Posts Tagged ‘pan handle’

When I Put It Out There

June 4, 2015

I get results.

I wasn’t expecting results.

To be honest, I was being a little flippant with my blog last night.



What do you know.

I got asked out on a date.

A friend of a friend on Facebook.

Which is not my first Facebook date, I’ve been asked out one other time, and hooked up via messenger with another guy for a few months a few years ago.

But I will say it was my first time being asked out by someone who can’t figure out how he knows me.

I figured it out fairly quick and as of yet, have not said anything about the probably correlation.

I’ll wait until we meet up for coffee on Sunday and see if I’m correct.

And it was also pretty cute how he did it and he did read the blog and it was the first post of mine he ever had read, never followed me before, so that was surreptitious.

I got a few interesting suggestions from the blog as well and despite being a little loathe to go there, I have had recommended to me enough times that I believe I will also give it a whirl.

I did, about a week ago, start a profile, but I got annoyed with the questions and hopped off it before really completing anything.

Perhaps it is now time to go back and finish.

What I realized last night, after I was blogging and I was messaging back and forth with Mister Facebook, is that I either want to go on a date a week, like I have tried before, or I take myself out on a date.

That way I am getting out and enjoying San Francisco, and it’s environs, and not feeling like I’m just living to work.

Despite loving my job and the boys so very much.

Today we had a little adventure at the Eco Center on 17th between Valencia and Hoff.  We visited the painted turtles and said hello to the Crested Gecko and played with recycled instruments and made noise and had a little parade and when we went to leave the woman at the desk asked the boys if they wanted to hold the gecko.

Oh my god.

Such cuteness.

“THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!” My five-year old charge said as he stroked the soft tummy of the little yellow gecko.

Nanny for the win.

My job is something I am super grateful for, but so too is my life, and I do want to make sure I am having fun.

I am focused on enjoying this time before graduate school wreaks havoc with my schedule and my time.

I still can’t quite imagine how it’s all going to go, but I don’t need to figure it out right now.

Right now is about staying in the moment.

Living, playing, dating.

Riding my bicycle.

Then walking it.

I blew out my rear tire on the Pan Handle.

I had just crossed Masonic and all the sudden it went.

I started walking and trying to figure out what to do.

Too far from the Mission to turn around and go back to Mission Bicycle and have taken care of.

Too far from home to walk there and change it myself.

Close to 7p.m.

Is there anything open?

I started running a mental map through my head and immediately came up with American Cyclery, fingers crossed they would still be open.

If not I was going to hop on to the 71 Noriega and get it home that way.

But they were open and the piece of glass that the mechanic pulled out was epic.

In fact, I realized as I watched him pull it out with a needle nose pliers, that I probably ran over that piece of glass yesterday riding.

My wheel felt funny last night coming home.

I inflated my tires this morning and I think what happened was when I bumped up over the curb crossing Masonic that the pressure from the wheel finally hit the tube and the glass popped it–I have Gatorskins on my bicycle, nothing is 100% puncture proof, but they are damn close–normally rolling through glass is not a hazard.

But this piece was huge.

Grateful to have it taken care of.

And still make it back to the hood in time to sit down and work on my spending plan for June and add up my expenses from May.

Pretty much right on track.

Even without having yet received my federal income tax return.

I await it eagerly.

I have had visions of many things in my head to spend it on.

I’m leaning towards a new mattress really hard.

Like a nice one.

Who knows if this dating thing works out I may well want a nicer bed.


I am not going to go there as fast as I did with the last guy.

Take it slow is going to be the method to stave off the madness.

I’m going to go on dates and meet more than one guy and when that doesn’t happen, I’ll take myself on dates and make sure that I meet someone new or talk to someone.

I can explore my neighborhood some more.

Find new coffee shops to hang out in.

Hike around the Sutro baths, which I have never actually done and they’re pretty damn close to where I live.

That could be a nice little bicycle jaunt for me, especially now that the tire is fixed.

The guy I’m meeting with on Sunday is a bicyclist too.

“How have we not met?” He questioned me after I shared some of the things I like to do for fun, many of them a pretty close match to his own lifestyle.

And yes.

I did the Facebook lurk and checked out all the photos, he’s attractive.

“Your hot” [sic]

One of the last texts I received before heading off to be last night.

Even if the date bombs that was nice to hear, as well as the fun of chatting with a new person.

I think I’m ready for this dating thing again.

Who’s next?

It’s Not The Woman In Your Life

November 4, 2014

It’s the life in your woman.

The life in your woman.

I am one lively woman right now.

Just got off a brisk, oh its almost time for more layers, bicycle ride down Irving.

It is November.

Although, a lovely November, warm, I mean yesterday I was in flip-flops most of the day.

It was a bit of a manic day for me, not intentionally, not that I was looking for mania, it just struck, as it does at times, on a Monday.

The boys were just super high energy with me today and I had to step it up to keep up.

There was also some sugar involved, which I had completely forgotten about, and when I asked one of the boys who had slipped them the caffeine pills it struck me, that’s exactly what’s going on, too much of something–the  special cookie treat at school when the mom and I picked up the eldest to head to swimming.

The two-year old was really affected and a bit of a handful.

The last few hours of the day went by so fast I could barely catch my breath, in fact, a few times I asked the boys to pause and take big deep breaths.

I think I was telling myself to pause and take really big, deep breaths, I needed to slow down.

I did get them to settle down when I challenged them to tongue twisters.

The eldest boy got completely caught up in rubber, baby, buggy bumpers.

The youngest just winged around the room like a whirling dervish and I am still amazed that I got out alive.

Monday’s are my longest, busiest day.

I get there early for the family and have the youngest quite a bit before nap time, there’s always lots to do for food prep and errands and children’s laundry, and there’s the swimming in the afternoon, which precipitates a lot of prep to get out the door, to the school, to pick up the four-year old, navigate through San Francisco traffic from the Mission to the Presidio, get all the gear, and the boys, and the bags into La Petite Bailene, then changed, then to class, then out of the pool, showers, changed back into clothes, back into the car, and fed with snacks and milk, then back to the house for dinner and baths.

I am breathless writing about it.

Fortunate for me, swimming only happens once a week.

It’s a big deal, and the classes are only a half hour-long.

It’s a humongous amount of work for a half hour class, but the boys love it, and truth be told, I am a little envious.

I miss swimming myself.

Not sure when I would get myself into a pool, but there it is again, a longing to swim.

Though not the longing to pack up all the gear, the washing the hair, the in and out of the pool, the getting back and forth.

It’s not the swimming that is exhausting, although it can be, it’s the deal of doing it.

Now that I am back on the scooter, one payment left!  I might reconsider going to a pool again.  There’s a YMCA close to Stonestown that I could hop into and the membership looks pretty reasonable.

It might be nice to hop in once in a while on the weekends.

I am feeling more and more in my body since I have been back on my bicycle for the last six weeks.

The ankle is holding up and though still has a twinge or two of pain or a bit of stiffness, it’s healing.

Tomorrow marks five months since I had the accident and it really does appear that it will be the full six months of recovery the doctor told me.

Those doctors, they know their stuff.

I find it hilarious that I would even question someone who has more knowledge of something than I do, but I do it all the time without even realizing it.

Maybe you don’t want to try that, maybe you should pause, maybe you could try something else, maybe you don’t have that right.


I got this.

I got nothing.

I do, at least, have an aggregate of experiences which seem to be pointing me in a general direction and that’s nice.

Still a struggle, and the crazy, well it leaks out.

But I have such an awesome support network of women that I was able to get some perspective today from a friend and I feel like we both talked each other down from mutual ledges in regards to basically the same thing.


Fear of fucking it up, mainly.

Fucking what up?


As though I am just that all-powerful.

I can get that thought stuck in my head and be going round and round with something and then someone says, “hey call somebody, ask how they are doing,” and what do you know, I feel better.

Life is really lovely and I don’t have answers to anything.

I do have experience, but I tell you, things are constantly a surprise, I should think by this point that I would not be surprised, but life sneaks up and says boo and whoa, what just happened?


Just life.

And I am so over awed that I get to be a part of it.

I mean really.

I live in San Francisco.

I am surrounded by the most beautiful city, landscape, the ocean is out my back door, I mean, come on, who rides along the Pacific Ocean, Great Highway, to go grocery shopping?

I do.


I also ride through Golden Gate Park, I work on one of the prettiest blocks in the Mission, the house I am in is full of light and art, I am surrounded be beauty.

And I am beauty too.

I get to live this scrumptious life.

It’s not perfect, I am not perfect.

But it is perfection.

I am perfectly imperfect.

Learning again and again how to shift my perspective, how to show up, how to walk through fear, how to surrender, how to be more authentic.

How to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I jest.

But that’s what it feels like sometimes.

Just the day-to-day living can be a leap of utter faith.

Good thing I have  a lot of it.

Faith, that is.

Will There Be Naked People?

October 8, 2014

He asked as we cruised up Chain of Lakes hitting the pavement one bicycle after the other.

I laughed.

“Maybe, yes, probably,” I chuckled to myself, “maybe not the kind of naked people who you want to see.”

The last time I saw a naked person at Decompression was about three years ago and she wasn’t exactly naked, but she was shirt cocking (what does one call it when it’s a female doing it?  Shirt cunting?) and it was disturbing.

I don’t know why, I didn’t stop to analyze it.

I don’t like shirt cocking in either male or female of the human species.

If you don’t know the reference it means a person, usually male, usually gay, usually a little older, who is sporting a white (I suppose it could be another color, but they always seem white, like the person is compensating for not wearing tidy whities thus they wear a white shirt) t-shirt with no pants underneath.

No underpants, that is.

The line of questioning was brought up by my companion riding through the park this evening.


“Hey, Blake!”

Glad I remembered your name, always a touch awkward when you meet someone and then can’t recall their name, although they never seem to fail to nail yours down at the moment of reconnection.

I met Blake last week, Thursday or Friday evening riding through the Pan Handle.

“Nice rim,” he said to me as we were waiting for the light to change on Masonic.

“Thanks,” I smiled, “you’ve got a nice ride too.”

He started peppering me with questions about my bicycle, have I always ridden in fixed, how is it riding in San Francisco with only one speed, where did I get my bicycle, how did I navigate the hills, etc.

Turns out he had just moved here two months ago.

I departed my twelve years living in San Francisco wisdom, “The Wiggle is essential,” I said.   And it really is, especially for anyone who lives on the Western edge of the city, it’s the only way to avoid the big hills.

I also diverted from the path a slight bit as the bike route will take a bicyclists slightly off course and I thought I had lost my riding companion to a different course, when he popped up again on Martin Luther King Jr.

“How did you get past me?” He asked.

“Oh just a little short cut, you’ll catch it sooner rather than later if you keep riding this way, where are you headed?”

“46th and Kirkham.”

“Neighbor!  I’m at 46th and Judah.”

We rode through the park together and chatted about the differences in bicycling in San Francisco versus Austin, where he’d just moved from.

I have ridden in Austin and the predominant flatness is quite appealing.

But there is something to the briskness of riding a cool October evening through Golden Gate Park that fills a space inside me with lightness and an expansive sense of gratitude to be alive.

It’s nice to make a bicycle friend.

It was nice to reunite on the ride home tonight.

I like knowing the people in my neighborhood.

“You live in the best part of town,” he said to me, shaking his head with envy, “the beach, all those cafes, the beach, surfing, the beach, do you surf?”

“I’ve gone out a whopping three times,” I said, “but I do love listening to the rumble of the surf as I write in the morning or blog it out at night.

In fact, I can here that roar right now, in between the spaces of the words I am typing, it’s a nice counterpoint and rather meditative.

Especially at the speed I type at.

I am lucky to live here.

I did contemplate what it would be like to be back in the Mission though, today as I whipped onto Valencia Street from 17th as I headed into work this morning.

Man the commute would be so much easier if I was in the Mission.

I would move back to the Mission if something became available that is comparable or better than what I have now.

I would.

I love my spot though, and it is home and I doubt that what I have here can be replicated there.

It will make a long commute to Decompression this Sunday, however.

I did it last year and I rode my bicycle.

I met a friend for coffee at Four Barrel then we rode our bicycles over to the Dogpatch for the party.

I actually wasn’t on the list to get into the event, but I ran into my, at the time, employer, who was going in with her husband and the little boy I was taking care of.

I danced and roamed and hung out with friends and had a mini family reunion, mostly of little people, all my little Burning Man charges, and I am hoping for some more of that this weekend.

“What’s Decompression?” Blake asked.

He and I were talking about weekend plans and I had mentioned that I was going and since he was new to the city he had to go, it really is such a San Francisco party.

“It’s the official San Francisco after party for Burning Man,” I replied.

Which led to the naked people comment.

I think that there is a contingent of people who look at Burning Man as one big beautiful naked person festival.

And granted, there are some gorgeous naked people who get groovy out there in their birthday suits, I mean, they are certainly the ones getting their pretty selves photographed and in Rolling Stone.

But just like when you go to a nudist colony, there’s more than one Uncle Bob shirt cocking his wrinkly bits to put me off the idea that the majority of naked people are attractive.

The opposite is true is what I find.

But who am I to break someone’s fantasy.

“There’s naked people,” I said again, “and dancing, and music, and art, and fire, and it’s of course, loads of people in costume.  You should definitely check it out.”

“See you later!”  I called as I spun down Lincoln off of Chain of Lakes for my last leg of the journey home.

Blake crossed over Lincoln with visions of naked girls dancing in his head.

“Yeah!  At Decompression.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

Fully clothed.


“Night, neighbor, safe riding.”

I smiled and whipped the rest of the way down the road.

See you at a Dogpatch near you soon!

Death by Machete

October 6, 2014

And other adventures in bicycling.

It was a bit of a shit show out there tonight as I was heading in towards the Mission from the Outer Sunset and the calm environs thereof.


Not really calm.

Hardly, Strictly Bluegrass was all weekend and this morning it was shockingly loud.

I thought at one point that I was hearing Tom Waits and I realized it was just so loud, distorted, and warped from traveling through the last bit of trees to my ears, that it sounded like a loud, belligerent, drunken Tom Waits performance this morning in my house as I was writing.

I was amused.

And I was not going anywhere near it.


I had a tiny touch of FOMO.

Fear of missing out.


I also wanted to have a relaxing day and I had some projects and plans that needed attending to, its honestly much more important to me to have my food prepped and ready to go for the week then to battle out the drunken pot soaked crowds at the festival.

San Francisco does like a good festival.

Or street fair.

Castro Street Fair was also today and it seemed that the benevolent weather was going to charm its way into San Franciscan legend with the warm sunny sunshine.


Should one stand still enough.


Should one be a long time San Franciscan resident.

One knew.

Or at least I knew.

The fog was coming.

I could feel it on my skin as I head out to do some of my grocery shopping today.  I still get quite a little thrill that my bicycle commute to get groceries happens to be along Great Highway, right along the Pacific Ocean.

The beach was packed.

I hadn’t plans to attend to anything at the beach either.

Again, too many people.

But, so pretty to look at and as I said, really a scenic little route to do my errands.

The pleasure of living in San Francisco struck home again and again today and over this past weekend as well.  I am really lucky that I get to live here.  I work hard and my life is fairly simple and the trade-off is that I live in this gorgeous jewel of a city.

It’s not the same city I moved to twelve years ago, but then again, I never thought it should be.  I actually like a lot of the changes I have seen in the city since I have moved here.

Some things not so much, I think MUNI fares are too high and rents are totally ridiculous, but I have the option to live elsewhere and I don’t so I don’t reserve the right to bitch about the city.

It is what it is and I am just grateful to still get to be a part of it.

Even, when I almost get hacked to bits by a machete on my bicycle.

The bicycle commute up Lincoln was a little crazy.

When I normally ride, in the morning, I don’t have to be too concerned about the traffic being intoxicated, I mean for the most part, there have been a few times when I thought some one was out of their skull, but really commuter traffic is what I am used to and it can be uncomfortable, but there’s usually not a lot of foot traffic or pedestrians.

Not so today with the last day of the festival happening in the park.

Folks on foot galore.

Moms and dads and strollers full of kids.


Dirty hippy kids with dogs.

Man with machete.

I saw him popping around in between cars at 20th and Irving and I couldn’t quite see what was happening, but there was a large machete be wielded, a lot of lank brown hair in dudes eyes and a general look of not being entirely present to the world that made me extraordinarily cautious as I moved up the block.

It was a baby coconut stand that dude had put up on the corner of  20th and Irving by the pedestrian cross walk.

The light changed and dude walked out into traffic swinging his machete, picking up a coconut at the same time to hack into pieces.  Except he wasn’t paying attention to the traffic, and all this hair was in his eyes and god damn that’s a big knife.

The thought passed in my head.

“That would be a funny way to die.”


No fucking thank you.


I hollered out.

I couldn’t swerve much to the left, there was traffic right next to me proceeding into the intersection.

He saw me at the last-minute and dropped his knife down.


I called out, my heart in my mouth and then I just laughed.

Only in San Francisco.

I made my way up Lincoln and then I actually took Oak Street all the way down to the Lower Haight.  I refused to go on the bike path through the Pan Handle.  There was a huge back log of bicycles waiting for the light to change at Stanyan and Oak and I decided to flit through on the road instead of the bike path.

Which was a veritable mess of bicycles, dogs, strollers, old people out for their after dinner constitutional, bikes coming and going both ways, joggers, and roller bladers.

I felt safer on Oak Street with the traffic zipping past then I would have on the bike path.

Then as the dusk was turning gloamy and purpled I spun through Church and Castro Street then dropped down to 17th hit the bicycle lane onward to the Mission and down to 24th and Florida Street.

At one point I was on 22nd and Alabama and I saw the old Bodega I used to buy six packs of Sierra Nevada from and it’s been renovated into an upscale craft beer and wine store.

I chuckled.

I avoided a few doors on cars popping open and made it to my destination.

A good hour of getting the deal and then a hop back on my bicycle and the ride in reverse.

Except this time.

I took the park and the fog was here and it was a carnival of breakdown happening from the festival as the last drunken dregs meandered out of the park.

I zipped a long.

The fog rich on my face, warm, wet, misty, thick with love and sea salt goodness.

My God I love San Francisco, I thought as I rounded the last turn on Lincoln at 46th Avenue and floated through the mist towards my little home.

Machete wielding madmen and all.

Every Body’s Outside*

May 1, 2014

*This blog written last night, posted this a.m.*

I just got back from the beach and I did not have the time I was expecting to have.

I expected to go down, take a walk in the surf, and shoot some sunset photographs.

Get right with God.

Instead I had to avoid clouds of pot smoke, heaps of garbage, drunken revelers, hipsters, tourists, dog walkers, dramatic high school girls who were underage drinking and texting, empty pizza boxes, surfers coming in from their last sets, and the entire world of San Francisco.

I might exaggerate a little bit.

But everybody played hooky today and went to the beach today.

Except me.

I went to work.

Although the park sand box did seem like a kind of baby Rivera with most of the kids slathered in sunblock and sporting sweet little sun hats, many bare toes, a rare sighting of miniature pink huaraches that were so sweet I wanted to snatch them off the little girls feet, and sun umbrellas with nannies and grandmothers peeping out from underneath them.

It was a day of unheralded warm weather.

That won’t last much past tomorrow, maybe tomorrow afternoon.

We almost never get three days in a row of hot weather in San Francisco.

The heat inland sucks in the cool air from the ocean and then the confluence gets stuck in the Bay and whomp!

San Francisco is slathered in fog.

Which is why July is so freaking cold here.

It’s hot and summery everywhere else, it’s July in California, but the city sits swaddled in chilly fog like some grand dame at the opera in a pashmina.

It was a gorgeous day.

I spent quite a bit of it outside with the boys.

Although one little monkey had a three-hour nap in the middle of the day, which is when we should siesta a little anyhow, and I was inside for that.

Thanking the heavens that the employer has a soda stream.

Something that I have never been compelled to use, except at Burning Man with them last year, until yesterday.

Yester day it was hot too and I broke out the crushed ice and the carbonated water, plucked a Meyer lemon from the tree outside and had myself some effervescence.

I love bubbly water.

Especially when it’s hot.

I also had an iced coffee when I got in to work this morning.

I brewed extra when I made my morning cup and had a great big glass of crushed ice with pour over Stumptown Holler Mountain and organic full fat, whole milk.

I don’t normally drink milk, I drink almond milk, unsweetened with vanilla, but since I had taken all my supplies home last night thinking I would be at a different venue than the one I was at, I had no supplies.

I dipped into the milk in the fridge.

Holy bats.

That was a treat.

I could have licked the glass clean.

It might have been that I was also pouring sweat from the bike ride coming into work, but man, that was a tasty way to start my day.

Tomorrow is supposed to be hot too, I will probably also brew up the extra bit of caffeine and let myself indulge at my Thursday gig as well.

That’s my idea of indulgence, really.

It is nice, too, to be sitting here at the studio with the door to the back yard open and my feet in flip-flops.

I don’t often walk out the house without a layer or two stashed on my person, but not tonight, there is no need, currently anyway, it will drop, I can feel the cool sliding in through the backyard, but my instincts about this seem right on, I think tomorrow will be one more day of warm, then mid to late afternoon, it’s going to get chilly.

I was just reflecting that there must be something else for me to write about aside from the weather, blowing bubbles in the park, and the sense of serenity that floated around me all day long.

But aside from the internet not working, yes, this blog is being written on my laptop in hopes that at some point it will come back up, maybe it played hooky too at the beach today.

The only other thing that comes to mind is my ink.

And I did reflect on that a bit today, as there was so much skin on display out there.

I saw a lot of really bad tattoos.

A few good ones, too, I won’t lie, but I have to say, I got a lot of comments about mine.

Something about them does incline folks to comment, what I have discovered is how I respond to certain people certain ways and how I deign to not respond to others.

Homeless guys really like to talk to me about my tattoos.

I suppose homeless guys really like to talk to anyone, but I seem to invite comment.

Then again so many of the homeless folks that I interact with on my daily get out to the park are homeless due to what seems to be drug use and drug use, active anyway, seems to affect a person’s filter.

Like they don’t have one.

Maybe once upon a time certain types of people were the recipients of tattoos, now a lot of folks have them and it seems unnecessary to make such a big deal about it.

I don’t mind a compliment, but I am not interested in it becoming a topic of conversation that then segues into us being new best friends.

Especially if you appear to have not washed in the last few weeks.

A bath in the sink at the Page Street Library branch does not count either.

I do try to not be a snot about it, they’re nice tattoos and I spent a lot of money-getting them, and I got the friends and family discount too, but I do like to keep a little bit of a distance from it all.

Tomorrow I already have my sunny day outfit picked out.

One will be able to see the ink, but it should be a little more offset.

That’s it, that’s all to report for today.

Now, fingers crossed, ankles too, let’s see if I can get this up online tonight.


Let The Wild Rumpus Begin!

April 29, 2014

The mom who hosts the nanny share I do Monday through Wednesday asked me how it was today, how specifically the other little boy was.

I had already downloaded all the pertinent information–nap time, poop, feeding, outings, etc, about her son.

I think she knew what my answer was going to be.

He was a little wild thing and the wild rumpus was all day long.

The older boy, who just turned two last week was a peach and slept a long two and a half hour nap and had a great lunch and was awesome at the park and my other little charge was his normal self.

The dare-devil, as his mom called him.

He is just now getting his walking on and he is absolutely fearless.

As I mentioned he only napped once and that was for 45 minutes.


I felt like a wild rumpus by the end of the day.

It could have also been that it was my first day back after a really chill, very mellow and low-key weekend.

Monday, you bit me in the butt today.

I did have some lovely time with the boys though and the weather fairly screamed be outside and outside I was a lot of the day.

We went to the Golden Gate Play ground in the early part of the day and later we went to the library, where I dropped off a book, checked out a book, and contemplated staying for the children’s story time, but it was too nice outside.

I opted instead for the Panhandle and went off to ramble through the grass and play with bubbles instead.

I really did have a moment when I was blowing bubbles into the air and the sun was warm on me and the grass smelled sweet, the scattered tiny white daisies plump and white and yellow shining in the green and the boys were eating bunnies.


Not rabbits.

And I was like, is this real?

I am on a blanket, in the park with two handsome boys and the sun is just shining and wow, I am even getting paid for this.

Which did, in the end, balance out my day, after the littlest one declined to settle down for his afternoon nap and the wild rumpus got turned up to 11.

Sometimes I can look down my own nose at my job, I am just a minder, but really, I am on, on, on, unless both the boys are sleeping and when it happens it is amazing, but I am typically present.

Present and alert and on the move.

“Out of your mouth,” I said, oh, I don’t know, about 100 times today.

The little guy is still orally fixated with floor fuzz, dust bunnies, cat fur, cat food, cat liter, sand, rocks, twigs, all detritus that falls to the floor and can be swept into his maw before I can sweep up the floor.

But he is a pumpkin and I love him and it was good to have my boys.

The week looks super sunny and I plan on being out in it as much as possible.

The weather says in the mid to upper 70s for the next three days, and Wednesday, it’s forecasting 80?

Holy crow.

There will be much sun blocking to be had for me.

And for the boys.

I never wore sunblock as a kid and I cringe now when I see little red faces or arms or cheeks, I get on my sunblock soap box and want to parse it out at the park, but it’s not my business how other people care for their children.

I am fortunate that I get to do this for a job and I know it.

Even when I am sore and the house needs picking up and didn’t I just put that toy away two minutes ago?

Even when the wild rumpus is rumpus’ing about, I know that I am lucky and I love that I get to do this for work.

Despite the negative thought that tried to suck its way in between me and the day when I was blowing bubbles in the park.

“When are you going to grow up and get a real job?”

Random ass thought pops into my job.

Last time I checked, negative thought, I have a job, it’s this job and it’s paying the rent, which is pretty grown up if you ask me.

Just because it doesn’t look traditional, or come with heavy-handed accolades, does not mean it’s not a real job.

It’s a real fucking job.

Ask anyone who’s had a good nanny versus a crappy nanny, they’ll let you know.

Anyway, not sure who I am convincing, not really myself, I know what I do is hard and rewarding and challenging and it forces me to be fit and capable and to love.

Not that loving is a hard thing to do, but it can be, to allow myself to be silly to sing or dance or get goofy, I am allowed to take joy in my job.



And I will all week-long.

Besides there are some little known beauty secrets that are really the key to my youthful appearance.

Spit up is a great skin conditioner.

Constant washing of hands keeps me from catching sick.

Laughing makes me younger.

Smiling makes me younger.

Dancing like no one is looking, except a fifteen month year old and a two-year old, makes for a youthful appearance, and certainly a light-hearted person.


I have found the fountain of youth.

I might need to take a dip in it if it really gets up to 80 degrees this week.

And I will definitely need to get my rest to keep up with the wild rumpus and his sidekick.

But, at the end of the day.

I have no complaints.

Come on.

I blew bubbles for pay today.

How could I complain?



Dinner & A Movie

January 9, 2014

I had an unexpected end to my work day with the mom coming back early and an electrician tearing apart the kitchen.

No dinner for me at work today, plus a late end to my work shift, and a “I’m not sure where to go” mentality had me running out the door with a low-fat string cheese stick in one hand and an apple in the other.

I jammed out on my bike thinking I would make it over to 5th and Irving and see some folks at St. John of God, but well, the Universe had other ideas and what do you know, I thought there was something funky with my front tire this morning.


I hopped off the bike looked up the street secretly crossing my fingers.


American Cyclery was still open.

I trotted up the street to sneak in my wheels before they could close shop and had a nice chat with Tyson Mitchell, the owner of American Cyclery, while one of the mechanics pulled off my front tire in less time than I could adequately ogle the new Brooks saddles they had in stock.

We talked bicycle commute, the new passing law (which maybe one in thirty cars this morning which passed me may have actually abided by), wherein a vehicle has to give the bicyclist three feet, biking over the bridge, when tourists get in the wrong lane and end up going through the tunnel and onto the freeway headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge, and various other bicycling related odds and ends.

I snacked on my string cheese and ate my apple, but that is not a sufficient dinner for me, while the tube was changed out.  The tire is still good, although getting close to its end and it’s been a great tire, Vittoria Rubino, the original front tire on the bicycle, and I did not have to replace it, just got a charge for the tube and not even for labor, and a discount!

I sent him a Facebook message thanking him and I think I am going to go YELP him.

Not something I do often, but they were great and man, working in a bike shop is not the way to get rich, you got to have passion for it, so, whatever I can do to help, I will.

My night routine already thrown I waffled as to what to do next as I hopped on my fresh fixed bike and my stomach grumbled at me for more food.

I decided to hit it home.

I would be too late to go where I had intended and too early for anything else unless I sat around the 7th and Irving neighborhood for another hour and a half and I just did not have it in me to do so.


I came back, made up a little more food, a cup of tea and down loaded a movie.


Date night.

I even know where the sexy stuff is kept.

I could get lucky.

I could also just go to bed a tiny bit earlier then I have the last few nights as I have been up a little later and a longer nights sleep is nice.

I say that now knowing, like I do when I say I am going to take a nap today, that the scenario is unlikely, but hey, it’s a nice thought.

Other nice thoughts happened today as well.

When I realized this morning that I was trying to make busy work for myself when there is no need to do so.

Ah, you sneaky little habit, isolation through being too busy, you almost got me.

I have been embracing the career nanny angle, and what do you know, it’s really nice.  When I am absolutely in there doing my job and I don’t need it to be anything but my job and I am not obsessing about how I am not making a career from writing or what ever else I can scheme up, why, I am having a great time at my job.

The naps today helped.

I had nap time where I actually was able to sit and read the New Yorker and have tea and do a little writing.

I only had one charge in the morning.

And then my morning writing brought clarity.

I was looking over the City College course catalog last night trying to figure out how I could cram an American Sign language class into my schedule, maybe Thursdays if I move some stuff around, when I realized I was trying to make myself busy.


I “speak” enough sign language right now for my current employment.

No one is asking me to get better at it.

Further, I don’t have a job I am trying to get.

Yes, I am interested in getting more proficient, but I don’t have to right at the moment and there are better things I could do with my time.

Like, I don’t know, be available to be asked out on a date, or hang out with friends.

“More of this,” my friend said, leaning over the bowl of bean soup I had placed in front of him, “more spending time with my friends.”


I know what you mean.

But I am not about to give up the blog, nor the morning writing and I have a few other “habits” that are absolutely not going to change, so I don’t have that much more wiggle room in my schedule.

To pick up an additional thing to squeeze into my week is silly.

It’s crazy making.

And I am crazy enough as it is.

When I realized this.



More serenity.

I marveled at my day.

I was not anxious.

I was not hanging out somewhere in the future, I was right there smelling the wetness of mulch underneath the trees in the Panhandle, I was right there holding my charges hand, happy to be outside in the air, scented with rich loamy earth and bright eucalyptus.

There was so much of nothing being wrong that I almost got worried.

Then I laughed to myself, this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Just this.

Simple and serene.

I did not over react when I got a flat tire.

I did not freak out when the kitchen was inaccessible.

I just sort of drifted through and did the next action in front of me.

I like this way of living.


“It’s a little sleepy on this side of town,” Tyson said to me as he rung up my tube, “but I have been living over this side for years now and love it, I’m actually in Marin now, it’s a different vibe, slower.”

It is.

And I am down with it.

Whole Lot Of Running Around

September 14, 2013

With not much accomplished.

Is what today felt like.

I write and emphasize “felt”.

I actually had a pretty chill day when I sit back and reflect on it.

The bike ride this morning from the Sunset to the Mission was quite nice and I do like the Pan Handle part of the commute in which I am sailing along beneath the canopies of Eucalyptus trees and the fog is misty my cheeks.

I am sure there will be time when I forget the simple pleasure of this ride and it becomes a get me from point A to point B sort of ride, but today, the novelty of it was still in force and I enjoyed the hell out of it, not trying to race to my destination, just floating along the path.

I got to the Mission early and locked up at the office on Valencia Street to get a message that the meet up had been changed to my friend’s house, which was fantastic as I was looking forward to meeting the new puppy in the household.

Such a sweet mop of a dog!

She’s like some floppy muppet, a golden doodle, and she came tumbling down the stairs and greeted me with soft, warm, sloppy kisses.

Not a bad way to start my visit.

My friend hosted the most divine little lunch and we had cups of tea and swapped Burning Man stories and caught up.

We also discussed how there is not much of a need for my services for her business right now.

And guess what?

I did not freak out.

I was too happy sitting in my patch of sunlight, enjoying her company, to give a hoot.

There is more out there for me and the absence of work for her does not mean that there is an absence of abundance for me, it’s just going to come from somewhere else.

And who knows, she may get busy in three days and need my help.

I felt a pick of anxiety and said, ok, that’s good, now move forward.

If I have learned anything in this last year of travel, rotating homes, couches, futons, house sitting, et al, is that I am always taken care of.

This does not mean I sit on my ass and wait for it to come to me, it just means that I don’t have to worry about the outcome of not having as much work right now as I would like.

It is ok for me to be a little light on the work at the moment.

Probably not for too long, but I can make rent right now for October if it were suddenly to be demanded.

I have enough.

I have enough brains too to get more work.

I may need to nanny more.

I may need to get my ass to a temp agency.

What ever.

The job (s) will come.

The money will come.

The anxiety about it can just not come.

“Why don’t you worry real hard about that and see what happens,” John Ater said to me once.

“Because I have noticed,” he continued as I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat wanting to tell him to fuck off, “that all that worry seems to work, as it never happens.”


But so true.

I have not gone hungry this last year.

I have always had a place to sleep.

I have always had a way to get to where I needed to go–by bicycle, bus, foot, train, plane, automobile, trolley, cable car, subway, Metro, or golf cart–I have never been dropped.

Why the hell should I believe that I will now?

So my friends announcement did not put the panic in me, it actually did the opposite, a small voice said, “nature abhors a vacuum, there is something even better coming for you, be ready for it.”

Ok, then.

I am ready.

I left her and headed back to the Sunset, I had brought my computer with me and did not want to haul it around anymore, I also wanted to free up room in my messenger bag for a potential grocery shopping trip.

I made a couple of quick pit stops–Community Thrift in the Mission, and a little Asian market on Irving street–to pick up a couple of household things I wanted to have.

I got a wooden spoon, a small bowl, a carrot peeler, some batteries, and a set of salt and pepper shakers–the old-fashioned metal canister kind.

The kind that used to sit on my grandparents kitchen table in Lodi, Wisconsin.

I have been finding myself thinking a lot of them, my grandfather’s garden, my grandmother’s pickles and relish dishes.  I have certain smells and tastes in my heart that always remind me of them–fresh dill (grandma’s pickles) in my fridge has been nudging those thoughts and remembrances.

Then the salt and pepper shakers, just a kind of nostalgic novelty now, I suppose.

But they took me back and I could taste the ear of corn from my grandfather’s garden, slathered in butter and the liberal sprinkling of salt from the fat cannister with the small handle on it’s side.

I dropped my goodies off at the house and scooted back out the door, the painters were touching up the last of the walls in my studio and I did not want to be in the way, really there was nowhere to hang out anyhow, so I hopped the N-Judah with aspirations of picking up a few more household items.

This did not happen.

However, I did connect with my friend Calvin and we sat and had iced teas and shot the shit and connected and gossiped and shopped for his girlfriend.

I got to see two of my favorite people in one day.

And I got a ride back to Church and Market to get reconnected with my people.

Then the N-Judah back to the Sunset, a late dinner of Thai Cottage take out left overs, so good and a cup of tea, and voila.

The running around and getting “nothing” done, a figment of my way too active imagination.

Rather a relaxing day in which I watched anxiety float away like the fog being burned off by the sun.

I do not know what will happen next.

However, I feel assured that it will be wonderful.

I am exactly where I am supposed to be and I don’t believe I am going anywhere soon.

Except, maybe, down to the beach.

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