Posts Tagged ‘super moon’

It Was A Long Day

November 15, 2016

And now it’s done.

Thank God.

I was up at 6 a.m.

At work at 8 a.m.

Worked 9.5 hours.

Held screaming baby for 2.5 too many hours.

Then screaming baby fell asleep on me for too many hours.

And I got no homework done.

But.

I had warm, snuggling baby on my heart and that makes for happiness.

Then after work a long scooter ride over the city and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.

Wait.

What?

Sorry.

I know this is going to sound crazy.

But.

Yes.

I was signing Christmas carols earlier.

Shhh.

Not because I’m in some jolly good spirit or something.

No.

There’s a story book the baby likes, she’s not really a baby, she’s 20 months, but she likes it and it’s about seasons and in the winter season there is a picture of a group of old-fashioned carolers.

And one day a few weeks ago she said, “sing,” and pointed at the picture and I have no idea why, but I just started in on Deck The Halls and one thing led to another and there I am weeks before Halloween and I’m singing “Jingle Bells” and “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” and “White Christmas” and god only knows what else.

I know more Christmas carols than I knew.

Good gravy man.

So.

Yes, I sang some carols to get her to go back down to sleep.

She, the baby has been sick.

Me, the other baby, has been sick too.

Not so much that I needed to call off anything.

Not so much that I needed to cancel anything.

But I tell ya.

Riding over cross town to Amherst Street to hang out in a recreational room with a bunch of strangers and do the deal was not what I wanted to be doing after a long ass day with a sick tired baby, my brain, and another sick tired baby, my charge.

However.

That’s pretty much what happened.

And.

I have to say.

Grateful.

It was good.

I connected.

There was solution and I told parts of my story that I don’t always tell since it was a women’s only facility.

Good times.

And.

I saw the moon rise!

It was glorious.

I was way up in the Hills, Goat Rock Park, and turning towards Twin Peaks and I saw it through the trees and gasped.

I had to pull over.

I smacked myself on the head.

Why hadn’t I brought my new camera to work!?

Ugh.

But my new case is not here yet and I didn’t want it bouncing around in my scooter basket and oh well, but I took a picture with my heart.

It was big and orange like a persimmon.

It glowed like only the moon can and it rose slow, majestic, golden blood orange pumpkin ice cream, sherbert frosting sweet over the bay.

It took my breath away.

I was not the only person who had pulled over.

There was a little crowd of us on the edge of the sidewalk and the traffic leaving was a little kooky, but it was so worth the stop.

When I look at my life and what it could have been, where it was going, and then the sharp, amazing detour that it took, I am blessed beyond belief.

I will admit to being a bit grumpy.

A bit cranky.

A bit put out.

I really just wanted to come home after work, or go to my 6:30pm. doing the deal in the Inner Sunset, but that moon, that perspective, and then the gratitude I felt getting to leave the residential treatment on Amherst.

Fuck.

That was a good feeling.

I didn’t do rehab.

I didn’t do sober living.

I didn’t go to a hospital.

I detoxed in a church basement on Dolores and 19th.

I ate the cookies.

I bummed the cigarettes.

I drank a lot, A LOT, of really not so good coffee.

I was taken care of, I still am.

How could I not be grateful to do the service I did tonight?

Rehabs and treatment centers and homes freak me out a little, I have to say, they scare me, and I think I’m really freaking lucky that I got in the way I did and got to circumnavigate that experience.

And I know how much they help people.

I just can’t imagine having to do it.

I don’t know that I could have and I’m grateful I didn’t have to.

And yeah.

Life is good.

So I have a cold.

But I’m still going to go to yoga in the morning.

8:30 a.m. class.

I work at 1 pm-7pm so I’m hoping in between the shower and breakfast and coffee and morning pages writing after yoga I’ll be able to sneak in a little reading for work.

I’ll hie over to 7th and Geary after work and sit in another church basement tomorrow night.

I have a thing for church basements.

Heh.

I’ve got a full week.

I have a Covered California appointment downtown Thursday morning to fill out the application for health insurance through them, fingers crossed that all goes well.

Plus all the work this week, all the commitments.

And then school on Friday, Saturday, Sunday.

A speaking engagement Sunday night.

And right back to work at 8 a.m. on Monday.

Just like today.

Whew.

But.

Oh and this is a big but.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

I will only have a two-day work week next week!!

It’s Thanksgiving and my darling friend invited me to Nevada to hang out with her family and her sweet dogs and I’m gong to have a five-day weekend!

I am over the moon and I will be so ready for a break by that point.

I also have been saving my ducats so that the days off from work will be covered.

I’ll get paid for the holiday off but not for the other days.

It’s not going to matter.

I’m totally cool.

I worked extra last week and I’ve been frugal with my money this month.

I might be wanting to bring a few bucks with me for some holiday shopping with my friend or just splurging on coffees out and what not.

Oh.

I’m so excited.

Life.

So big.

So full.

So damn gorgeous.

Just like that splendid moon rise this evening.

I am.

Luckiest girl in the world!

Did I Get It All Done?

September 28, 2015

Fuck no.

Did I do a lot?

Yes.

Including and in no particular order, meeting with a ladybug and teaching her how to do spot check inventory, no need to sit in that dirty diaper all day, change it, change your perspective, get on with your day, walk through the fear.

Please.

And.

Thank you.

Cleaned my house.

Like really cleaned it.

REALLY.

Swept the floors, Swiffere’d the floors ( I know, I know, I used Swiffer as a verb, shut up), scrubbed the bathroom, did my laundry, stripped the bed, even washed and dried the duvet cover.

Which is a pain in the ass if ever there is one.

Putting the comforter back into the duvet cover after it’s washed, that is, pain in the tuchus, let me tell ya.

I even made extra food for the week, since I won’t be doing any cooking or grocery shopping before school next weekend or during the time I’m in class.  But I don’t want to have the experience of bonking out again like I did last time I was in class.  I will have food prepped and ready.

I made homemade pork fried brown rice with peas, carrots, corn, onions, brown mushrooms, garlic, and ginger.

Like that.

Then.

I read.

And read.

And read some more.

I also drank a lot of tea.

Excuse me while I go pee again.

Kidding.

Barely.

I read a lot about Freud, I read more Freud than I have in my entire life up until this point.

I read a lot of Freud, a lot of criticism of Freud and a lot of defense of Freud, that was really good and quite compelling and I find myself actually liking Freud a whole lot more than I used to.

Not that I had many great experiences with Freud prior, just assumptions.

I looked over my syllabi as well.

Although I felt a touch frustrated with how much I still have to read, I read as much as I could.

I switched up spots in my room to encourage better reading consumption.

Moving from kitchen table to chaise lounge.

I read outside on the back porch for a little while, although that was challenging as I found myself just wanting to lie back and enjoy the warm sunshine whenever it poked through the cloud cover.

I read until a friend texted me and we made plans to go up to Twin Peaks tonight and watch the Super Moon rise with lunar eclipse.

It was spectacular.

My friend grabbed me at 6:30 p.m.

Right about he time I was hitting my limit of Freud intake.

It was nice to gel out in the car and not think and let my friend ramble about the new house and new room mates and situations and I wasn’t tuned out, I was just there.

Appreciative.

Grateful.

Held.

Warm.

Because, damn Gina.

I forgot.

It gets cold up at Twin Peaks and after we had parked the car and gotten out to survey the lay of the land and make a spot to watch the moon rise with what felt like a great deal of the city as well–I love you San Francisco that so many of you came out to watch the moon rise and lunar eclipse, I love my city–we decided to get back the fuck into the car.

It was that breezy and cold.

The car.

Oh.

It was lovely.

Warm.

Good music.

Good company.

And the moon rise and the orange glow of eclipse as the earth reflected back it’s refracted light upon the surface of the moon, a reddish-orange hue, the burnt umber red floating in the East over the Bay, the sodium lights of the dockyards in Oakland glimmering, the dusky orange of City Hall shimmering in the cityscape, the flash of a red light on top of the TransAmerica Pyramid, the thread of white gold light sparkling on the Bay Bridge as traffic flowed over the top deck, the fog ghosting in over the back side of Twin Peaks.

And I am reminded of how beautiful this city is.

How lucky I am to get to live here.

And yes.

I had a moment or two, perhaps three, when I thought.

I really should be reading my Freud.

But then.

I would look up at the moon and sigh inwardly at my fortune.

And memories.

The times I have come up to Twin Peaks.

The first time I was taken to the top a couple of years before I moved to San Francisco, at sunset, the fog thick and blanketing the buildings, the tops of the Golden Gate Bridge poking through the grey bed, rosy and red and industrial orange and golden in the setting sun, the clouds over the East Bay a spectacular color guard of pinks and royal purples, blushed with persimmons and pumpkins and creamy rosettes of cloud clusters.

I was smitten.

I still am.

I can still see that first sunset and I can contrast and compare it to all the other times, really, not all that many, despite living in the city for over 13 years I can probably count about ten times that I have gone up to Twin Peaks and taken in the view.

Maybe more.

But not that many more.

I remember the time when I moved to San Francisco and I hadn’t been in the city more than a month and there was a huge spectacular meteor shower that was happening and I walked up to Twin Peaks from 20th and York in the Mission.

The meteor shower was amazing.

I counted 56 shooting stars that night.

And.

I wrote down a wish for each one of them in a notebook.

I have that notebook somewhere.

I feel compelled to dig it up and look at those wishes.

See how many have come true.

So many of my dreams have coalesced.

I have lived a grand and fabulous life.

I have lived in Paris.

I have written short stories in cafes in the Montmartre.

I have travelled to Rome and sat at the cafe on the top of the state museum and written in my journal while sipping an Americano.

I have gone to Burning Man a few times.

Nine.

I have loved and lived and grown in San Francisco.

I get to live here.

Who is this girl, this woman?

Who is this person who now gets to go to graduate school and balance all the things with all the other things, which make all the things possible?

She is a woman who once in a while is going to let herself off the hook from Freud.

To play a little hooky and watch the moon rise over this city.

This beautiful city.

My city.

By the Bay.

I Still Need Help

July 13, 2014

I think I am all self-contained again.

That I have it all figured out, I can go there, get this, do that.

Not so fast, hotshot.

It took me all day long to get to Noe Valley, it seems, and I just did not go that far.

I really didn’t.

I took the N-Judah to 7th and Irving and met a lady for coffee for an hour and tooled around after, like to go across the street and have lunch at Crepevine, and then over to the Haight to run into Mendel’s to get stickers.

I like me some stickers.

I had some fancy ideas about making something crafty too while I was window shopping in Mendel’s, but I could already feel the energy lagging and just the walk back to the train, which I wouldn’t have thought about before, seemed a grueling thing.

I almost took the bus to the train.

I checked my NextBus app and the bus to the train would have been 23 minutes.

I figured I could actually walk the few blocks back to Cole Valley to catch the N-Judah before that happened.

And I did.

But I started to really limp.

That was it.

A few hours out, a few tiny errands run, and you’re done kid.

I caught up on the phone with dear friend of mine and admitted that I had made plans to ride my bike to work this upcoming week, but I decided, right then and there, to take it easy and still use MUNI for another week.

I don’t want to take the bus or the train.

I want to be on my bike.

But I don’t want to re-injure the ankle.

Which is not even healed enough for me to say that it would be a re-injury if I hurt it again.  I have to let it heal.  I have to go slower.

I have to keep taking the humility pill and continue asking for help.

Help carrying my groceries.

Help getting a ride home from Noe Valley tonight.

There was no way I was going to take MUNI back.

I thought if I was unable to secure a ride, I would bite the bullet and call Uber or flag a cab.

Fortunate for me I ran into a friend who I knew I could get a lift back with and asked and of course the answer was yes, sweet dear friends, how I can’t wait to have my own vehicle (that is not a kick starter) to give other people rides to and fro.

Until then.

I get to accept that I am allowing others to get esteem from helping me.

I love helping people and I can forget that its nice to let other help me too.

Give people the same enjoyable experience that I have when I am of service.

It’s all about love and service.

And maybe short bike rides.

Not long ones where I am compelled to commute back and forth to work.

“Why don’t you just go for a little ride around the block,” my friend suggested on the phone.

Yeah.

Start small.

Not just jump straight into doing my ten-mile round trip commuter bicycle ride after just having returned to work.  That might be a good idea. I even have the perfect ride–to and from Noriega Produce.

The market is five flat blocks away from my house on a straight shot.

No hills.

No turns.

Short and sweet.

I can put on my sensible Saucony shoes (in my not so sensible pink and lime green) and wrap my ankle in the Ace bandage and pedal slow and see how it feels.

It feels bad or weird or wonky, I will stop and turn around and walk the bike back.

I may not even take it out tomorrow.

I may opt instead to just walk up to Other Avenues and do my shopping there.  Although it’s more expensive, it’s more convenient, and I have made the walk to and from the market without too much trouble.

Then maybe I will walk down to the beach in the afternoon.

I haven’t been for a stroll on the beach in over a month.

I miss the ocean.

I can still hear it from my studio, in fact, I am tempted to turn down the jazz on my stereo, Coleman Hawkins, and open it up to the soothing smash of the ocean in the dark of the night.

Which if it weren’t foggy would be showing off the super moon tonight, but I don’t believe I will be able to catch a glimpse of it out here this evening.  The pull of it on the waves may increase the sound of the surf though and I will be opening up the back door tonight after I finish the blog to let the sound sink into my bones.

Speaking of sink into, time for the old bag of peas to do its magic.

I just realized that I could use the ice down.

Who knows if it is still helpful to the healing process, but I have to say, it does feel good and as long as I am stationary and the ankle is elevated and I’m writing, why not do something that feels good.

It can’t hurt.

I found myself getting frustrated a few time today when I could not go as fast as I wanted and had to laugh, there is no need to go Speedy Gonzalez anywhere.  I don’t have to adhere to this manic pace that I have gotten so used to.

I am allowed down time.

I am allowed days off.

I am allowed rest.

It facilitates a better way of life, I know it does.

So, I must continue to be vigilant, to be humble, and to graciously and warmly accept the help that comes and when I can realize that by receiving I am giving and vice versa.

I have always longed for intimate relationships in my life, what better way to foster them then to let others see me as a vulnerable human being.

Not a super hero.

I can’t find my cape anyhow, I have it hidden behind my gold crutches in my closet.

I can stay there as far as I am concerned.

I am just a mortal.

Flawed, imperfect, and perfect in that realization.

Thank god for this beautiful body  I have been given to hobble about in.

Really.

It could be so much worse.

My life is blessed.

It is.

Flaws and all, it’s pretty damn scrumptious.

I’m not interested in trading it in for a better model, the one I have is doing just fine.


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