Posts Tagged ‘up and down the hills’

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.


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