Newish kid on the block

Moving from California to London and then from London to Switzerland then back to California all in a six year span has reminded me of all the moving around I did as a kid. Between 1978 and 1988, I changed schools at least 7 times. Leaving school also meant leaving behind school friends. These were kids that I played with after school, whose parents were nice to me and let me eat their Oreo cookies and play Atari well into the afternoon until my mom came home from work.

When I was 10 years old, I lived for about six months in a place called Livermore; CA. for about half of my 5th grade school year. We lived in a cul-de-sac filled with families that had children around my age. There was one girl, Chelon, whom I used to play with regularly. Chelon lived close to the opening of the cul-de-sac next to the Mormon family. The Mormon mom used to joke about being a 'bad Mormon' family because they drank Coke and coffee.  Chelon's parents, Geri and Gerry, drove a late model Camero. I want to say that the car was canary yellow. The car had one of the first vanity plates I remember seeing that somehow managed to spell out both of their names. Maybe it was 'GeriGer'. Anyway, Chelon's mom and dad had the same name, shared the same car, and wore their hair in the same style: a jheri curl. I loved going over to Chelon's house because her parents were very friendly, there was always soul music playing on the stereo, and, after Chelon did her chores, we could play undisturbed outside in the cul-de-sac for hours until we were called home for dinner.

Michael Jackson wearing a Jheri curl.

Esther, a girl from my class who lived over in the 'nice part' of town, became chummy with me and would sometimes invite me over to her house after school. Like Esther, I took my shoes off before going inside the house. I can't exactly remember what we did, but I don't think that Esther was all that into Barbie and neither was I, so no playing with dolls. Esther lived in a lovely, ranch-style home with wide hallways and both a rock garden and swimming pool in the backyard. The hallway carpets were thick and plush and felt good under my stocking feet. The house was quiet and always smelled of cooked rice. And, while I would occasionally hear her mother's voice coming from another room, I never really saw either of Esther's parents.

-prime example of a ranch-style home.

My friendships with both Esther and Chelon were really just beginning when I had to move to a new city at the end of the school year. Chelon came for a sleep-over once after I moved. I never talked to Esther again.

Moving back to San Francisco at 45, I was sort of the 'new-old kid'. Making acquaintanceships is a bit more challenging at this stage. It was pretty darn easy to make friends when I was 10.

Recovery

Today, I washed my husband's hair for the first time since the accident in the kitchen sink. He's able to bend his body just fine, but not able to lift left his arm above his head. The sink faucet-head comes off, so I was able to aim water at all the good bits: behind the ears, near his hairline, and, because his hair is almost halfway down his back, all along the lengthy bits. Long hair left in a braid does knot up after a week, so thank goodness for conditioner. Also, the incision stayed dry throughout. A win.

The hubs is recovering nicely, for the most part. The road rash is scabbing up; his incision seems normal, but I wouldn't know normal from my elbow as a bone break is new to us. His spirits hover between feeling fine to feeling a bit down. I don't blame him. I'd be a crybaby if I were in his stead. He's also keen not to rely too heavily on the Oxy & the acetaminophen prescribed. I cut the 500 mg tablets of Tylenol in half for him, so that he may space out the dosage over time a bit better. He's aiming to take an Oxy pill every four hours. The recommended dosage is 1-2 tablets every four hours. Pain management through the day is his current (pre)occupation.

It sounds as if he's expected to be recuperating for the next month, or so. He has a follow-up appt. with a doctor on the 15th. I'm assuming it will be about his healing and information on physical therapy. As his sleep has been scant since the 30th--pain keeps you awake!--he hit the hay around 8.00p tonight. May he be able to sleep through the night.

SF Bingo

Yesterday, within the space of an hour, I saw one man defecate at a rail stop & another shoot drugs into his upper arm. Later in the day, I watched a fellow bus passenger disembark & then vomit all over the pavement. Yet later still, while jogging around Lake Merced, I spied three big slabs of butchered meat by the side of the road. I couldn't recognize the cuts. -massive racks of ribs? A Red Tailed hawk was perched atop one of the slabs, tearing off pieces with its beak. A crow stood off in the distance presumably waiting for the hawk to fly off. All I needed was to then have seen someone lose their shit in the supermarket at a checker & I would have won San Francisco Bingo!.

The man who defecated at the rail stop, as if that weren't surreal enough, then pulled out a mobile phone from his coat pocket, dialed & began talking. He appeared to be having a rousing conversation with someone while his buttocks was exposed. It was a strange sight, indeed.

Given that the human waste was on a city rail platform, I sent a message to the SF municiple rail office letting them know about it. The person with whom I communicated stated that they'd have the waste cleaned up within a short period of time. I certainly hope so. Mostly, nothing gets down with much urgency around this city, but, hopefully, this matter--no pun intended--was taken care of quickly.

By the time I left the station, the man had begun urinating with phone still in hand. I made my way downtown. Walking from Market St. to SoMa, I took a short cut down an alley named for Civil War soldier and writer Ambrose Bierce. That was where I saw the man shooting up. He seemed most concerned with his hit & not at all with me. I could see blood being drawn into the needle as I walked past him. I hoped he wouldn't OD as he was all alone in the alley. Calling the police in this instance, doesn't do any good. They'll only respond, if someone is actually overdosing.

There is constant talk of how social services in SF aren't able to support the seemingly ever-swelling no. of marginalized people on our streets. I don't know what the solution is, but I do know that having public restrooms in all areas of town would be a help. As it now stands, areas of town where there are high rates of vagrancy, like in the Haight and areas along Mission St., are equipped with more permanent-looking porta-potties. These toilets are manned by clean-up staff. I can't help but think that having staffed toilets must help cut down on any funny business. Folk get in and get out without much fuss.

I volunteered at the Women's March today in downtown SF. Our procession moved from Civic Center to Justin Herman Plaza. -less of a Bingo! situation, thankfully.

Nuts for German

We had a lovely, older client the other day who had a lovely, older Schnauzer. The dog was nearly 15 years old & spent almost the entire time napping in her doggie bed while we cleaned. The woman referred to her dog as 'meed-chin'. Well, that's what the name sounded like to me. I thought it was an interesting name & was about to ask her how she came about it, but then read the doggie bowl, door matt, and dog collar. The dog is actually called Mädchen (or Maedchen, for those of us who don't have an umlaut on the keyboard).

I said aloud to no one in particular, Oh! Mädchen! Spoken aloud, Mädchen doesn't sound like 'meed-chin', to be honest, but I wasn't going to correct this woman's pronunciation. It's her dog, her dog's name & that's that.

I did, however, go Deutsch Lehrerin on her (and then felt stupid for doing so) after the woman told me, 'It means 'little girl' in German.' I said, 'It just means 'girl', actually.'  Then, as I said, I felt stupid. She didn't have us over for a German lesson. She had us over to clean. Technically, you could say that the woman was sort of right. Literally, the word means 'little maid' & its origins date back to the 15th century, I think. In today's parlance, it just means 'girl'.

I have been taking German courses, on and off, for over 25 years. I began learning the language when I was 20 (you do the mathematics).

Needless to say, I dig the language. I also speak German fairly fluently. My accent isn't pegged as 'American' & most people think I'm a native Dutch speaker when I'm speaking German. I'll take that as a compliment, quite frankly. It also means that most folk don't switch into English when I'm conversing with them which further aids in my being able to practice the language. I have some friends whose German is regularly met with English, and they are the worse for it, language-wise.

Recently, I did have someone ask me for German help & I was very happy to oblige. A friend was preparing for his roles both as Emcee & border guard in a local production of Cabaret. He wanted to make sure he was correctly pronouncing the few bits of German dialogue he had. He sent me the page of dialogue with the German. The text did not contain any notes regarding the umlaut vowels. On the page, an 'a' looked like an 'ä', and that doesn't fly. German 'nut' that I am, I sent him this:

A couple of things: 

Remember the ABCs in German for Adam*? After the regular alphabet are the umlaut-vowels: ä, ü, ö.

Your lines feature the ä & ö.

The ä almost sounds like a ‘long a’ in English, not quite but between a ‘long a’ & the ‘e’ in ‘meh’.

You ask for Cliff’s and Ernst’s passports (plural). Then you ask for Ernst’s passport (singular) once Cliff has shown you his without a fuss.

Passport is ‘Pass’ in German. Passports is ‘Pässe’ in German. Pass is spoken with an ‘ah’ sound. As in when the paediatrician used to say ‘open wide’ and we’d say ‘ahhhhh’. Pässe is spoken with the combo ‘long a’ and ‘meh’ sound. (Ask John**to demo this!)

With respect to the ö, I think it’s harder to describe, given that English doesn’t possess this sound at all. I do think, however, that French*** uses an equivalent sound. I could try and send you a voice mail making the ö sound, if that would help.

Text:

Officer: Deutsche Grenzkontrolle (German border control). Ihre Pässe, bitte. (Your passports, please).

English, English, English....

Officer: Ihren Pass, bitte (Your passport, please).

Sie waren geschäftlich in Paris? (You were in Paris on business?)

Ernst: Nein. Auf einer Urlaubsreise (No. On holiday).

Officer: Bitte, öffnen Sie ihren Koffer (Please, open your suitcase). The ‘o’ in Koffer sounds a bit like the ‘o’ in the name of former UN head Kofi Annan.

Officer: Haben Sie nur diesen einen Koffer? (Do you just have the/this one suitcase?) Certainly, by inserting the word ‘einen’ (meaning ‘one’) in the question you’re placing emphasis on the fact that you’re scrutinizing the fact that Ernst has just one suitcase (or does he?).

I went to see Cabaret & noticed that not only did my friend not take on board any of my pronounciation advice (doubt he'd even read the above note I sent him), but also that the passport control officer's dialogue had been reconfigured to exclude the German word for 'passports'. Still, as Emcee, my pal did a wonderful job!

*I drew an ABCs auf Deutsch sheet for his son, Adam.
**His husband, John, speaks some German.
***My actor friend speaks some French.

Walk to work.

SF has a massive homelessness problem. I don't have stats, but it seems that in my time spent abroad from 2010 to 2015, ever more 'tent zones' have sprung up dotting bits of the Mission District and beyond.

There's one short block off of Market St. heading toward Mission St. that I have been walking down en route to one of my volunteer gigs since November of last year. It's since become a 'sleeping rough' corridor.

Tuesday

The onslaught of rain in recent months means that we, after about five years, are officially out of drought conditions here. I saw a man watering his lawn in broad daylight the other afternoon, and thought: Good for you! The one downside of all the rain is that severe flooding & mudslides are displacing many from their homes, and, in some unfortunate cases, taking lives. The Red Cross has opened numerous shelters in flood zones around California for those affected & thank goodness.

***

Trump's still publicly trumpeting ridiculous statements that don't jibe with reality. His latest blather made it seem as if there were specific, targeted unrest in Sweden recently due to the influx of immigrants/refugees there. Sweden's US Embassy twitter account posted this in response: We look forward to informing the US administration about Swedish immigration and integration policies. Translation: they ain't having it. Former Swedish PM, Carl Bildt, also weighed in with this gem: Sweden? Terror attack? What has he been smoking? Questions abound. Well, Carl, expect to be detained at length by TSA were you to come to the states during Trump's reign.

Bork! Bork!

Press Secretary Melissa McCarthy, perhaps so fatigued by having to constantly defend Trump's verbal gaffs to the press, he hasn't yet garnered the strength to respond to 'last night in Sweden'. To be honest, he's probably too busy attacking the good people at the Anne Frank Center right now. Take a break, Spicey, you've sort of earned it.

***

I'm currently taking a German course at a local school. Today, I availed myself of the language lab as part of my course requirements. It was my first time in the lab & I had no idea how to access the online course lessons. Sat near the students' area, I spied a German instructor who, I thought, was on-hand to help. (Well, at least that's what her colleague at the check-in desk led me to believe.) I turned to the instructor and said: ich bräuchte Hilfe/I would need help.  She said: Sie brauchen Hilfe/You need help. Ja, I said and continued to speak to her in German. She then responded to me solely in English. My German, in Germany & German Switzerland, is met with German & Swiss German, respectively. That means that my German, to put it crudely, doesn't suck. Why the instructor responded in English, I don't know, but it was off-putting at best. Before the meat of the exchange really kicked off, as I was settling in to my computer spot, she was making her way to leave. Her 'shift' was over, I guess? Not yet daunted, I did ask her if she knew where the online German instruction was to be found, and she obliged before dashing away. Note to self: don't rely on the language lab German instructor for help in the language lab regarding German. Ah, bless this school.

New Year's

'Well, she should just have a glass of wine to warm up, but she won't do that!'

This is what my mom said aloud to no one in particular after I mentioned that I was a bit cold at a small New Year's dinner function at a family friend's house last night. The above sort of complaint-rant would have been fine, if I hadn't quit drinking last December. It's not that I won't have a drink, like some obstinate child. It's that I feel I currently should not drink. I didn't make a big show of stopping drinking, but did mention having quit at a party--where all these New Year's revelers also were-- I had given at my place this past August. The guests were well-stocked with beer and wine, but I wasn't partaking. The question 'why aren't you drinking?' came up a few times, so I answered.

Just before midnight it seemed to be thought that not drinking didn't include a toast with Sekt & someone tried to pour me a glass. 'Just a little bit is okay to ring in 2017, right?' 'Oh, no thank you.' One of the party hosts also doesn't drink, so we two toasted with juice. -quite nice.

I wasn't too phased with what mom had said although it bugged a bit. And I imagine that many who don't drink are faced with the whole 'won't you have a little glass of champagne?' on Dec. 31st. What did annoy, to be honest, was my mom's Trump-voting husband's commentary. He'd managed to squeeze in a few pro-Trump/pro-Russia opinions over the dinner table that no one cared to hear. He also apparently thinks that any car sticker identifying him as having been in the Navy in the 60s would make him a target for 'terrorists'. Such ID got him 'out of more speeding tickets' than he could count, but now it could kill him. All mom could do in response was to verbally jab at her husband in a really ineffectual way that wound up making everything feel just a bit worse. After he'd managed to gamble away their savings on a stupid house-flip scheme back in 2009, thus relegating them to renting in one of the most economically depressed areas in No. California far away from friends and family, I'd begun disliking him a great deal. I think that dislike has now spilled over into hate.

Oh, and the neo-Nazi brat that raged at my German group for not being right extremist a-holes like he is sent a mail to all the German club organizers on New Year's stating 'Das Reich kommt wieder'. From what I recall, he lives with his grandma. -wonder if she knows what's percolating in that head of his.

So how was your New Year's? Better than mine, I hope!

Christmas time

We closed early at the shop yesterday. I have never worked anywhere that allowed for early closure on the 23rd, but I'm not complaining. Potential customers coming to the shop after 1.30p were the only ones upset by the change in schedule. As I was counting the till, I could see a lot of unhappy people peering through the shop window. Sorry!

A dear, sweet co-worker left me a wee gift at work on Wednesday. She's not made of money by any stretch, so I was touched she thought of me. The boss also 'played Santa' a bit. She spent a large part of the short day writing out Xmas cards for various and sundry people. Many of us at work received a gift along with our cards. -thoughtful, but re-gifting is imminent, if I'm honest.

Christmas will be a sleepy affair. The hubs went on a 100 mile ride today with a buddy. Their destination was somewhere around Point Reyes. I heard the trip was good, but windy. At least it didn't rain. Anyway, he'll likely not be up for much tomorrow. I figure I'll take a walk in Golden Gate Park or visit Ocean Beach. Maybe I'll do both. Who knows?! It's all very exciting...NOT.

It'd be nice if at least one decent coffee house were open tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath.

German club meeting with a bit of history.

We met this month for our regularly scheduled German language Treff. It was our first since coming face-to-face with the young, confused right-extremist kid, M., back in November. 'Keyboard warrior' that he was, I didn't really think he'd come 'round to yell at us for not taking his praise of Putin, 'hero of the European and Christian people', seriously. Still, I wasn't feeling too sure of myself, so I asked the hubs to come along with me this meet-up for moral, and, perhaps, physical support. A couple of other group regulars told me today that they would have 'up and left' had M. shown his face. Who could blame them?

The group was fairly large this time around. We were again a mix of regulars and a few new-comers. One of them was W., an 85-year-old German man who'd emigrated from Nuremberg in 1953. He was a young teen when Allied forces nearly destroyed the city. W. spoke in a slightly hurried fashion, his fränkisch-inflected German sometimes hard to follow. During the raids, his family hid in the bomb shelter in the basement of their building. He also made clear that the bombs being dropped were 'fire bombs'. At one point during the onslaught, the building next to his was completely destroyed. W. told me his father died in '44, but he didn't say how. During the funeral, casualties from the bombings were being brought into the cemetery. He told me of seeing a dead boy about his own age. Face frozen in shock & arms raised, the teenager's body had already undergone rigor mortis. 'I'll never forget it'. He also said to me that he had no idea why he was spared. I ventured with 'reines Glück' and he nodded.

W. heard a bit of what had transpired at the last meet-up with respect to M., the right extremist in water wings. His response was, and I'm paraphrasing, 'I give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and only after they prove themselves to be unworthy do I tell them to get lost.'

-sounds good to me, W., sounds good to me.

Well, I never...

Making small talk at a work Xmas party this past weekend---

Me: So what part of town do you live in?

Her: I live out in the Avenues.

Trying to make small talk I asked if she ever went out to a certain coffee place, pretty much the only coffee place in the Avenues that's worth its salt, at 43rd.

Her: Oh, I live closer to 19th.

Me: Oh, yeah, okay. You know it's really good coffee, if you're into that sort of thing. They bake on site the most amazing muffins, scones, and soda bread. I don't even live out there, and I make the trek out sometimes. It's like the spot.

Her: I don't wait in lines on this side of the city.

(You don't what now?)

Her: I'll wait in lines over on this side of the hill, but not out where I live.

Me: Well I don't like to wait in lines EVER, really, for anything, but the raspberry corn muffins are amazing as is the coffee. If you like good coffee, then it can be worth it. (Plus, when did I mention there were lines?)

I think her eyes glazed over at that point which was my cue to stop talking.

The sort of 'I don't go north of 14th Street' Manhattan malarky came to mind when having this aborted attempt at chat. A dear, old colleauge of mine back in NYC once told me that she never ventured north of 14th. Initially, I thought she was joking. I guess she's never visiting me in my neighborhood up at 80th, then, I thought. And what about visiting Central Park? Surely, she'd like to be in some of the only decent green space in town? I guess not.

I find it a bit funny that people seem to make arbitrary distinctions between certain areas of town. I won't even get into the subset of those who don't ever leave San Francisco, or won't set foot in Brooklyn. I mean I get not wanting to visit areas that don't feel particularly safe, but to snobbily say you won't 'set foot' or 'wait in lines' in a certain area of town sounds preposterous.

Back when I was a young'un in the late '80s/early '90s, there were parts of San Francisco that I didn't feel comfortable visiting because of potential safety issues, but, now in large part due to the proliferation of the 'luxery condo' lifestyle that seems to be de rigueur, those sort of 'no go' areas are ever shrinking. Currently, if I don't feel comfortable in an area of town it's probably because I'm not posh enough to blend in with the surroundings.

German club with a side of hate.

On Sunday, we had our monthly German club meeting. It was the first meeting since Trump was elected, and it was a full, rousing group. I sort of expected that no one would show up what with it being a holiday weekend here, but I was pleasantly surprised. Not only were a select group of regulars in attendance, but there were also a handful of newbies in the house. We were made up of a few native speakers & at least one young man, M., who only began learning German last year. Initially, he seemed friendly & receptive to whatever subjects were discussed. We covered the usual topics ranging from 'where you from?' & 'why German?' to 'how was your Thanksgiving?' 'so Trump was elected...' You know, it was typical, topical stuff. At one point, M. mentions having friends who are 'communists' & who meet at a 'communist cafe'. I happen to know the cafe in question & there's nothing 'red' about it, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I thought, Uh, okay. Weird. Then the subject changed & that was that. At another point in the convo M. says that he admires Putin and thinks he's a great leader. I laughed a bit & put my hand on his forearm in an 'ah, bless' kind of way before turning to talk to another person.

All seemed fine, in fact all seemed more than fine for the rest of the afternoon. A few of us stayed 'til the bitter end some three hours later, M. included. Before we disbanded to go on about our day, I recall getting a smile & a handshake from the Putin lover. 

Apparently, all was not fine as the website where our German group event is posted received a strange missive from M. It read: I thought it was a German language meetup, not nonstop Judeo-Marxian globalist propaganda brunch hour.

He followed up the note by posting a series of links to non-news internet sites typically associated with the paranoid, the hateful & the severely uninformed. I deleted the links.

I probably should have ignored M., but instead wrote that I was sorry he did not like our group & wished him well. M. then responded with the hateful, rabid-sounding mess below.

Why do you start badmouthing Vladimir Putin, and talking about how stupid white people are and we think all brown people are Muslims? You just assume everyone at the table is a brainwashed communist like you? Poor Muslims being oppressed and deported for being rapists and killers. Poor ISIS getting bombed by Putin. Your hero Obama created them. Another girl sits there and tells an Indian person the Electoral College exists to make brown people's votes not matter. The Electoral College was created before anyone other than white people was even legally allowed to vote. Vladimir Putin is a hero for the European and Christian people. God bless him and keep fighting the good fight against Muslim scum, who should be eradicated from our lands. Long live Donald Trump. Long live Putin. Long live NDP. Long live FPÖ. Long live sacred Europe. May all traitors one day feel the arm. Tschüss.

I sometimes forget that there are those who are not motivated by their love of Goethe & Schiller, Bach & Handel (or in my case, Neue Deutsche Welle & Tatort) to learn German. Sadly, in the case of M., a seemingly budding Pediga adherent & Trump supporter, we see other pursuits at hand. And none of them are welcome at our German club.

Trip to DE & CH

The hubs and I took a brief trip to Europe the week of the US elections. However, given that the news outlets in Germany are on top of broadcasting about world events, we could not avoid hearing & reading about the Trump win. Donald's mug adorned nearly every magazine & newspaper cover in Germany & German Switzerland. It was off-putting to see him 'round every corner, to say the least.

'How dangerous is the new president?'

Highlights of the trip were jaunts to Basel, Konstanz & Zürich. Here are a few select photos--

Altstadt, Konstanz

Am Bodensee with friends.

Konstanz, as the Bodensee meets the Rhein

Along the Limmat, Zürich, Switzerland

Limmat, Zürich

Stroll along the Rhein, Basel

Gulls along the Rhein, Basel

En route to the Botanic Garden, Basel

Altstadt, Basel

Picked up this lively print while in Basel

Checking out walking sticks at a charity shop in Basel

.

Yours truly on the Red Arrow Churchill from Zürich to Schaffhausen

I miss our life in Europe & would hope to return to live there, but, at present, a move does not seem feasible. Would that it were...!

Discovery

S. comes to the counter and takes out his phone. He starts scrolling and sighing. I ask him if he were all right. -tells me his daughter had just sent his wife an ugly email. S. quotes: 'I don't appreciate your shoving your politics down my throat!'

I like S. He's a sexist old git, but I like him. His wife is sharp as a tack & really nice. I figure that the daughter must be a jerk. I tell S. I'm sorry. Then he starts to rant about his daughter being 'stupid'. I think he's being harsh, even though, I assume, she must be a Trump supporter. Then S. says, way too loudly, 'I mean who in their right mind would be vote for Clinton?! Everything that comes out of her mouth is LIE!' I tell him that I, for one, will vote for her. S. walks out the front door muttering crap about 'nasty women'.

S., it turns out, is the one who's stupid.

Moving...again.

The kitchen is nearly packed as is the dining room. There's the clothes, bath items, nic-nacs, and bed linens to be dealt with next. We've averaged schlepping 6 boxes per trip in our wee car over to the new place the past two nights. Tonight will be no exception. On through into the weekend and we'll, hopefully, have all but the biggest items left for the movers next week.

The above shots are of the living room and office areas, respectively, of our last place in Zurich once we'd moved out. Note the 'port hole' window in the office and the slate floor in the living room area. The quite elderly architect and owner of this building of flats had had a long career designing civic buildings in his younger days. From what I understand, this was his only foray into creating an apartment house some twenty years ago. I loved it.

The dining area is lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling windows (you can see a snippet of them in the top photo). I loved sitting at the dining room table, staring out toward the block of flats down the hill, lush green trees behind it.

Up a flight of stairs from the living room is a cosy sitting area and attendant deck. During the warmer months we spent a majority of our time out here grilling and lounging. On August 1st, Switzerland National Day, and on New Year's, one could just make out the firework show put on at Lake Zurich through the tops of the trees across the valley.

The curious jay and ample back yard are the only two things we'll truly miss about the place we're moving from, to be honest. I'm not sad to go. The new place has no yard access, but does have a wee deck. No view of fireworks, but we will have a view of the landlord's citrus trees.

What would Herb Caen Say?

No doubt Herb would have said something clever and witty, but, unfortunately, you're stuck with me and my thoughts.

On the windiest day last week, I watched a teen-aged boy lose his hat while crossing the street.  The wind had whipped the cap right off of his head and sent it flying about ten feet in the opposite direction.  It landed in the intersection.  The boy turned, made a motion toward his cap, turned back around and kept walking.  Those sports team caps ain't cheap, but I guess his parents can buy him another one?  Maybe the kid didn't really like the Raiders to begin with?

It had started to rain.  I got out my umbrella.  I looked down the street and saw the kid pull his hood up over his head.  He didn't look back once at his cap.

Have PJs will travel.

I saw this guy leave his flat, half-dressed, then make his way up to the corner liquor store, two blocks away.  His PJ bottoms were made of some super thin fabric.  Looking at him, I felt as if I were peeping.

Psst!  Buddy!  If you can afford to live in North Beach, then you can afford to buy a pair of trousers to wear out of the house.  I won't even get in to the fact that dude is wearing sandals in December.  Contrary to popular belief, it is actually pretty chilly outside these days.

Mom

At a birthday lunch back in June, Mom told me that she really should not have had children.  Happy Birthday to me?  Her words stung a bit, but, honestly, I'd have to agree.  A post-Thanksgiving lunch with Mom and Aunt Nancy yesterday yielded this, and I'm paraphrasing, from Mom: your husband has his work cut out with you.  That shit hurt my feelings, but I could only say, sarcastically, 'thanks for that'.

Mom then peppered me with her usual questions involving an updated picture of me and the hubs ('I bet his Mom has a picture of you'), the '23 and Me' genealogy kit that the hubs had said he'd buy her, but forgot to do so ('he just doesn't care') and not much else.  Although fueled with the question-fire, Mom wasn't motivated to ask what the hubs and I did for our first Thanksgiving back in California since returning home from abroad earlier this year.  I'll tell you all: we stayed home and BBQed a small turkey which we burnt, but masked the flavor with copious amounts of cranberry sauce and mashed yams.  Mom was, however, able to carry on a normal conversation with Nancy.  Why couldn't I get any of that action?

Prior to Turkey Day, Mom had had a bit of a breakdown on the phone with me as I happened to have called the day after Uncle Ken's birthday.  Kenny died last year in a motorcycle accident.  Mom had said that she had mattered to him, and had felt important to him.  I know that they were close in a way that only they, as foster kids raised in the same house, could be.  I miss Ken and am sad he's gone, but I'm more sad for Mom's loss.  She's the lone foster kid who has to make due without the support of her little brother.  She said that with Ken gone I am the closest person to her.  Hearing that made me feel panicky.  I don't feel particularly close to Mom. She's very private and not terribly good at communication, if the above is anything to go by. 

Tooling about on the bikes.

I rode 36 miles on my bike today.  -didn't go it alone, but went with the hubs who is in a 'Tour de France' phase of late.  Since riding in earnest, he's gotten fitter, eats better and sleeps more soundly.  -all good things.  I've not kept pace with his long-distance riding, and, instead confine my cycling trips to and from work & along the bay trails here in town.  Yesterday, the hubs rode a 75-plus mile loop around the peninsula, so, for him, our 36 mile jaunt was a walk in the park.  Speaking of parks, the picture below shows some of the greenery that our bike journey took us through this afternoon.  If one looks really hard, one can almost make out a wee fox on the prowl there between the tree branches.  The picture below the green space shows the entrance to the bike path from a car park at the top of a hill.

Fox looking for snacks along the bike route.

Entrance to the bike path atop Ralston Rd.

I had a good day with only some car-related issues.  Here in Ca., we're all meant to 'share the road', but that's easier said than done.  What freaked me out most was the ride back home.  Our most direct route down Ralston Rd. put us perilously close to cars.  Never mind that this street is meant to be 'bike friendly'.  There's no dedicated bike lane for most of it, and the motorists fly down the hill like they're drag racing at Sear's Point.  Couple cars vying for pole position with those who think they're Bradley Wiggins on two wheels and one has a recipe for disaster.  I walked my bike, like a goat, down the hill until a bike lane was visible, then rode the last one-mile stretch home.  As it was Sunday, today's car count was minimal, but that didn't stop me from deciding to walk rather than compete for street space with the likes of this (see: video).