

I’ll wear it tomorrow.

I thought about relationships and myself and friendships and remembered the admonishment to spend time with either myself or with girlfriends.

Guy friends I can get too wrapped up in and the fantasy of maybe they’re the guy I should be dating gets in the way of it.

I remembered what my friend said, let it happen, sit still, allow the work to take and don’t push it.

I walked down to the ocean and walked along the beach.

I watched dogs jump in and out of the surf.

I watched surfers drift in and out of the waves.

The sun shone.

The sand stuck to my toes and then washed off as the water lapped over my feet, surprising, cold, crisp, alerting my whole body to how alive I am.

I found a large drift wood log and sat.

I watched a game of frisbee.

I checked some messages and saw a man I had dated a few months back commented on something I posted on social media, I texted him, answered the question, but did not pursue it further.  I didn’t ask, hey, what are you doing?  Want to hang out?

That’s the hard part.

The not pursuing.

Yet.

As I sit with myself, leaning more and more into the strength there.

I know that I am worthy of love.

Of pursuit.

And I’m not too concerned about it.

The feelings come and go.

But I don’t have to treat them as though they are real or permanent.

Just a fleeting kiss of ghosted memory.

And gone.

Like my footsteps past the parking lot.

The neon glow of the sign behind me casting a shadow ahead of me.

Glimmers come shining off the dance floor that I chose to exit from.

Asphalt sparkles in the night.

And the caress of wood smoke hovering in the saline air.

Love.

Love.

Here.

There.

Everywhere.

God, in the details.

The swish of my skirt around my ankles.

The curl of hair, tucked behind my ear.

And.

The soothing whisper.

Soon.

Here.

At the still point of this Universe.

Love.

Will find me.

On the corner of 46th and Judah.

A whimpering croon, oh baby girl.

Just.

Come.

And.

Hold my hand.

And together.

We will walk.

Towards that unknown land.

Love.

Just there, over the dunes.

Under the cusp of the moon.

I am here.

I await.

Still.

And.

Strong.

For.

You.

That Moment When

September 12, 2014

I stepped off the train and fall smacked me in the face.

Wait.

Hey.

Isn’t it still summer?

I mean, San Francisco does have a summer, though often times it feels a tad on the Indian Summer side of town, it does happen.

But there was something about the air and the sudden dark and the chill when I hopped off the MUNI tonight, it shouted fall.

I would prefer a few more days, like the rest of September please, and yes, even on into October.

That’s usually what happens.

The season runs late, which is nice for the folks that live in San Francisco, and perhaps not so nice to the tourists who tend to leave right after Labor Day bemoaning the cold and fog of June and July, even August.

I like that secret Indian Summer season, I relish it.

There are seasons to San Francisco and I usually notice two of them.

Dark and light.

When its winter/fall it gets darker earlier.

There is also good chance for rain and it does tend to be chillier.

When it’s spring/summer it get dark later.

Tonight it was just dark later.

It could have been the fog, which hey, man, you aren’t supposed to be kicking it around these parts right now.

I don’t care if the Outer Sunset is synonymous with fog, this ain’t your season, get thee behind me.

Please.

Especially since I am going to have some time next week to play and I would appreciate a little nice weather to accompany it.

I don’t know yet what I am going to do.

Most of my friends will be working.

I may have one friend that can kick it with me for a day and I am waiting to hear back from him.

Otherwise I was told to go look up that list of things I like to do and do some of them.

Shoot.

I had forgotten about that discussion and those subsequent suggestions.

I suppose I will have to do something fun.

Sigh.

Fun and cheap.

Sort of like when I took my own bag lunch down to the Ferry Building on Wednesday.

I can probably do the Botanical Gardens, free to San Francisco residents.

I can walk the beach.

I live just a few blocks away from it.

I can work on some writing.

Although I have been subsumed with memorizing the pieces I am going to perform on Saturday–almost there–so not certain I have any new words in the brain pan.

I could go on a date.

I don’t know who I would ask.

But I could.

I could go to Kabuki and sit in the spa.

That doesn’t cost too much, twenty, twenty-five dollars.

I have a friend who said drop into the Mission and we’ll do lunch.

I will probably do that.

I will be working in the Mission soon, may as well re-acquaint myself with the neighborhood.

Ah.

One thing I have been thinking about too, that I should definitely do, although it falls more under the category taking care of business rather than fun, but it could be fun now that I a thinking about.

I want to go to some scooter/motorcycle stores and see if I could trade in my Vespa for a newer model scooter.

Say, one that I don’t have to kickstart.

I am gun-shy.

I have to say it.

And I am still recuperating.

I am serious, as I write, the ankle is elevated and I have my favorite sack of peas on it.

I mean, I didn’t walk a whole lot today, just over to Alamo Square park and around the NOPA neighborhood, up a few flights of steps, three separate times, and swollen.

Like that.

Swollen.

Still managing with occasional ibuprofen and still icing.

It’s still healing.

So.

Yeah.

Definitely shy about trying to kick-start the scooter and re-injure myself.

Plus with the brief kiss of autumn in the air to remind me, the scooter takes longer to start when it’s cold.  I don’t want to be trying to start it and hurt myself because it’s chilly out.

It gets chilly here.

Not cold.

Not freezing.

But the damp and the cold, they are real and I really don’t know that I want to be negotiating a cold starting scooter.

I love the Vespa, it is so cute and fun, but I don’t love having a sprained ankle and I still have two and a half months to go before the doctor said it would be healed.

I don’t want to wait that long to hop on my ride.

So my thinking has run along the lines of maybe take some of the time I have next week and go talk with some scooter places and see if I can trade it in for something that works better for my needs.

Hmm.

I could even do that tomorrow.

Tucked in between the NOPA gig, helping out with a pre-school transition with my little girl Thursday, today was our last Thursday together, sad face–but not our last time together I am sure–but tomorrow I am helping the parents as she has one more day of transition.

Meaning she has a half day at pre-school.

So I’ll be over there between 1p.m. and 5 p.m.

Then over to the Mission to sign some paperwork for the new family and later I have a speaking engagement at 8:30p.m. in the Castro.

But in between the paperwork and the Castro I may have time to sneak over to Scuderia and see what the haps are in regards to a possible trade in with my Vespa.

And if it’s not possible, a trade in, that is, I may consider selling the Vespa and then putting the money down on a different vehicle.

Things to think about.

There is time and there is time.

And I am sure the time will fill itself with comings and goings.

But should you be free next week Monday through Thursday, let me know.

I have some time on my hands.

It’d be fun to share it with you.


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