Posts Tagged ‘Sutro Tower’

And It Was A

January 31, 2017

Good day.

It was.

Yes.

There was sunshine.

Oh sunshine.

How I adore you.

It won’t be sunny much more this week, one more day, tomorrow, then, yes, fuck, six days in a row of the wet stuff.

Sigh.

Oh well.

At least I had today.

And really.

What more could I ask for.

Just for today.

Just for today I will be happy.

And I was.

I got a few things done before I headed out to work, some organizing, some work on my school stuff, some writing.

I gassed up the scooter.

$1.16 to top her off.

hahahaha.

Ah.

I love that.

I love going into the 76 station on Lincoln and LaPlaya and handing the cashier a bunch of change with a great big smile.

Feels pretty freaking good that.

Zoom zipped to work.

I got there early enough that I was able to check in with a few people on the phone and just make sure my head was on nice and straight and ready for all things Monday.

I hit work and was ready to go.

Today was my first day feeling how it will be for the majority of my time, or at least how I envision it to be.

The dad has gone back to work full-time and it was me, the mom, the baby.

I checked in with mom, got the low down, got organized and then hopped in the car with her to Noe Valley, where I got dropped off to do errands and get my way back to the house on my own time.

Mom was heading to her office with the baby and I was on my own.

I cannot express how much joy that brings me.

To have some autonomy, to get to run errands in the sunshine, to go grocery shopping and help with the dry cleaning.

I topped off the Clipper Card (the MUNI pass for the buses and trains) at the Walgreens and got to pick up a few things that I was needing for the house.

I was able to also swing into another little store on my way back to the house and pick up a sweatshirt.

My Bicycle Coalition sweatshirt has been pretty battered and the zipper the past few weeks has just gotten worse and worse.

I suppose I could have replaced it, but it was pretty beat, I’ve had it for over five years and worn it pretty non-stop, when I went to zip into it this morning on my way to work, the zipper split again and I was like, fuck it, time to replace it.

So I got a cool black hoodie with white draw strings and a white outline of Sutro Tower by the company Cotton Basics, a local clothing company out of Oakland.

I like to buy local stuff whenever I can.

Then.

A quick pop into Whole Foods.

The mom had asked me to make dinner and had pulled out some chicken breasts from the freezer.

“Make whatever you want,” she said, “here’s some cash, get whatever you need at the market.”

Dude.

Carte blanche is so nice.

Seriously.

Not that I went nuts.

I didn’t need to.

The family has a really nice stocked pantry and they buy the good stuff, organic, local, upscale stuff.

I picked up some crimini mushrooms, some tarragon, and a few others odds and ends.

This evening I made the family tarragon chicken with crimini mushrooms in a cream sauce with rice and pan seared brown buttered brussels sprouts.

“Carmen!  You are the best cooker ever!” My four-year old little lady charge told me, jumping up from the dinner table as I was getting ready to leave and rushing over to throw herself in my arms.

“I love your food, so good!”

That made me so happy to hear.

I know.

Silly, right?

But not so.

I put my heart into my cooking and to be able to actually cook the way I used to, even though I don’t eat it, is super gratifying.

I’m sure there will be times I will eat what I make for the family, but I was having a good time making what I made and I wanted them to know how much I appreciate them by making them good food.

I love that they all sit down to eat dinner together.

It’s simple and basic and so sweet to see a family still do that, sit and enjoy a meal together.

I felt needed and appreciated today.

I also have really been enjoying my time with the mom, I feel like she has become not just an employer, but a friend.

And I love, love, love.

LOVE.

That she’s talking about having me for the long-term.

Like.

Four years.

Like.

Having job security all the way through my school program, what a gift.

Such a gift.

Granted, it’s only been a month, but in that month I have felt taken care of, appreciated, excited, and acknowledged.

I like, no, I love, that I am getting outside more and being more active is a help too.

I ran up and down the big hill to their house twice today, ran races with my charges when I picked them up from school, was in the fresh air and the sunshine.

Yeah, like I said yesterday, I have put on a size since I stopped riding my bike five days a week.

But.

That’s ok.

My body is changing.

Today it is just perfect.

Maybe it’s not what I want it to be, but it serves me, takes care of me, carries around my brain with all its sickness and idiocy, does all that I ask it to do.

I’m in grad school, I work full-time, I need the extra time that having the scooter gives me, one day I won’t.

And when that happens I can go to yoga more or I can ride my bike more or I can swim.

Just because I’m not the “ideal size” doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.

I have the exact body I am supposed to have and I am grateful for it.

Grateful, happy, content, cozy.

And.

When I got home from school I had a package in the mail from my dear friend in New York.

He’s been working on a movie now for a little while and it’s almost ready to be released and he’s selling t-shirts to raise money for the film.

It’s called: This Too, Shall Go Up In Flames.

I stripped out of my shirt and put on the t-shirt.

It’s a little big, I ordered it when I was feeling “fat” and got a bigger size than I should have, but fuck it, I love it and it can be a night-shirt or maybe I’ll have it taken in.

Do they take in t-shirts?

Who cares.

It’s an awesome shirt and I am excited to support a friend’s endeavor.

It’s pretty fucking cool.

It’s been a pretty fucking good day.

Not bad for a Monday.

Not bad at all.

 

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I Missed You!

July 6, 2016

He leaped into my lap and curled up into a little ball, stuffed cat in the center of it all, his small, soft, warm limbs entangled with me.

“I missed you too, bug,” I said and wrapped my arms around him.

It’s nice to be missed.

Even the dog seemed extra special friendly when I came to work today.

It’s always nice to get a warm greeting from an animal.

From a child.

From my employers.

I am grateful for my job.

Very much so and it was nice to be back in the mix.

It was cold and foggy most of the day, even in the Mission, but we did manage to get out for a little while and I felt happy to be home in San Francisco doing what I do.

Even with Sutro Tower obscured by the fog, I knew it was there and my city had me.

“What does ‘obscured’ mean?” Asked the six year old when I pointed out that Sutro Tower had disappeared from the city scape.

Then I told him that the name of the fog was called Karl.

This led to much yelling at Karl to go away.

I had to laugh.

He wasn’t the first person I heard today yell about the fog.

The thing is, I’m used to it, sweatshirts and layers and turning on the heat in July rather than the opposite.

Although it can damn straight get cold here during the winter too, wet, splashy, soak the bones cold.

I am not thinking much about the cold.

I’m thinking about the messages I received earlier from a Tinder date I went on months ago.

He and I hit it off, really, really, really well.

Ahem.

However.

We have not managed to get back together and it’s been a funny game of text tag.

“Nope, in Ohio,” from him.

“Nope, I’m in New Orleans, or New York, or working,” from me.

“I’m in Europe,” from him.

It’s kind of silly.

However.

It is awful flattering to have someone remember you with much fondness and ask after you and there’s nothing like a handsome man telling me that I am beautiful.

Thanks man.

Even should we not manage to hang out again, I always appreciate a sincere compliment.

I appreciate dating.

I’m getting a mite better at it.

I think I’m also taking it much less seriously.

I remember, more and more often, to have fun.

I realized the other day as I was happily surprised to see a friend of mine post her engagement ring picture, that there was no compare and despair, rather just a very honest assessment of her journey to this relationship.

She’s dated.

I have not dated so much.

It takes practice and finding out what works and what doesn’t.

It takes asking for what you want.

Sometimes I can do that.

Most often I am not so successful, but I am seeing areas where I can improve.

And.

Also, my confidence is higher.

In myself, in my choices, in my life.

I just see a lot of work slowly paying dividends.

I was thinking, in particular, about a couple that I witnessed having a fight in a restaurant at the table next to me on Friday night in New Orleans.

The man wanted to be right versus happy.

And the woman, who had the better logic of the argument, couldn’t get him to drop the conversation from the table, the loud, angry, I’m rightness of his voice banging up against her protests.

She was also obnoxious, I’m not going to lie, both parties at the table were idiotic at one point or other in the discussion, but the man was a jackass and loud.

And she cried.

It was sad.

At one point the busser cleared a dish and managed to intervene a little.

A server asked them to bring it down a little.

And the woman fled the table, wet faced and mottled red with shame and anger.

I sat at my table happily people watching, enjoying the fuck out of my awesome company, me, being nice to the server, eating an amazing crab and avocado salad and I almost, but did not, although it was tempting, turned to ask the man a question.

“Do you want to be right, or be happy?”

But.

I already knew the answer.

He wanted to be right.

The break up wasn’t imminent, both the man and the woman seemed oddly resigned that they were going to be together, yet, I felt it, the leaving of one person or the other, the despair and the wash of ugliness that a person can have even with a person they care about.

It did not seem a relationship, or marriage, or love, more one of convenience and desperation, there wasn’t going to be anyone better and I better get it while I can.

I wanted to stand up.

Say, “be brave! Change!  Eat some humble pie and let the other person be happy.”

Not that it would have made any difference.

I just felt compelled.

And.

I realized, this is not my experience to have and I am grateful for it.

I had someone reach out and ask me some questions regarding my paramours and my dating activity and I was more than happy to share.

I divulged a bit and it was fun to talk about it.

And.

I realize how many people are jealous of my lifestyle.

I am free to go and do what I please.

I have no one to be accountable to.

Just me, myself and I.

I am happy.

“My spiritual principle today is happy,” I expressed to my person on the phone when I called and checked in with her.

Why shouldn’t I be happy?

I got laid last night.

I had a lovely company and was a spoiled princess.

I have a home in San Francisco.

I have a healthy, able body.

I have recovery.

I have myself and my love for my challenges and all the twists and turns on my journey.

I am a part of a community.

And.

I got the most beautiful gift in the mail today.

My grandmother crocheted me an afghan.

It was delivered when I was away, so I took the USPS slip to the post office before work today and picked it up.

It is gorgeous.

Stunning really.

And it fits so well into my little studio’s color schematic, it’s just perfect.

I am loved.

I am taken care of.

There is beauty everywhere.

And I get to be a part of it.

Divinity.

Grace.

Joy.

Happy.

All of it.

All the things.

All of them.

Jam It All In

September 29, 2015

And sandwich it with Freud.

Peanut butter and Freud with bananas.

I got up.

I got going.

Was it really already 9:30a.m.?

There were moments last night when I was awoken and I was satiated with dreams and desire and then I would roll back over and conk out and the dream faded sweet to the other side of the bed and then, the sound of the ocean, the wind through the window and the cool air, thick with the smell of salt fog and ocean.

The hum of the fog horn last night rocked me to sleep.

The sight of Sutro Tower blocked in by fog this morning.

The grey day, but bright awakening.

My body ready to go before my brain.

And then I got it together.

A little routine.

A little prayer.

A little breakfast.

A lot of coffee.

Some Freud.

I am all caught up.

At least in my Psychodynamics course.

I still have two other classes to get my reading on par with what is due and expected by this, my second, full weekend of school.

I will get it done.

Or I won’t.

At least I am better prepared then I was for the last weekend.

I have been doing the work whenever and where ever I can.

Granted.

Yes.

I took some time off last night to howl at the moon.

Really, to just look at it in awe and wonder at the joyful, full, busy, active, god damn good life I have.

I am unrecognizable sometimes to myself.

“I remember, I remember you, you are a part of my story,” he said to me tonight with a big hug, a huge hug, anniversary hugs are always special and I was grateful beyond words to see my friend slip in the door as the lights went down.

I was a hot mess a decade ago.

A decade.

Jesus.

I have spent a decade of my life doing the deal.

Which is fantastic because it has afforded me everything.

Freud and all.

I would not be in graduate school if I was still out their partying.

Fuck.

I was not partying either, not at the end.

It was not a party.

Not at all.

Maybe if it were still a party I would still be playing.

But the playing I get now is so much more satisfying.

“Carmen!” My five-year old charge hollered as I opened up the door to him after he got back with his mom and his younger brother from kindergarten.

He hugged me fiercely than bounced off my legs and ran through the house, “I have to pee!  I have to pee!  I have to pee!”

I’m not sure what Freud would say about that, I don’t think that’s a stage of development, but I was happy to gather all his gear and his brothers and be there and be present for the boys.

For the family in general.

Although no word if they are going to give me a raise.

I suspect if I haven’t heard I am not getting one.

I care, but I don’t care.

Really still just happy that I asked for it.

Despite a desire for making more money I know I am taken care of and I have enough.

I have rent paid for October and I only have a phone bill that I will have to take care of for the month outside of grocery costs.

My over head is really quite low.

I’m not spending money on pleasure reading anymore.

Gah.

Pleasure reading.

I used to do a lot of that.

I let lapse all my magazine subscriptions.

I haven’t read a magazine in three months.

Seriously.

I am sitting here writing my blog and there is a stack of unopened and unread fashion magazines at hand.

Sorry Vogue, W, and Vanity Fair.

I don’t have the time.

I don’t have the time to finish the John Irving novel I started three months ago.

I don’t have time for anything but Freud with ham and cheese.

I actually just realized i might have some more Freud to read.

Fuck.

I have a book that I haven’t even cracked.

Um.

Ha.

Make that three.

One of which I have to do some reading for and I figure I am going to be hitting up my Theory of Group Psychotherapy tomorrow or Wednesday.

Depends on how much I get done for my Therapeutic Communications course as well–I have a paper due for that before Friday.

And.

Thursday I have a phone conversation to be had as soon as I get home from work with my Human Development partner who was unable to connect with me this past weekend due to unexpected schedule changes with her.

This all is starting to sound overwhelming.

Tonight though.

I refuse to be overwhelmed.

I know.

Intrinsic.

Down in my bones, yo’.

That I am doing the best I can.

I am doing pretty fucking alright.

I am moving and shaking and I am showing up and the days.

Damn Gina.

The days go by so fast.

Wasn’t I just in bed?

Wasn’t I just here eating oatmeal with sweet apples and rich persimmons dusted in cinnamon and nutmeg?

Is it 10:30 a.m. or is it 10 p.m.?

The days they pass.

I came back in tonight, “hello house!” I said cheerily and stripped down in the wink of an eye.

I got out of work a snitch early and hustled home on my bicycle, I had twenty minutes before I needed to be at the next place down the street at 44th and Judah.

I hopped into the shower, washed, shaved, jumped out, dried off, slathered lotion all over myself, threw on some clothes, grabbed my bag and even managed to have enough time to take out the garbage, compost, and recycling to the curb.

Jam it all in indeed.

I’m lucky, you know, to get to do all these things.

Ultimately.

This life, this one here, the one that I am living on such a great, big, grand, rich scale, is one that I should not by any rights have.

If life were fair.

I’d be dead.

Instead.

I get to read some more Freud.

No excuse me while I go bet my Oedipus complex on.

Psychosexual dysfunctions, you’re next.

At least my night reading is interesting.

Heh.


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