Posts Tagged ‘stump town’

Best Valentines Day Ever

February 15, 2012

And I am single!

How in the world did that happen?  Oh, not the single bit, asshat, the best day ever part?

No expectations.

I had no expectations around today.  That was helpful, but also, it was just a beautiful day out there in my world.  It was sunny in the Mission, my bike sparkled delightfully as I spun off to work, and I had time to make a nice big mug of Stump Town before I clocked in.

Work was nice.  Nothing huge happened.  Well, to most minds nothing huge happened.  In my mind, leaps, and bounds, and pirouettes.  I practised being happy versus right and it worked!

I practised pausing before saying something.

And it worked!

I let myself be a worker amongst workers and it was nice.  I was of service.  And I got to make the day of a few people when I called, on Valentines Day, and said, congratulations, your baby has just come down from the design studio, come and get it.  I was useful.  Usefulness makes for happiness, or so I have been told.

Seeing some one grin from ear to ear when they see their new bike is pretty spectacular.  Hell, I am still all a glow about my ride.  I haven’t even taken her on a decent ride–back and forth to work and once to Rainbow and back.  I need to break her in with a good tour of the city.

Especially after getting to see what the gentleman who owns one of the bikes did for Valentines Day–he mapped out a heart of the city for his girlfriend, then rode it!  It’s up on the FaceBook page, I’d link it, put I’m not that cool.

Or I’m just lazy.

I am going to have to put my money where my mouth is.  I have told a number of people who have come in and wondered about whether or not  San Francisco is totally a doable city on a one speed.  Time I got on it–I did it years before when I was on the one speed Pogliaghi I had.  Maybe a nice ride out to the beach.  Hit up the Wiggle and take the path through the Pan Handle to Golden Gate Park and on out to Ocean Beach.

I can ride along the ocean for a while then go to Java Beach.  I love Java Beach.  It may be my favorite cafe in the city, but I only get out to it once in a while.  Not so much for the coffee, I don’t even recall what they have their, I know it’s decent, but for the atmosphere.

It has big windows which catch the light from ocean, although you can’t see it from the cafe, it’s just on the other side of the highway, a three-minute walk.  There is just a timelessness about ocean light.  That quality of light brings out something in me beyond nostalgia, there is a soothing kind of comfort sitting in ocean light, a deep quiet joy.  And the cafe has big deep comfy leather couches and chairs, all the better snuggle into the light with.  Perfect for nestling into with a bowl of soup.

They have good soup there too, I may have to do that.  Take a ride out to Ocean Beach, get a coffee, walk down on the beach for a while, and come back to Java Beach for soup to fuel up for the ride home.

Now that I don’t have a commute.  I mean to say I do is silly, I really don’t.  I need to make sure I keep getting that exercise in.  Biking is fantastic for that, clears my mind, forces me to be in the present.  You can’t really day-dream when you’re riding a bike, you’ll get into an accident.  I have done it.  Drift off and next thing you know you’re about to hit some one crossing the street.

Mmmm yes.  A beach day.  I am down.

Then I will be able to say without any doubt that this bike can take it.  Actually, that’s crap, the bike can take it fine, it’s my legs.  I am using a different set of muscles then when I was on the road bike, so building up those muscles may take a bit of time.  They also won’t get very developed if I just stay in the Mission.

Time to get that map app the Valentine Day guy used.  Strava?  I will look it up here in a moment.  It was also recommended to me tonight by another gentleman who rides, and one of the guys in the shop uses it all the time.  I am down.  It will kill two birds with one stone–give me something new to learn about my Iphone and better bike knowledge of the city.

Done and done.

Valentines Day was also lovely as I heard from my oldest friend, and first love (Love, True Love, can you hear it?  Think Cliffs of Insanity, As you wish, the Farm Boy), Henry Hall.  He called to say he loves me and was thinking of me and wishes me a Happy Valentines Day.  He told me he was driving out in the country, he was thinking of me, and suddenly I was right there in the passenger seat watching the Wisconsin landscape roll by.

Used to be there was a time that talking about Henry or writing  about him was like stirring up old sludge, poking a stick in a wound, re-igniting the unrequited love flame, etc, ad nauseum, blah, blah, blah.  I fantastic way to beat myself up.

Henry knows I love him and I know he loves me.  It is awesome–we have developed into good friends.  He is my oldest friend, (although not my best, nor does he know every dark secret, somethings only Stephanie gets to know–she is my best friend) known him since we were fifteen.  Smitten with the boy pretty much at the end of freshman year after getting into an argument about what he wrote in my year book.  We got into a big debate and the discussion has lasted us now, oh shit, over twenty years–we just had our 20th highschool reunion–so yeah, 23 years?


I sent him anonymous flowers on Valentines Day junior year, I could keep it to myself no longer.  Then my senior year I finally got the “balls” to write him a real love letter and I put it in his locker and signed it with my real name.

He never said a word.

Years later I found out he still had that letter.


That’s enough to start a LifeTime movie event.  But that’s not how things unfolded between us, thank you God, rejection is protection.

He’s a life long lesson learned again and again and even now I can hear his voice saying my name and know, know without any kind of doubt, know that those old feelings were fantasy.  Reality would have been us being in a relationship, other than friendship, and he is a superb friend, he would not have made a superb romantic partner.  Not for me anyway.

Although I have never told him that we could never be romantic because his body chemistry totally turns me off.  Off I say.  His partner loves the way he smells, and I can’t handle it when he sweats, gah it’s stinky, we lived together as room mates too for a few months when he was in between places; there’s a weird off note to it that doesn’t sit well with me.

You imagine making love to some one you don’t like how they smell, that will kill the fantasy.  Does not matter how attractive they are.  Smell matters.  A lot.

But, man, we still get to be awesome friends.  And I love his little girls, and I have met his partner and she’s a doll and I want nothing of it.  I could have probably stayed in Madison.  I could have lived in the country in Wisconsin, I could have kids with some one.

I chose something different and I have no regrets.  Hearing my friend’s voice was a kind gentle loving God shot of what I have, me, myself, and the all important I, is so much more awesome than what Henry could have ever offered me.  I don’t want what he has.

I want what I have.

I got flowers today from girlfriends (totally unexpected!  I got flowers on Valentines Day!), I was given a gorgeous piece of framed art (Jess Hobbs photography 2011 Burning Man–Brolly Flock–umbrellas burning at night, passionate and eery) xoxoxoxo times eternity, Mrs. Fishkin.  Most importantly, I got to sit still for an hour and breathe and listen and share.

I got to smile a lot today.  Still smiling now.

Best Valentines Day ever.  Love to you all.

Old flames and new.


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.


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.


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.


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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