Whole Lotta Nothing

Not that it was bad.

No.

It was divine.

I only left the house today to go to yoga.

And.

I almost didn’t go.

My brain said, hey, you were sick yesterday really bad, you should lie in bed and make sure that you’re ok.

Even though I was pretty much back to my normal self by the time bed time rolled around last night, no nausea, no headache, so no reason for me to lay in the bed this morning.

I got up and got dressed and walked over to yoga.

And it was good.

I got nice and warm and sweaty and had a good work out and stretched and my back is slowly feeling better, between a couple of chiropractor visits and doing a little more yoga, I have a much happier back.

Sure, some poses still not great at and I couldn’t hold a few of them today, tough on the tender ankles, but I know that balancing is helpful for strengthening my ankles and I also did some foot exercises today that my chiropractor recommended to me for strengthening my ankles.

I went though and I am happy I did.

It was the only time I went outside today.

I ended up taking a huge hot shower, wrote many pages in my notebook, and then had my best friend over for hang out time.

Lots of talking, hanging out, getting caught up, and I made some yummy food.

I cooked up my version of a Cajun gumbo/jambalaya.

Sans the crayfish.

I used shrimp instead.

It wasn’t really a gumbo and it wasn’t really a jambalaya, but it was somewhere in between and it was tasty.

I am very happy I made it too, knocked out some food prep for the week, what wasn’t eaten was put up and frozen and I’ll probably run some over to my person too, who’s recuperating from a hip replacement surgery.

I got the best text message from him regarding one of my soups that I had given him.

I made him an Italian sausage with white bean soup and then my version of chicken soup with veggies, brown rice, and Andouille sausage.

He was very, very happy with them both, but I think the latter got the big applause.

I do like to cook, it’s a nice way to show someone who you care for that you love them.

Since I don’t eat sugar or flour I don’t make super intricate stuff for myself, but since I know how to cook and have cooked plenty with those ingredients, I know how to combine flavors.

Sometimes I have no idea where the stuff comes from, I’m just like, hmm, put that with this and see what happens.

It’s a nice skill to have and I’m always surprised that so many people can’t cook or don’t know how to do even basic stuff.

I’m not a great cook, but I’m good and I feel like I’m definitely better than the average bear.

My friend seemed quite happy to eat the food.

I don’t recall any complaints.

We hung out past sunset, which really isn’t that late since the sun goes down around 5p.m. and by the time my company had left and I washed up the dishes and put everything away I had absolutely no desire or urge to go outside.

It’s just too cozy in my little house and I’m happy to stay put.

It feels rather nice to not have clients tonight, to not have work either, which is why I was able to go to a 8:30 a.m. yoga class today, the family I nanny for went out-of-town for the weekend.

I’ll be going back into work on Tuesday.

Back to therapy, back to seeing clients, back to it all.

Fortunately the kids will be going back to school by that time as well, working early every day this past week, with the obvious exception of yesterday having called out sick, is a bit of a grind.

I don’t mind it horribly and I’m always glad I can be flexible for the family, but it will be nice to go back to my regular hours.

In the meantime I don’t have a lot planned for the weekend, and no plans at all for New Years.

I would just rather skip it.

I have my dance party on January 13th and that will be my dancing fun, I don’t need to go and be out amongst the hoi poi over the weekend, I’m more than happy to skip lines, drunks, amateurs, and Uber and Lyft crazy drivers from out-of-town.

Not sure what I’ll do, if anything, to celebrate.

More yoga.

The studio has classes on Monday, so technically I could do yoga tomorrow, Sunday, and Monday, making it a four-day run for me.

I think that’s the best idea.

And maybe I’ll take a little trip to Stinson or Muir in my car.

I got my FasTrak in the mail today, so I can pay tolls via that instead of cash and it’s a no brainer to get over the bridge.

I do have group supervision tomorrow, lest I forget, though it was a very, very quiet week for clients, only one client, I only have to attend group, which is nice, but I do have to attend.

My solo supervisor is still out on Monday, which is New Years Day, so I won’t start back up with him until the 9th of January.

A tiny bit more of a break.

School is back on the 19th, 20th, and 21st of the month, January that is.

I still have a few weeks before I have to start thinking about it, although I already have a tiny bit.

I just checked my grades, I’m still carrying a 4.0!

Huzzah.

That’s always nice to see.

I also need to start looking seriously into applying to the PhD program at my school if I’m going to do that.

I think I have to apply by February or March.

My supervisor at my practicum site already said he would write me a letter of recommendation.

I definitely want to have that!

Plenty to think about and do over the next few months, but for the rest of this weekend, I’m just going to chill out, do lots of yoga, cook some nice food, maybe I’ll even buy a book that’s not related to psychology.

Maybe.

 

And Like That

We went “official” this weekend.

That is we changed relationship status on facecrack to “in a relationship”.

Nothing like changing my single status to in a relationship to stir up the social webs.

It doesn’t feel much different then before I was “single” and dating my guy.

Just a little more out there.

Not that we have been hiding it from anyone, all my close friends pretty much know, oh, I suppose, there are a few folks out there whom I have not talked to, although not for lack of trying.

But its a busy time of year.

Holidays have taken hold.

The Thanksgiving turkey has been picked apart and eaten and the Christmas tree lots are in full swing and so too is my debit card.

I have a holiday party to attend with my guy next Saturday and I tried on my dress tonight from ModCloth, it’s quite retro/vintage, definitely for a gal with some curves, and I have a few.

It reminds me a little of Mad Men and I like that kind of vibe.

I am pairing it with cream fishnet stockings and pumps.

I was going to wear it with cream wedge heels that I have from Seychelles, but the look was just not quite right.

It went from looking retro glam to sort of retro hooker glam.

I don’t want to look hooker for the holiday party.

I tried looking at the shoes from every angle and they just didn’t work, so hopped onto Zappos and bingo!

An adorable pair of cream mary jane pumps with a sweet low wood heel.

Vintage, va va voom, and not too sexy.

Just sexy enough.

Hell, I tend toward sexy without really trying and I am aware of it and sometimes I have to tone it down.

Not today, though, I brought out the leopard print leggings and the brown lace tank top and tight black hoodie, I was with my guy and I loved that.

I like walking hand in hand and well, er, gah, I wasn’t going to write about the boyfriend, so never mind.

Suffice to say that does not mean that I will spend the entire time blogging tonight about clothes and shoes; although it is tempting since I still need to find a wrap for the dress and perhaps a little bag to carry too.

I am really enjoying being in the relationship, let me say that.

And we spent the entire weekend together.

It has been some time since I have spent Thanksgiving weekend with another person.

It was lovely.

I got to see lots of friends and there was much sleeping in, late breakfasts, coffee, staying up late, road trips, small and big, on the back of the Harley Sportster.

Yesterday afternoon we took it up the coast, crossing over the Golden Gate Bridge, heading past Sausalito, threading down the highway in between the slower moving tourist traffic that was turning to view the city by the Bay, to the quick fast overpass and down into Sausalito and then left toward Tamalpais and then Shoreline Highway toward Muir Beach, and onto Highway One and Stinson Beach

Curving up and over the canyons and hills, the green trees, the smell of Eucalyptus, the wet, damp earth–it was wetter than anticipated and the rich earth smell beguiled me along as I held tight onto the man in front of me.

Often I was closing my eyes.

I just smelled the smells, the green, the brown, then the smoke of a wood fire burning.

I inhaled deeply and was happy.

I thought of all the times I had climbed through these self-same hills and canyons on my way to Stinson Beach or Muir and smiled with satisfaction to be adding another layer of memory onto the trip, the journey.

Sometimes I double back on the path, as though I have to do it again properly and lay down another trail of memory to expand my love of a place and also my love for myself and the joy of living, just knowing that I am alive and riding along having yet another new experience.

I have never ridden to Muir Beach or Stinson on a motorcycle.

Or to Olema either.

That is where the afternoon ride ended.

Stopping a roadside cafe for hot lunch and coffee.

I updated my status on facebook.

I uploaded the photograph of us smiling from Stinson Beach and I sat back and felt the feelings.

On one hand it took something delicious and private to open air.

And I felt a ping of sorrow for letting the cat out of the bag.

On the other hand.

It felt gleeful and giddy and right.

Here we go.

It’s official.

We are a couple.

Yowza.

And there is so much I am learning about this person and about how to be intimate.

Yet.

There’s even more I am learning about myself and frankly, that is astounding.

One embarrassing thing, a defect I suppose, a character trait that used to work for me but doesn’t any longer, although I default to it all the time, I have to admit to is that I don’t give a straight answer.

Yes or no.

Simple right?

Are you hungry?

Yes.

Or.

No.

Not let me tell you a story about how I had a late breakfast and I probably won’t need anything until later, but if you….

Oh.

My.

God.

I am that fucking person.

Do you want a bottle of water?

I have an apple in my bag.

What the fuck?

I am mortified when this stuff comes out of my mouth.

Yes, please.

Or no, thank you.

Oof.

I am learning how to do this relationship thing and it is a challenge.

But a sweet, tender, revealing challenge.

And despite not wanting to voice my needs or wants or desires, of not wanting to ask for myself, I find that I am finding my voice.

Creakily.

Slowly.

But it is there.

I am not lost in the relationship, but oh, it is cozy to curl up in the blankets, listen to the rain, the jazz, and snuggle into his arms.

Yet I did burrow out and set about my day.

I cooked.

I cleaned.

I made my bed and said my prayers.

I took my shower and did some writing and met with a lady and had some coffee.

But when I went grocery shopping, it was not on my bike, it was in his car and he was there to hold my hand, to open the car door, to carry my groceries for me.

It’s a nice balance I am finding.

Just like finding the right pair of shoes to match my pretty new dress.

Challenging.

But not impossible.

 

Knocking Off The Bucket List

I got another “experience” off the list.

I drove out to Muir Beach yesterday and lay on the beach.  I soaked in the sun, sat on the sand, read a little, lay down a little, smelled the salty air, and strolled the beach.

Muir Beach is probably my favorite beach in the world.  Simply because it is the first beach I remember from childhood.

It was much the same as the last time I visited.  Relatively isolated, but not that far from San Francisco.  It was a delicious drive from Oakland over the Bay Bridge, through the city, then over the Golden Gate Bridge, into Marin, dipping down into Sausalito and Mill Valley, then off on Highway One.

So many twists and turns and dips.  I love driving the One.  I love driving the One in a convertible with the top down and the sun on my face and the wind in my hair and the music on loud.

Tonight I drove my friends Beth and Matt from Noe Valley over to a Halloween party in the Mission on Harrison and 21st.  We took a detour, I mean when you are in a convertible, detours happen, and I headed up Potrero Hill so that they could get a glimpse of the city from the top of the hills.

“It looks like jewelery!”  Beth exclaimed.

It does.  The city was clear tonight, warm almost and from time to time I regretted wearing the wool hat I had donned for the evening, but it was truly perfect October weather.  Arguably the best kept secret–the amazing weather in the city during the month of October.

The city sprawled out glamorous and festive, bejewelled by the orange glow of the Civic Center, the tops of the Embarcadero Buildings festooned in proud creamiscle and neon orange, the glittery lights punching out the black crisp skyline. I could almost reach over into the lights and pick them like persimmons and diamonds and throw them as a sparkling confetti into the air.

I swung the car down the back side of Vermont Street.

Beth had never gone down and it truly is the curviest street.  Despite what they say about Lombard.  Bethie asked if I had driven it before, as we both walloped with glee as I spun through the tight corners.

I had.

I have taken a Volvo station wagon down it as well as an old Mercedes-Benz–both vehicles from the two different families I nannied for in Potrero Hill.

But it is different in a sexy sleek sassy black Audi convertible.

I felt wicked and seductive and though the ride ended quickly it was an experience.

So too, the drive, both back and forth from the beach yesterday.

A drive laced with memories.

I remember when I had visited my friend Brian in Berkeley, many years ago before I moved to San Francisco, and he took me to Stinson Beach.

I had not been there since I was four.

I remembered the twists and turns the crumbling edge of the land falling toward the bright blue sea.  The cut of the cliffs and the jut of the rocks, beguiled my memory and made my heart sore with remembrance and longing.

It was to be three more years before I would move back out to San Francisco.

I carried around a pocket full of shells from the beach and salt seared into my heart from the ocean.  I did not want to wash out my blue jeans for fear of losing that last bit of tang that I carried in the cuffs of my rolled up pants.

And the mermaids called each to each.

Muir Beach

When my friend and I rode back from Stinson, I cried silently in the passenger seat, wrapped in a large blanket.  I had ventured out too far into the water and got drenched by a large incoming wave, wet, sad, home sick already, and I did not even live here yet.

I went back to Madison with the resolve to make it to San Francisco and move here and make it.

Make it I did, but as I recounted earlier today at breakfast at It’s Tops on Market, seriously, if you have not gone, go, just for the ambiance, I love this place.  Best diner in the city me thinks, I came to San Francisco with a two month sublet and $2,000.

I am leaving for Paris with a three-month rental and $3,000.

If I made it then, I will make it now.

I did not have great financial success here in San Francisco, but I was fully self-supporting.  I did pay off all my IRS back taxes and I paid off and cleared out all my credit card debt.

The only thing left is my student loan.

Not bad.

Despite the lack of real financial gains, I did live here richly and well.  I have prospered here, I have survived here, I have made it far longer than many naysayers nay sayed.

Fuckers.

I was not sad last night when I left the Muir Overlook, nor was I sad watching the sunset outside of Stinson Beach–I stopped off in the town proper and bought a coffee and pulled back onto the One.

As I was driving, I came upon a turn out and whipped the car off the road and onto the ledge of the sea.  The cliff fell away into a tumult of waves and a shimmer of sun settled on my face.

It was going down and it was lovely to watch.

I took my hair down and let it whip about in the ocean breeze.

I remembered my mom and how fleet-footed and sure she was on the beach, nimble like a quick mountain goat gamboling about.

I want to always remember my mother that way–young, short-cropped brown hair, pants rolled up, picking her way down the Muir Beach path–so certain and so strong.

I drank my coffee.

The sun set.

I did not cry coming back to the city.

I felt replete.

Done.

Full.

I have had my share of experiences here and I shall wear them forward like the jewelry  of the skyline as I head toward my next life altering event.

Paris.