Posts Tagged ‘Sight Glass’

Girl Date

May 30, 2017

I totally took myself out today.

I did it all.

First.

I let myself sleep the fuck in.

I mean, I didn’t get up until 9:15 a.m.

So sleeping in, especially considering that I am up three hours earlier tomorrow so that I can meet with my supervisor–whom I would have met with today but it was a holiday.

I totally treated it like a holiday as well.

I went to a yoga class that I used to be able to go before I started my current nanny gig.

I had lunch with my favorite, most loved person in the entire world.

Pause.

Let me just let that sink in.

I got to have lunch with the person I hold in the highest esteem, who loves me unconditionally, who sees me, who supports me without question, who witnesses everything I do, who helps me see when I am self-sabotaging, and how to change that and be better and stronger and sweeter and softer and live my life to the fullest full definition of happy, joyous and free.

I mean.

That is an extraordinary gift.

We met at Souvla on Divisadero and had great big salads and talked and got totally caught up and I revealed myself and there was no shying away from me or judging, only complete sunshine and love.

I am beyond grateful for this man in my life, I wouldn’t have the life I have without him.

He is a human, don’t get me wrong, I am not putting him on a pedestal, he shows me how to be more human myself, more vulnerable, more willing to show up and more present in the moment when I do.

He is the greatest gift and I do not know what I would do without him.

We are even talking about making travel plans together.

We have talked about it before.

We travel in a similar way, carry on only, get situated, go get connected with fellows and then walk and see and witness and art and churches and more art and museums and cafes and sitting still next to each other and also knowing that we both are self-sufficient travelers, that neither of us is afraid to say, give me space, I want to do a wander on my own or nap or whatever.

We have mutual friends in Barcelona as well as Paris.

We are talking about going to Barcelona together and maybe taking the TGV to Paris or Marseille, probably Paris as we have friends there too and I will need very much to see my Parisian girlfriend and her new family.

Next May.

When I graduate from my Masters of Psychology program, a grand European tour with my mentor, I couldn’t really think of a better gift, his company means so much to me.

So.

Yeah.

Lunch was fucking fabulous and we also dished and laughed and I talked about needing to set firm boundaries around any extra nanny work that may try to weasel its way in when my employers are away in July.

And then he went his way and I went mine.

Off to the MOMA.

I wanted to catch the last day of the Matisse/Diebenkorn show.

Of course.

It was sold out, even as a member of the MOMA I couldn’t get in to see it.

And truth be told, I don’t really care a fig for Matisse, and I’ve seen so much of his work in Paris that I didn’t feel that I was missing out.

I could have my girl date with myself just fine wandering around all the other galleries without having to stand in the huge, and I do mean HUGE, line that was queued up for the show.

I strolled through the second floor galleries and got acquainted again with one of my favorite artists in the museum–Clyfford Still–1906-1980.  I adore his work, there is one painting especially that always gets me and I did my stare in awe and wonder at it for a good fair amount of time before taking myself for a cafe au lait at the Sight Glass cafe on the 3rd floor of the museum.

I sat and dreamily dreamed and people watched while sipping my coffee–days off always included cafe breaks and nursing a coffee while people watching.

Then I hit the Larry Sultan photography exhibit, which was extraordinary.

And.

Since everyone was in line for the Matisse/Diebenkorn show, the gallery was practically empty.

Heaven.

I got my art girl dose in heavy-duty.

Then having some time and seeing that the sun had decided to cut through the fog and make an appearance, I strolled through Yerba Buena Gardens, and yes, got another coffee, this time iced, and planted myself on the sheltered terrace of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, sipped ice coffee and watched the clouds scut through the sky.

I am always so overwhelmed and grateful for the gardens and the art and the fountains and though the skyline has changed dramatically in the fifteen years I have been in San Francisco, there is still all this familiarity for the place I was sitting in.

How many times had I gone through that park high or drunk?

Smoking cigarettes and slamming extra caffeine to keep up with the high-end dining restaurant that I worked at, Hawthorne Lane, how many times had I caught cabs in front of the Metreon to go to my dealers or to have myself carried to the End Up or 1015 or some underground party.

So many times.

And the dread and the terror that was just below the surface of my skin, beating my heart with fear as I walked the paths through the garden to work, short cutting on my way to the restaurant to work a double to make up for all the money I blew on blow.

And.

Instead.

Twelve and a half years later.

Coiffed, sweetly dressed, yellow silk flower in my hair, expensive shoes on my feet, Hobo purse in my lap, having just left an exquisite show at the MOMA, I sit happy and serene, joyous and free, in that same space, quietly and consistently showing up to make amends to the area and to assuage that damage I did to myself.

So grateful I don’t have the words.

Although.

I have to say I will always keep striving to find them.

Grateful for sunshine, clarity, serenity, communicating my needs, being emotionally transparent.

For all the good things in my life.

For my life.

God damn.

Life is more than fair, you know, if it were fair, I’d be dead.

And I am so not.

I am exquisitely alive.

So.

Fucking.

Alive.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

A Perfect Balance

February 13, 2012

Despite going out last night and dancing, despite staying up past my bedtime to watch an episode of Sons of Anarchy (damn you Nikki for turning me on to this!) and write my blog, I got up on track this morning.

I was up at my normal time.  I did not need an alarm.  I did not need to stay in bed longer either, I got up without feeling like I was deprived and had a really lovely morning.  I had a delicious breakfast, French Pressed Sight Glass (trying out the Nicaraguan at the moment.  I hate to say it, but I think Stump Town’s Holler Mountain is edging out the Sight Glass.  I like to stay local and all, but damn, the Stump Town is smoother, I swear), and solid writing.

I did not freak out about whether or not I would get to my laundry.  I just set it up as though I would and followed whatever was next in front of me.  I did my morning readings and had my quiet time and then, what do you know?  The day was smooth and efficient and things got done.

I did laundry.  I did my taxes.  I met with my noon commitment.  I went to Four Barrel with Tanya and her daughter CoCo (Collette), I could just eat her right up, she’s adorable.  I went grocery shopping.  I cleaned my bathroom.  Made my bed, put away the laundry from earlier in the day.

And.

I stopped, made a cup of hot tea and I sat down in my rocking chair.  I read.  I sat in my rocking chair with tea and a book.  This was good.

It was just a few moments, no more than a half an hour and I was refreshed and ready for my next adventure.  Off to Maxfield’s to meet with Carolyn and do some reading and some discussing of literature.  Nothing quite makes a Sunday late afternoon as much as this.

I also recognized that I needed dinner and down time.  I declined the invitation for a second round of my fellows and I took myself home and made dinner.  I had my favorite–breakfast for dinner–hot kamut cereal with apple and blueberries, nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon, pumpkin pie spice and sea salt, topped with organic yogurt.  And two scrambled eggs.  Yum.

If I can’t bake a Sunday chicken at least I can have hot cereal.  I love hot cereal.  Which is funny, I used to despise it as a kid.  Porridge?  Fuck you, give me the box cereal with milk and sugar.

Not so much anymore.  Oatmeal, kamut, even hot brown rice, I love it.  There’s just something comfy about it.  Of course my ideas of comfort have changed vastly as I continue to progress through this stage of my development.  I like that.  I am 39, but I still get to develop and progress and grow.

Today I watched myself grow as I listened to some one share about being in his body and allowing himself to feel exactly what is happening, enjoy the nervousness and see what happens.  It was really powerful.  For instance, when I saw the guy I have a crush on, I got shivers and my auto immune system sent little zingy tingles up and down the spine.

Instead of trying to stifle it, I just felt it.

Electric!

Was pretty intense, but yummy too.  Just allowing myself to feel anything is kind of unique.  I have been putting my hand on my chest occasionally and just feeling my breath and how close the beat of my heart is to the touch of my hand.  It is rather grounding and reminds me that the only thing I need to do is take care of that space directly around me.

I did that today.  I don’t have anything outstanding on my list of things to do and I have time to relax before heading back into a full week of work.  I have the space heater toasting my toes, which in turn shows me self-care.

First, accepting the heater.  Second, acknowledging that the heater was not a gift, but a loan and I needed to get my ass in gear and get my own.  I got paid mid-week.  I have the funds.  I ordered a new space heater online and am having it sent here.  I will be able to return this one and I got the one I wanted for myself.

It is actually really cool–it’s a retro fan box heater.  I love it, it is going to fit in really well with my place.  I don’t know how to exactly describe my style, it’s some crazy, yet coherent, mix of retro, French country shabby chic, and Wisconsin country kitchen.  I don’t exactly know how things wind up with me, but they always seem a piece of a whole that I don’t know how to define.

French Country Rock-a-Billy?

Not that it is necessary to define myself or my space.  It works, that’s all that matters.  Although, I keep looking around and feeling like I am missing one small box of stuff.  I don’t know exactly what it is.  But I am fairly certain as I am missing my Jack-a-lope.  I may have to drop Robyn a line and see if she has any stray animals at her house.

The only animals I am apparently allowed right now, are imaginary.

Ok.

Other than that, kids, I don’t have much to report.  I am clean and showered, fed, and cozy with jazz on the stereo, and my taxes being e-filed.

And it is Spring.  The cherry trees are in full on blossom and the robins are back.  They serenaded me home on my twilight bike ride through the Mission.  It was so good I grinned all the way home.

My favorite sound in the world, robin song.


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