Posts Tagged ‘Lucca Ravioli’

Replace A Permit

April 28, 2016

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.

 

What A Long, Strange Day

April 14, 2016

It’s been.

I mean.

REALLY.

I don’t even know how to process all the strangeness of it.

Pockets of silence and serenity, sunshine, breath, music, ocean reveries.

Then.

Tears on the steps at work.

Locked out for two hours.

TWO.

So much for getting out of work early.

I couldn’t really do the cooking that I was there to do sitting on the front porch surrounded by six bags of groceries from Whole Foods and another from Lucca.

It was my fault and I knew it.

Admitted promptly when we were wrong.

UGH.

No.

I don’t want to.

Except I had to, I absolutely had to.

I could not find my keys and I had been back and forth between the house and Lucca Ravioli three times, I had asked every single store and restaurant that I had walked past whether any one had returned a set of keys.

Aside.

How sweet the vendors and market girls and shop keepers, I ran into many of them later and they all asked after me, “did you find your keys?”

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

But it sort of, no I mean, it really fucking sucked for a good two hours.

I had a lot of time to reflect and sit and watch the sky, high and blue, the new green leaves of the Japanese maple next door pressing into the blue, unfurled, young, tender, a kind of new grass green that was almost a shock to my eye to watch them flutter in the wind.

I watched the clouds.

I listened to the birds.

I watched a female robin pull a worm from the yard next door.

I saw a daschund puppy waddling by.

I smelled a lot of pot being smoked, the marijuana scent floating down the block.

I heard the Irish lilting voices on the construction site two houses down.

I sat.

I waited.

I cried in my hands a few times.

My face a mashed up smoosh of hurt and sadness and rue.

I was rueful.

I remember all too clearly getting done with what I needed to get done right away in the afternoon as I showed up to work with a long list of things to do and a plan of action in my pocket.

I was going to get it done and then get the fuck out.

Go to the park.

Go to the DeYoung and finally get me some motherfucking art.

There was no art although there was much sweetness and beauty when I stopped to see the world from the front porch stoop.

I was worried about my keys and the fact that my scooter was locked up and cabled in front of the house in the drive way.

I kept staring at that.

Well.

I thought to myself.

I can always stash the groceries in the garage or ask a neighbor to put the perishables in their fridge, I might have to wait for the neighbors to get home, but I could do that and I can take a car back to my house and fingers crossed my housemate’s around and then I get the spare set of my scooter keys and take a car back.

I was not happy about it.

But it was an option.

The whole fiasco happened with a small series of words that usually gets me in trouble, “fuck it.”

The mom had a big delivery of groceries being delivered via Instacart and I was tired of waiting and I figured I could get out to Lucca and back before it was delivered and worst comes to worse, they put the groceries on the steps and I’ll be back before you know it.

Fuck it.

Just do it, because I didn’t have anything to do.

I don’t know, Carmen.

Maybe next time you just sit your ass down and make a cup of tea and check your e-mails and wait.

Because when I rush I do stupid things.

Like leave my keys on the kitchen counter.

I cannot actually remember the last time I lost my keys.

It is not a fun experience.

Especially when I am ordering sliced turkey from the counter guy at Lucca and the mom pings me and says, hey the grocery delivery is there can you let them in?

Oh fuck me.

REALLY.

I debated lying.

But nope, can’t and in hindsight boy am I glad I was able to connect with the mom.

I told her I was at Lucca and I knew she was mad and I apologized and zoomed back to the house, digging for my keys as I was on the run and where are my keys?

WHERE ARE MY KEYS?!

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

I ran back to Lucca, no keys.

I scoured the ground.

I walked back and forth.

I started crying.

TEARS are not helpful right now, stop it.

I dashed them from my eyes.

I text the mom back.

I asked if they had a spare set in the garage, I know the code, I go into the garage, I get the spare key I take all the groceries…

Oh.

They don’t have a spare key in the garage.

Fuck me.

And the neighbors don’t have a spare and the family is actually about to board the plane.

I tell her I will get the groceries secured and figure things out, and she pings me the number to the dog walker.

Saved!

But humbled.

Oh.

So very humbled.

So.

I sat and sat and sat and waited for the dog walker to finish with her dogs and drop offs and finally, two hours later I am let in and yes.

Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, my keys are on the kitchen counter.

I burst into tears again.

The dog walker gives me a hug and says she was happy to help.

I started cooking.

I did all the food prep and made homemade pizzas for the boys tomorrow and a very large batch of pureed broccoli soup.

I talked to my person on the phone.

We talked about how I was in pain and experiencing disappointment, I got the news from the program co-ordinator that there really wasn’t much I could do about the weekend of Burning Man and maybe I could miss one day of the first weekend.

She attached the attendance policy and all I could see was the great big F you get for missing too many classes and I just sighed, surrendered and said, ok, I guess I can’t go.

So.

Get it all done here at work and go to Lucca and get the cold cuts and get done and go have a day for you and.

Well.

That’s not at all what happened.

Really, in the end, nothing bad happened, I was humbled, I made a mistake, I am not perfect and that can be uncomfortable to see.

But see it I did.

I was also unexpectedly available to take a phone call from a woman I’ve known for a few years who wants to film me for a documentary.

What?

Um, ok.

We had a really nice chat and it was cool to be asked to collaborate with an artist as an artist.

I might not be able to go to Burning Man, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still make art or engage with the community.

I still am an artist.

I still am a nanny.

I still am a student.

I am a woman, slightly saddened by turns of the day, but I know, in my bones, with a kind of unshakeable faith, there is a good reason for all of this.

I don’t have to know what it is.

It just is.

Hello reality.

It was, interesting, er, good to meet you today.

Tumult does not mean an end.

It means an opening elsewhere that I had not seen before.

I am available for that apparently.

Whatever it is.

I’m game.

I’m in.

Bring it.

 

Some Times It’s The Little Things

January 15, 2015

Like getting done with work an hour early.

Oh, my gosh, that was nice.

Partially because it was a ruckus at work, four boy play date and pizza making party.

Can you say melee?

I spent most of my lunch break making pizzas, that was a new one on me, I have not made a pizza from scratch since I don’t know when, high school?

I actually did not make them completely from scratch, I bought the dough pre-made from Lucca Ravioli on Valencia Street.  Plus, the pepperoni, and pizza sauce.

Really what I did was assemblage, but it did take a while to do, just preparation wise and I did have to roll out the dough and pre-bake and then build them up.

It was a little strange having my hands in flour, I don’t bake anymore, but I soon found myself wielding a rolling-pin and even flipping the pizza dough up in the air a few times.

I made two mushroom and spinach pizzas, one pepperoni and cheese, and one four cheese, for the parents, then for the boys I made tiny little pizzas using cookie cutters, and then plated all the things that they would need to build up their own little pizzas–marinara, “leaves” (spinach which the youngest likes to call leaves, make a face at me, blow a raspberry and drop on the floor for the dog, who also flaps her lips in disgust and waits for the boy to displace some sausage), sliced mushrooms, and four cheese mix.

I also roasted a head of cauliflower in the oven and made an extra trip to the corner market for staples.

It was quite the morning and afternoon and I found myself grateful that the little guy got in a few extra minutes on his nap and the mom was a tiny bit late from pick up with the four-year old from pre-school.

I found myself eating my lunch in shifts, standing up, walking around with a bowl of food in my hand or jumping up to swap out a pizza from the pizza oven to the pizza board.

I hate eating my lunch like that, but prepping food for three adults and four children and doing snacks and milk and general nanny issue things, I just got grateful that I had food and that a lot of my food has been happening at work.

Ie, the family provides about half of my meals for me.

Plus almost every day buys me a coffee or a latte.

I don’t mind running around a little if I get a nice coffee from Ritual or I get to augment my own food with fresh fruit from BiRite, it saves me quite a bit over the long run and it’s so nice to not have to haul my food around from home to work like I have with quite a few of my other nanny jobs.

However, as much as I appreciate the little perks, a sit down does me good and I found myself a tiny bit more flustered with the boys and finding that I had to tell myself to cool off and breathe and settle down.

Especially if I was going to run my two charges around for a bit before the play date landed on the doorstep.

I also am like a solar battery.

It’s sunny out, get me outside.

I think that has to be one of the most important perks of my job, I get to go outside.

It’s a little thing, but it means a lot to me to be able to charge my own batteries, especially since I do have seasonal depression.  It’s not so bad being here in California, although, July, ironically, can be challenging with the fog out here.

The boys are not always super eager to get out when mom and dad are home and there are working guys doing construction on the house, but it saves my bacon to get outside and be in the sun and the air, even when it is laced with pot smoke.

I know it’s pretty much legal, but keep it out of the park yo.

I have called the cops a few times on really obvious usage, most of the time the boys don’t pay it any attention, I’m the one that it annoys, I’m allergic to it.

We only spent an hour at the park, but I let myself sit down and “relax” for a little while.

Just sitting down is a big deal.

I don’t spend as much time sitting as some of the other nannies I see do, that’s partially just how I nanny, and it’s also because so many of the parents in the neighborhood are out with their kids and a lot of them go to the same school and know the parents.

Sometimes I think I am being a little paranoid, that parents are reporting back to my boss, but you never know and I have had moments when I even think I am being tracked about with the stroller.

I work for tech people and I know there are drop cameras all over the house.

The monitor in the boys perspective rooms is pretty open and out there, but there are more and I don’t know where they are located.

I just know I am on the camera.

I don’t pick my nose or anything.

I also don’t make personal calls, for the most part, from the house.

I am pretty much consistently moving and shaking and doing.

I forget most of the time that they are there, but once in a while the mom wills say or do something and I will be reminded, oh yeah, you’re on camera lady.

Not that I feel that there’s anything that I am doing wrong, I am doing a great job, but it was obvious that I got watched today.

“You worked your entire lunch, why don’t you take off an hour early, we’re just going to watch videos,” the mom said.

Huzzah!

And that’s how I wrote my blog before I even am normally home on a Wednesday night.

I got to get out and ride in the rush hour bicycle commuters lane and get to the Inner Sunset and meet with some folks that I haven’t seen in a while and get home over an hour and a half before I ever do the mid week.

What a treat.

It’s the little things that make the difference.

Being upbeat and doing a good job.

Happy, happy.

Joy.

Joy.

I shall be well rested for the morrow.

 


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