Posts Tagged ‘streets of san francisco’

An Unremitting Gift

November 22, 2013

Grace.

I have been graced.

I was thinking as I held her little paw in mine, how lovely to walk these streets of San Francisco with my small charge in pigtails, crunching the leaves and feeling the sun on my face.

Grateful, too, that the rains eased off today.

I got to everywhere I needed to go dry.

That is a huge gift.

We walked around Alamo Square park, climbing the hill not once but twice.

Our first visit to the park was short as it was still quite wet after the last two days of wet weather.  But later, in the late afternoon, the park had dried and much sliding was to be had.

I admit I was walking a lot today partially to wear down my charge and guarantee a long nap.

Partially because the neighborhood is so lovely and I wanted to explore it, look upon the houses, see the colorful Victorian ladies marching up and down the hills with their gay frocks and bright ribbons of gold leaf and purple scrolls.

I actually think the Painted Ladies are way over rated and indulged myself walking about the other blocks that encircle the neighborhood gazing upon this one there and that one here, the glorious houses in along the streets.

I am going to own a house one day.

In San Francisco.

I hear you scoffing.

Scoff away, Scoffer McScofferson, scoff.

I will.

I don’t know how or where or why, I just know that this here is home.

I am lucky to call this home, this my city by the Bay, my lover, my secret fetching mistress who bestows windy kisses on me and gifts me with views I did not even know existed.

From one side of Alamo Square you get the spread of downtown, the Civic Center, the Bank of America Pyramid, the Bay Bridge.

Then walk around to the other side and gaze over to UCSF and its steeples and there off in the distance the Golden Gate Bridge, or to another side and there is the Haight and Cole Valley and Twin Peaks rising majestically in the near distance bestowing a knowing benevolence upon the city when not shrouded in fog.

In between the duo trips to the park we also walked around the NOPA neighborhood.

I popped us into BiRite and my charge nibbled on sample brioche bread and I bought a couple of Taylor Gold pears from Frog Hollow Farms, an heirloom varietal apple, organic of course, please, and some Stumptown Holler Mountain coffee, blessed again with good food, good coffee, good company.

We then swung into the Mill, scented with hot fresh backed loaves of bread and the alluring smell of caffeine.

I got an Americano from Four Barrel roasters and we walked some more.

I took pictures of her.

Handprint

Hand Print

Her little pigtails golden antennae of love sprouting from her head.

Her little smile a delight.

This could be our last week together.

I told her mom today I had to bring my rates up.

She completely understood, but has to discuss it with the husband and I may not have much work with them left.

They are the least well off of my clients and I said I understood, that I would of course continue at my normal rate for this week and please let me know by next week what you decide.

They may just keep me through the New Year as it stands.

Either way, it’s been a gift to hang out with their little girl.

Any child really, it is a gift, but I feel lucky to have had the interactions with her that I have gotten to have.

Poor doll has been getting over a cold and sounds like Sophia Loren has taken over her voice box after a long boozy night smoking cigarettes in after hours clubs.

Husky, sweet, and congested.

We read her teddy bear stories.

“ALL THE HIPPOS GO BERSERK!”

And had a great lunch together.

I felt at ease having said what I needed to say and having also let go of the results of the conversation.

The difference for them is one day a week they would pay an extra $16.

I don’t need to point that out to them.

If they are concerned, they are concerned.

Not my money, not my budget, not my business.

What a relief.

I thought that again as I sat in the Crepevine at 7th and Irving having a large salad as a family across the way had their dinner–a large “comfort food” platter of deep-fried goodies (fyi, the comfort food is not my wording, it is listed that way on the menu) with extra ranch and blue cheese dressing to dip it in.

Fried mushrooms.

Fried wings.

Fried onion rings.

Fried french fries.

You know, comfort food, rolled in flour and deep fat fried.

Mom had a couple of glasses of red wine, mom is also a mom in bloom again, six, seven months along I would hazard, and grandma chucked back a couple of glasses when the other mom was not paying attention, outside the restaurant on her phone while her child played choo choo train in the middle of the restaurant barefoot.

I don’t remember exactly when it dawned on me, but dawn it did, that I did not have any judgements about the scene in front of me.

It was none of my business, nor my place to judge.

I mean, I would not handle myself that way and I would do things a lot differently, but that is just my choice at this point in my life.

How lucky that child to have a mother, a grandmother, a large plate of food, a restaurant to run around in.

I sat, ate my salad and thought, holy shit, I might be growing up.

I was not involved, annoyed, or anything, other than present.

I enjoyed my salad and when it was done finished my water and got up to go next door to grab a cup of tea before going to further my connections with my fellows.

This whole day, this experience of being in San Francisco, the realization, again, that I am privileged to live here, really hit me.

I also was able to get in a long meditation while the napping helped and that certainly did not hurt my outlook on the day.

I could have sung with joy on my bicycle ride home.

The smell of the air.

The sea ahead of me.

Grace.

Pure and simple.

Grace.

My livf.

An unremitting gift.

One in which I have no intention of giving back.

Only playing it forward.

Saying thank you at the end of my night, crawling into my warm bed with soft sheets and big pillows, thank you for this life, this gift.

This grace.

Thank you.

Over and over and over agin.

All The Old Familiar Places

September 8, 2013

The streets of San Francisco were all a bustle today.

No fog.

No chill.

Just sunshine and ice cream cones.

And lines at the ice cream shops.

Bi-Rite, it still amazes me that anyone will wait that long for an ice cream cone.

The last time I was there, years ago, was on my birthday.

As my birthday is in December, there was no line.

I rode the 33 bus to the Mission today after a very slow start to my day.

I am staying at the family’s home for the weekend.  The thought of getting myself to East Oakland brought tears to my eyes this afternoon when I was trying to figure out what and where I was going to go and when I was going to do it.

I decided to take the family up on their invitation to let me stay as long as I need.

I need until tomorrow night.

I spoke with my friend on the phone earlier and the in-law is looking great, but it is not quite done.  A few more touches here and there, another coat of primer on the cabinets in the kitchen and another of paint.

Unless I want to sleep in some fumes, she recommended that I wait to move in until Monday.  I can do that.  I don’t want to huff paint fumes my first night in the new place.

She’s going to loan me some furniture until I get myself set up, so I won’t be moving into a barren room.  And she is, schedule depending, probably going to help me move my stuff from East Oakland out to the in-law on Monday as well.

This will be great as I can also catch up with her.

I missed my friends.

That was very evident to me as I made some phone calls and caught up with some fellows and made plans to meet up with some ladies in Noe Valley today.

Thus the being on the 33 bus and the sight line on Bi-Rite ice creamery.

I decided after a bit of out and about–one trip to the phone place to fix the phone–$50 later, but so much better than buying a new one completely–and one trip to Whole Foods to get a few groceries for the next couple of days, that I did not have it in me to navigate the city on my bicycle.  I wanted to take it slow.

I had breakfast at Crepes on Cole while the phone was getting repaired and wrote my morning pages in the middle of their bustling brunch crowd.

It was not as surreal as I thought to be returning, but my brain does not yet seem to be firing on all pistons.

And I found myself getting mad at a hippie caravan of dust bowl campers.

“Motherfuckers, you’ve been back over a week, clean that shit up, you asshats,” I thought to myself as I walked into the parking lot of Whole Foods at the end of Haight Street.

I mean, I got in two loads of laundry last night and another two this morning–one more of mine mixed with some of the baby’s things–I wanted to make sure that he got his little Pedro Bunny clean and his Kitty Cat for nap times.

Plus, I, oh there I am getting all indignant and I know better than you how to burn.

I don’t, but the hippies did rub my fur the wrong way or maybe it was the tourists who were taking photos of the dusty hippie camper.

“What’s the difference between a burner and a hippie?”

“A ticket.”

There, all out of my system.

Part of it is just being in the Haight neighborhood, the little Hippie Hill in Golden Gate park, the number of dirty trustafarians hustling “dank nugs” on the street, and “sweet smoke” and the grime of it all.

Trust me, I am not into grime, dirt, or dust right now.

I was more than happy to wash the playa out of my clothes, and hair.

Speaking of hair, say bye-bye to it.

I am going short again.

And I am going crazy color again.

I was asked to be the hair model for my friend’s salon who is being featured in a 7×7 shoot on upcoming fall hair trends.

What?!

I got the message and of course my response was that I would happily be their model.

Are you kidding me?

I know the cut is going to be edgy and modern and forward and their will be bright colors and probably weird crazy makeup.

Come on, I just got back from Burning Man, bring on the funky crazy cool cut.

I am down.

Plus I get to be in a photo shoot.

Hello.

My ego got all puffed up and excited.

Yes please.

Now I can say that I have been published in Paris–The Bastille, I have the song writing credits as well as lyrics for an album–Belle Ame Electronique, I am in a movie–Spark, A Burning Man story, and I get to be featured as a hair model in 7×7 magazine.

Awesome.

I am sort of famous you know, mostly in my own mind, but maybe just a tiny bit out there too.

I am excited.

Although, I have to say, the long hair has been lovely and it feels pretty right now and I talked with the Mister today, he who left me a message, and we are going to see each other next week, and I like being pretty and feminine, I do.

But, come September 18th, the hair will be radical.

That’s ok though, if I recall, he’s seen me with some far out there hair.

I mean when we were dating before I moved to Paris, it was blue.

I think he can handle it.

It was good to talk to him and I stated pretty much up front that I wanted to see more of him.  This getting together every other month or so is nuts.

As it turns out he just moved to the Richmond and I being on my way to the Sunset, will be putting us in much closer approximation.  I foresee more of him in my future.

Foreseeing some beach walking action I am.

Oh gush.

Hand holding on the beach?

Really?

Sure, I might have a mohawk for it though.

Inside, however, will still beat the drum of an old school romantic.

You can tattoo the girl, you can dye her hair magenta, but you can’t scrub that heart off her sleeve.

You can even cover it up with a fine layer of dust.

But wipe gently and you will see it, just there.

Just so.

Just so ready to love.

And be loved.

I left my heart in San Francisco.

And I am here to pick it back up.


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