I had a bad night last night, so I stayed in bed for an extra 45 minutes this morning, trying to make up for lost sleep. Receiving a copy of my stepmother’s finalized complaint to the hospital regarding their negligence in treating my father (and probably causing his death), an email from the Royal Society of the Protection of Birds listing the many donations they have received so far in my father’s memory, and two more condolence letters in yesterday’s mail didn’t help. Sometimes I am reminded of a line from Sylvia Plath’s poem “The Rival”: No day is safe from news of you. Yet if I didn’t receive all these cards, letters and messages from people who know and love my father and grieve his loss with me, I would be angry that no-one cared. There really is no pleasing me, as Rufus knows all too well.
So I left the house later than usual this morning. It’s surprising the difference such a short time can make. There are more people on the streets, many of them walking dogs. It’s always nice to meet new dogs. It’s very foggy this morning, with the fog coming down almost to the ground. But I can tell it will burn off because you can see the blue sky behind it, like a veil over blue silk.
As I walked down California Street toward the Financial District, there was a wonderful San Francisco moment. The bright eye of the cable car’s front light burned through the fog as it made its way down the hill toward Van Ness, appearing like magic through the mist. As it approached the end of the line, a tall, slim young man wearing black leather pants and no shirt ballet danced down the street and with a final pirouette jumped gracefully onto the cable car.