Suzy Says

Halloween San Francisco Style

I’m back home with the kitties and it’s a beautiful day. It’s warm enough to have the fans on – summer’s last hurrah. I can tell the cats missed me. They came in on their own yesterday evening and took turns sitting on my lap. As I write, they are all nearby.

Yesterday, I packed up the car, had breakfast at Polker’s, and checked out of my home away from home. I headed to Victor’s to pick up the traditional pizza, and discovered that I didn’t have my debit/credit card.

Uh oh.

I retraced my steps to Polker’s, and as I walked through the door, the waitress came up with my card. “I know why you’re here!” she said cheerfully.

I was much more cheerful as I went to Trader Joe, got gas for the car, and headed toward the iconic Bridge in the brilliant sunshine. Even though I really just worked on this brief trip, it was a good one. I listened to the baseball playoffs on my iPhone until cell service gave out, picked up some fresh cider at Gowan’s, and arrived home to be greeted by Clyde.

While I was enjoying my extreme takeout pizza, there was a knock at the door. It was Mark’s wife with a bag full of kale grown by a friend of hers. Welcome home!

Just Being

I woke up to a beautiful morning in San Francisco. Not a cloud or wisp of fog in the clear blue sky, and the wild parrots wished me good morning in their inimitable, raucous voices as they soared into the sunlight.

A taxi ride took me through my old neighborhood, where I noted what had changed and what hadn’t, and ended up at a building right next door to the one I used to work in for so many years. My boss/partner and I were there to meet with a money manager we are considering hiring. The meeting went really well, and after business was concluded, our host showed us some of the art collection his company owns.

To my delight and surprise, the paintings currently on display in their gallery were by the great Gil Elvgren. I have never seen originals of his works, and they are stunning. Also much bigger than I thought. I asked, “Are these…original Elvgrens?” He said yes, and I think he was entertained by how impressed I was.

When our meetings were over, Boss and I had lunch and caught up with each other. It was really great spending some time with him, and we got a lot done.

On my way back to the modest motel, the struggling little urban garden above caught my eye. It was a day of unexpected beauty in unexpected places.

Traffic on the Bridge

Happy divorce day to me! My long-awaited divorce becomes final today, after a decade of being separated and dealing with paperwork. I am celebrating with a brief visit to San Francisco. It’s purely coincidental that I’m here on D(ivorce) Day; I had a day of meetings planned on Thursday and hopefully lunch with my partner/boss.

I’m celebrating with a glass of wine while I wait for my friends at Lemongrass to bring me a fashionably late dinner.

Heading home on Friday, but if I can get it together – always a big IF – I’d like to go to the De Young Museum for the Bulgari exhibit. Yes, Bulgari is vulgari, but it should be fabulous nonetheless. A visitor to the jobette today told me that there is a wonderful exhibit of butterflies in the nearby Conservatory of Flowers, so maybe I can fit that in, too.

We’ll see…

In the meantime, cheers! Here’s to freedom, closure, and delivery Thai food (where is it, anyway?)!

As I mentioned earlier, I decided to stay at a different hotel this time, mostly due to the internet access issues at the usual place. As so often happens, I was wrong about everything.

My knowledge of San Francisco’s neighborhoods has clearly deteriorated since becoming a bumpkin. I thought Hotel B was in North Beach, which it might technically be, but it was much closer to the Wharf than what I think of as North Beach, where City Lights books, Vesuvio’s, and Molinari’s deli are, not to mention the Condor Club, the city’s oldest strip club. When I first moved to San Francisco, the Condor featured a neon sign of its famous topless dancer and early implants enthusiast Carol Doda, with her nipples flashing through the fog. I still miss that sign.

On my last day in the city, I headed out in search of bath salts so I could enjoy the bathtub in the hotel room. This proved more difficult than you’d think. I first went to Walgreen’s, which is in the old Tower Records building, but no luck. Then I headed toward Pier 39, where my brother and sister lived for so long. I discovered that Cost Plus World Market is still there, and the cash registers seem to be manned by the same ancient Asian guys who were there 20 years ago.

I scored heart-shaped, verbena-scented bath fizzes and a pomegranate face mask. I headed for Safeway on autopilot, passing what used to be a book store but is now a discount clothing place. Before I realized it, I was there, and picked up a few things including a bottle of wine to go with the bath fizzes and face mask. Back at the hotel, I cracked open the wine and had a relaxing bath with fizzes and mask.

The internet, however, was anything but relaxing. I called tech support every day, and every day there were problems. Even though they provided wired ethernet access, the internet still stopped working several times a day and most of the night. The fact that the tech support number is included on the same slip of paper with the user name and password should have given me a clue. It was pretty frustrating, and Hotel B actually cost more than Hotel A, so I think I’ll go back to the old place the next time I’m in town.

Despite going to bed after midnight, I woke up the day after my birthday at a dispiriting 5:45 am. Sleeping in is not among my few talents.

I discovered to my horror that there was no coffee in the hotel room, necessitating the almost unspeakable ordeal of having to get dressed and face the outside world in a pre-caffeinated state.

I shuffled off to the nearest Starbucks, passing the Mason Street cable car turnaround. The brakeman waved and said hello. Tip to tourists*: there is no line at 6 am and you will probably have the cable car to yourself and an unobstructed view of the dawn breaking over the Bay as you ascend the hill.

At Starbucks, I was immediately peppered with questions by the friendly staff. I explained that I was unable to process these questions because I hadn’t had coffee.

Barista One: I stopped at a 24 hour Starbucks to get coffee. On my way to work…at Starbucks.

Barista Two: I go to the 7-11. I love their coffee!

You’d think the 7-11 confession would be heresy in that complicated chapel of caffeine, but everyone laughed. They helped me choose a medium light roast, and the guy behind me ordered quickly and fluently. I said, “You’ve done this before,” and he said, “Every day. Every day.”

Armed with much-needed caffeine, I dragged my remains out to my beloved Legion of Honor to see an exhibit called Impressionists on the Water.

As usual, photography was forbidden. Arriving at the exhibit, I literally gasped at the sight of a huge Monet painting of the sea screened on the wall behind a graceful wooden boat which had featured in one of Caillebotte’s paintings. I asked the guards if they would let me just take a picture of that, but they regretfully said no, so you will just have to imagine it.

The exhibit was arranged chronologically, and it was fascinating to see how the Impressionists took their inspiration from classic marine paintings and made it their own, as well as how Monet’s style became bolder and more innovative as time went on. Several of the paintings were from private collections, so it was special to see those.

I was intrigued to learn that Caillebotte, perhaps best known for Paris Street, Rainy Day was a dedicated boatsman and eventually became a boat designer. A couple of the wooden boats he designed and used were at the exhibit. Called “skiffs”, they were small, wooden boats with flat bottoms which were moved with oars. Apparently, they were quite dangerous and glamorous at the time, and they featured in many of the paintings.

Leaving the museum, I was asked to take a picture of two visiting teenage girls, who then asked how to get the Golden Gate Bridge. Seems I’m always a tour guide, no matter where I am!

*A more useful tourist tip is to get on the cable car at Van Ness and California, which is the end of that line. You can almost always get a seat, and you’ll pass by the Fairmont Hotel, which survived the 1906 quake, Chinatown, and have a stunning view of the Bay Bridge and the Ferry Building. Stop in for delightful restaurants and shops. /tour guide>

It’s my birthday eve and I am off to San Francisco to celebrate.

The city seems to be my celebration theme this year, since I also kicked off the new year by going there. This time, I’m attending a seminar on my actual birthday, and then the seminar hosts are grandly taking us all to see the Giants play the Toronto Blue Jays – from a luxury box. How’s that for a birthday party?

I’m hoping that the cats have used up their naughtiness quotas for the week, though this seems unlikely.

Yesterday Clyde went over to Megan’s house to cat burgle – or attempt to cat burgle – Harriet’s and Ramona’s food. The weather has been beautiful lately, so Megan’s doors, like mine, were open. Clyde took this as an invitation to check out what the neighbor cats were eating. Megan’s dogs, however, had a different opinion.

Small, stripy Schatzi, who is the most polite dog ever to all cats, has been chased away from my house by the small, stripy Audrey, who has done the same thing with the much bigger Luna. But let one of my cats turn up on Schatzi’s home turf, and it’s a different story. Megan was drinking coffee on the couch and said it was all over before she realized it was happening.

There was a scuffle in the kitchen, a water bowl went flying, and Star joined Schatzi in the feline eviction with such enthusiasm that they almost knocked Rob over in the driveway. Megan said it was like “Scuffle! Sploosh! %@#@$%^#%$^!” and then all that was left was the dust in the air (and the water on the kitchen floor).

Not to be outdone, Roscoe decided that my last night at home for most of the week and the one right before a four hour drive the next day was the perfect time for him to stay out all night. I saw him slink under the house, so I was pretty sure he was nearby, and tried to vanquish thoughts of how the beautiful June disappeared on my birthday three years ago.

Needless to say, sleep was sporadic, and I kept getting up and calling him. All the outside lights were on to try and keep the marauding monsters at bay, but you know that I am a Worrier. At last, around 4:00 am, Roscoe came calmly out of the darkness and into the house, where he had a snack and then curled up next to me in bed, so I couldn’t be mad at him.

Let’s hope they behave better for Megan!

I’m back home in sunny Hooterville.

The kitties came running out to see me. Even Audrey the Grumposuarus wanted to be petted, and later crashed out on the top of the armoire as if relieved to no longer be in charge. I cuddled the boys – Audrey does not tolerate the indignity of such things – and they purred happily before running off to chase butterflies and climb around on the roof.

Boys will be boys.

I managed all of my ambitious itinerary except the museum. Yes, it’s lame to miss out on seeing a Vermeer, but Vermeer never imagined Bay Area rush hour traffic, so I chose getting out of town before the madness descended over immersing myself in art and beauty. Does this mean I’m finally a grown-up?

I waited in line at Swan Oyster Depot as per usual. It’s always worth it. I pulled up one of the few stools and ordered a half cracked crab (there must be some joke in there about how I’m half cracked and/or crabby, but I’m too tired to think of one) with sourdough bread. The bread is from Boudin’s (pronounced BO-deenz), but they bake it extra-long for Swan’s and the crust is dark and magnificent.

I love the ballet behind the counter. All of the servers are family, and it shows. Here you can see them in action:

The gentleman in the foreground is explaining the various types of oysters. All the food there is sparkling fresh. The crab was heavenly. They even gave me a finger bowl afterwards, perhaps an unexpected refinement in a place with shared bowls of oyster crackers and lemon wedges.

When you’re done, you tell one of the brothers what you had, and depending on which one it is – not necessarily the one who served you – he either adds it up in his head or on a napkin, and then rings it up. You have to bring cash. It’s old school there.

After getting gas and picking up pizza and doughnuts, I went to Trader Joe at Hyde and California. It was delightful. Huge and uncrowded and like night and day compared to the madness of the Santa Rosa branch. Who would have thought? The clerk told me that they had been open for about four months, and I said it was a big improvement. She laughed and said. “Everyone says that!”

I made my way across the iconic Golden Gate Bridge, feeling a pang as always at leaving the place I lived in and love(d) for so long. Mount Tam loomed over the freeway as Marin county gave way to the rolling farmland of Sonoma county, and Sonoma to Mendocino. The happiness I feel when I cross the county line isn’t exactly the same as I used to feel when my plane swept over San Francisco preparing to land, but it’s good in a different way. And it’s good to be home.

Well, the conference is over for another year.

It was interesting and I learned a lot (though some of it was a little depressing as far as a world economic view), but I’m ready to go home to the kitties and not have to wear uncomfortable dress up clothes for a while.

I meandered back to the motel through my old neighborhood. I had the foresight to bring sneakers to change into (and wear socks today), so I could wander in comfort. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun was sunny enough that I really did not need the conference-mandated jacket. Despite this, I felt all sunny and careless, as Christopher Robin would say, and “just as if twice nineteen didn’t matter a bit, as it didn’t on such a happy afternoon.”

I popped in at the cheap and cheerful nail salon, where I caught up on gossip magazines and had my nails painted a sparkly gold while watching the world pass by. People watching is a lot more interesting in San Francisco than it is in Hooterville and environs.

My glittery nails and I explored some new shops and some old favorites. I picked up a couple of totally unnecessary, yet utterly delightful things, and noticed what had changed and what was the same. There is a new apartment building going up a block from my first* San Francisco apartment. The new apartments are about 750 square feet and will rent for something between $3,000 and $3,800 a month. I tried (and failed) not to think about how the mortgage (including taxes) on our condo was $1,400 a month for 1,500 square feet. Selling that place is a big regret.

Anyway…it’s good to see some new construction and positive signs of growth. Maybe the doom and gloom forecasts at the conference will be proved delightfully wrong.

Tomorrow’s somewhat ambitious program:

• Breakfast at Swan Oyster Depot (assuming manageable line)
• Pick up pizzas from Victor’s
• Pick up doughnuts from Bob’s
• Check out the Trader Joe at California and Hyde
• Go to the De Young Museum to see Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring and other treasures
• Drive home
• Pet kitties

At least I will have Friday off to unpack and get ready for Jessica’s birthday BBQ. Stay tuned!

*It was built in the 1890s and survived the Great Quake of 1906 (and the 1989 one as well). It had hardwood floors, a formal dining room with built-in china cabinets, and a wood-burning fireplace, as well as the worst landlord ever. It was $800 a month and I considered this insanely expensive at the time.

Well, today didn’t turn out exactly as planned…

I woke up before the alarm at 5:45 am and made some bad in room coffee, then repaired back to bed to read my fan mail and gradually come to terms with the horrors of waking up.

Eventually, I got in the shower, armed with Lush soap (Carmen Miranda) and fancy shampoo (Frederik Fekkai). I enjoyed having to actually add cold water because the hot water was hot. Not to mention no bugs or drafty window in the shower.

I enjoyed having lots of towels and a warm bathroom, applying makeup with abandon, until it was time to blow dry my hair. The dryer didn’t work, and it was applied to the wall, so I couldn’t try it in another outlet (my appliance version of restarting the computer). I shoved my feet into my heels and clopped over to the office to ask for a new hairdryer.

Alas, they didn’t have one, so I had to go to the conference and meetings with wet hair, which dried in the cab. Sort of. I had to put my faith in Angelika’s haircut and hope for the best.

On the bright side, I discovered that what used to be Cala Foods, where I used to buy my groceries when I lived here, is now a Trader Joe! So I can stop in there after getting pizzas for Megan and me from Victor’s instead of having to stop in Santa Rosa on the way home. Score!

At the Four Seasons, I enjoyed the attentions of the doorman and the view as always:

The conference was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, and I had to perch on a chair near the back without benefit of a table, which made it challenging to take notes. Not for the first time, I couldn’t help noticing that it was a very predominantly older white male audience. Finance seems to be an old boys’ network, at least in this town.

I had a couple of meetings after the conference, and as I sashayed down Market Street (San Francisco’s Main Street), I realized that I had forgotten to put on socks, since my feet began to blister. After the meetings, I limped to the St. Francis Hotel and was kindly handed into a welcome taxi by their doorman. Did I ever mention how much I love doormen and taxis?

Back at the modest motel, I kicked off the shoes from hell and tried to order Chinese food on line, which failed. I ended up calling them – old school, I know – and making a drink while watching the Giants game. Megan texted me that the kitties are in and fed, and tomorrow is another day.

First things first: happy birthday to Miss Jessica, who turns ten today. Ten, folks. Double digits! We are having a family barbecue for her on Friday, since I am currently in San Francisco. Megan told me that she called Jessica last week to ask her what she wanted for her birthday dinner, but Jessica was so distracted by the fact that she had just gotten a load of books from the Bookmobile that Megan gave up on trying to talk to her. Jessica handed the phone over to Erica and scampered off into the land of books.

It was a lovely drive to the Land of Civilization this morning. The ocean was a deep blue, frosted by white caps, giving way to the ancient redwoods, followed by the rolling hills and vineyards of the Valley. The trees were a haze of translucent green leaves, and the grape vines were unfolding their leaves hopefully in the spring sunshine.

Filming of Need for Speed has concluded, so there were no traffic delays. I dropped off welcome gifts for Aaron Paul and his co-star at their hotel at the beginning of the filming, but I didn’t get to meet them or even see them, which seems kind of unfair since I was the only person at the jobette who knew who they were. Even Megan and Rob never got into Breaking Bad, so I was alone in my star-struckness.

Before leaving for the City, I enrolled in Fast Trak, which automatically deducts from your credit card the $6* toll for the privilege of entering San Francisco. Apparently human beings have been declared obsolete by the Bridge, except for the tireless painters. It was odd to drive through the toll plaza without stopping.

Now I’m at the modest motel in my not so modest former ‘hood, listening to the Leafs game and waiting for my Thai food to be delivered. Tomorrow I’ll get up bright and early – well, early, anyway – and head downtown to the Four Seasons for the annual conference.

*I remember being incensed when it went up to $3. Once I didn’t have the cash when returning to the City from visiting my sibs. I had to pull over and go into the office by the Bridge to write them a check.

You’d think I was still in Hooterville, getting up at 6 am for an 11 am photo shoot. But I had my reasons.

I am slow to get going at the best of times, and on this particular morning, I had to make Self look more presentable than usual, since the main purpose of the trip to San Francisco was to get professional photos taken of Boss and Self for our in-progress website. After putting on make-up and once again being thankful for learning how to do this quickly and well from makeup artists back in A’s modeling days, I called a cab and went out to meet it around 7:30.

The cab appeared sooner than I expected, and I was off to Drybar to get a blowout. I’m not that great at doing my hair, so I followed Megan’s advice and let the professionals do it. I figured, if I have to live with this picture for posterity – or at least the next few years – I should look as good as possible.

Drybar was delightful. I was immediately provided with cucumber water and taken care of by a fabulous gay guy, of which there is a total shortage in Hooterville. No-one can make a girl feel prettier – and in this case, look prettier, too – than a fabulous gay guy. I sat at a long white bar accessorized with dishes of candy and a flat screen TV playing “Dirty Dancing” (Jennifer Grey with her original nose! The ever-gnomish Patrick Swayze! Kelly Bishop before she was Emily Gilmore!) with captioning on, so you could follow the movie over the whir of hairdryers.

My stylist even hailed a cab and opened and closed the door for me, which I love. Talk about full service! My shiny hair and I made our way to BART. As I walked onto the platform, the train I needed was whooshing into the station, saving me a 15 minute wait. As I settled into my seat, I texted Boss to tell him my ETA. iPhones can be useful.

I knew I had an hour long train ride ahead of me, so I was equipped with a book, but when it went above ground, I looked out of the window from time to time. I have been away from Civilization for so long that burned out, graffitied buildings and swooping cloverleafs of highways and herds of cars and acres of cement are as foreign to me as the moon now.

Boss picked me up at the BART station and we drove to the photographer’s studio. She is Boss’s neighbor and a total sweetheart. She has been taking pictures since she was a child, and you could tell she really knew her stuff. Although I have known Boss for nearly 20 years, it was a total revelation to me when he told the photographer that his father was one of the very first medical photographers.

I don’t photograph well, in my opinion. I’m not saying that in the hopes of being contradicted. There have literally been two pictures ever taken of me that I liked: one when I was 3:

and one when I was 40:

This is not a good average. I hope these will turn out well, since as I mentioned earlier, they will be there for posterity, or at least the next few years, which may well be the same thing in internet terms.

As we left the studio, it occurred to me that this may well be the first time I have ever had a professional portrait taken. My parents may have done one when we were kids, but I don’t remember it, and I didn’t have professional photos of my wedding, graduation, or anything like that. Maybe having a professional is the secret to a good photo?

After our photo session, Boss and I went to lunch, and then stopped by to see his lovely wife at the hotel she manages. It was so great to catch up with them and spend some time together. We hugged goodbye at the BART station, and as I rode the train back to San Francisco, I thought how lucky I am to have a boss who is also my friend. I’m hoping this year will be kinder to us.

The Legion of Honor (or, to use its full title, The California Palace of the Legion of Honor) is one of my favorite museums in San Francisco. It may actually be my favorite. Its setting is beautiful, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge:

and it is lovely and classical:

a little jewel box for a small but good collection. Despite the long trip, it refreshed me just to be there.

Speaking of long trips, the Lincoln Highway, which turns 100 this year, ends at the Legion. It starts in Times Square, and was the first road built across the country specifically for cars:

Going to the museum late on a Wednesday afternoon is the perfect time to go. It’s not crowded, and you can stop to admire the conservationists, hard at work restoring 18th century French gilded wooden doors:

The exhibit I went to see was called “Royal Treasures from the Louvre”, which focused on the lovely possessions accumulated by the Sun King, Louis XIV, who we can thank for the beauty that is Versailles, through to the ill-fated Louis XVI and his Queen, Marie-Antoinette.

As usual, the things I liked most were not available either in postcard form or in photos on the museum’s website, and the public is forbidden to take pictures. I loved the gold and diamond snuffboxes; a cabinet inlaid in a zigzag pattern that surprisingly opened up to a writing desk, glass fronted bookcase, and a plush footstool; a pair of deep turquoise Chinese porcelain vases set in bronze and swagged with delicate chains, belonging to Marie-Antoinette; and a silver tureen graced with silver pomegranates, twigs, and leaves. One of the pomegranates was split open to reveal its silvery seeds.

I love how these patrons of the arts were able to find artists who made every day, useful objects works of art, such as Madame de Pompadour’s gold and ivory coffee grinder:

Madame de Pompadour was Louis XIV’s favorite for many years. When she died at a still youthful 42, he watched her coffin being carried from Versailles in the rain with the wistful words, “The Marquise will not have good weather for her journey.”

Miniature of Louis XIV, the Sun King, with huge, original diamonds:

Amazing that the diamonds survived the anti-monarchy frenzy of the Revolution.

Louis XIV was a great collector what he called “gemmes”, semi-precious stones carved into bowls, pitchers, and cups, set with bronze and jewels and sometimes enamelled. Here is an agate ewer set with enamel and gems:

This is Marie Antoinette’s inlaid rolltop desk from the Tuileries:

Many people don’t know that Louis XVI was in the process of creating a public museum to display the beautiful objects his he, his grandfather, and father had amassed and commissioned, when the Revolution broke out. The Revolutionaries got all the credit, and the fact that it was Louis’ inspiration was forgotten.

Monday marks the 220th anniversary of Louis XVI’s execution, and it has just been discovered that some of his blood was preserved, proving the legend that someone dipped their handkerchief in his blood and preserved it in a gourd to be true.

Truth really is stranger than fiction.

This “day” madness will have to end at some point – how did this happen? – but in the meantime, I’ll just go with it.

The sunny days have continued in Hooterville, and in Northern California, sunny days mean cold, starry nights. Lately it’s been below freezing every night, from 28 to 26. The orchids basically live in the bathroom now, and the cats sleep with me every night. Roscoe is the only one who sleeps under the covers with me, and sometimes I hold him like a teddy bear, and sometimes I have the luxury of feeling him stretched out along the length of my back.

And sometimes he bites me.

Relationships are like that.

This morning I got up in the pre-dawn darkness, partly due to my inability to sleep well when I know I have to travel, and partly because of the Evil Genius demanding to go outside.

I packed up Miss Scarlett, and let the motor run for about 10 minutes to get the hard frost melted enough to scrape off the windows. I drove carefully on the icy Ridge, as warned by Megan, and there were several “ICY” signs on Highway 128, replacing the usual (for this time of year) “FLOODED” ones. I almost pulled over to take pictures of the frozen grass and frosty trees – and the frost burning off the trees, looking like smoke – but I had a date.

A date with a Genius.

It all started when I decided – probably foolishly; technology has been turning me into something of a Luddite, if a Luddite can have an old version iPhone – to upgrade my operating system. I still have House Cat, or whatever OS it was 7 years ago. When I was in the City two weeks ago, I asked about upgrading my OS and learned that I had to order discs. Yes, actual discs. The entire disc concept is so antiquated that the Apple stores themselves no longer carry them.

Getting the discs delivered was not all that easy, either. I had to have them sent to the property where I live, instead of the mailbox. Things that arrive by UPS or FedEx are delivered to a semi-decaying shack, so I stuck my “please leave it without signing” notice and hoped for the best. The package was there on Tuesday night.

I tried to install it after I got home, but I discovered that there was a disc stuck in the drive. I tried everything, but alas, nothing. I made an appointment with a Genius at the Apple Store in Santa Rosa for Wednesday at noon. I left the house at 9:15 and arrived at the Apple Store about fifteen minutes early. The Genius took my aged MacBook away to fix it, and appeared half an hour later with the disc and my MacBook in his hands.

Cost: nothing, including parking.

I have to say: I am so unused to malls at this point that I almost died when I stepped into Macy’s. The entire mall seemed to be suffused with perfume. Ugh. It was horrifying. On the other hand, the Apple store made me want to buy everything. I totally covet the MacBook Air, but I’m not too crazy about the black keys.

I grabbed some lunch – or breakfast, or both – traveling makes me nervous, and I hadn’t eaten, and then got back on the road. Somehow, it was after 3:00 by the time I got to the modest motel, but I knew I had to keep going and get to the Legion of Honor exhibit that I missed on my last visit two weeks ago. Sitting down would have been fatal at that point, so I got back in the car and drove there.

I will address the visit tomorrow. I ended up driving back to the modest motel in rush hour, past my not so modest former apartment. I forced myself to go and get a coffee from Notes from Underground, thinking that I would rather do it then than 6 am tomorrow.

My plan for tomorrow: get up at 6 am, caffeinate, take shower, put in contacts and put on make-up, take cab to Drybar to blow out my hair; another cab to BART; meet my boss; get photos done. Eventually take BART back.

Wish me kitty-free luck.

Evening on Market Street

What else would a girl with freshly manicured nails do but take her car to the salon?

I know that cars don’t get as excited about primping as certain girls do, but I thought it would be a good opportunity to take Miss Scarlett to the car wash which used to take care of my Mustang, Josephine. This is the only picture I could find of Josephine, and it’s teeny:

When I upgraded to WordPress I lost most of the picture links in old entries. You win some, you lose some.

The car wash was super busy as always, despite it being the middle of the day and the middle of the week:

I could have gone to the barber shop while I waited:

When they were finished, the car looked as new as a 16 year old car with 118,000 miles on it can look. All the gravel, pine needles, and puff dust were magically gone, and they had even shampooed the seats. They put what looked like plastic dry cleaning bags on the seats just in case they weren’t dry enough.

I know the dazzling shine and clean wheels won’t last long once I get home to Hooterville, but hopefully I can maintain the interior. At least until my next trip to Civilization.

I drove the shiny car to the East Bay, where I met up with our IT person to get…a brand new iPhone!

It was a free upgrade and is the version 4, not the latest 5, but free is free. Now I just have to learn how to use it. One thing that will be great is that texting will be a lot easier. I am terrible at texting on flip phones. It takes me so long that I can usually call the person 5 times in the time it takes me to enter one text.

It will be much better to just type in the texts, especially since you can send texts where there is no cell service, and there are a lot of places in the Hooterville environs where there is no cell service. For example, there is none for the 65 miles between Cloverdale and Hooterville, so if the car breaks down or something, I could at least text my sibs for help, since I can’t call for it.

On my way back to the modest motel, I stopped off to do some shopping, and ended up not buying anything, but I did take the time to admire a festive cable car:

I was really surprised by how long the line was for cable cars, even now the holidays are over, and remembered all over again why I so rarely took them when I lived here.

My plans for today are: breakfast at Polker’s; a trip to the Legion of Honor to admire the Treasures of the Louvre; and home again in the bright sunshine.

Good morning, Polk Street!

Well, I started the new year off right by heading to San Francisco on New Year’s Day.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, the sky the clear, arching blue you only get in California. The sun peeked through the canopy of the ancient redwoods as I drove the long and winding road to Civilization, past the fields blazing green with winter rains and dotted with snowy white lambs, and the vineyards dreaming of summer. My heart lifted as always at the sight of the majestic Golden Gate Bridge and the first glimpse of the beautiful city, its pastel buildings tumbling down hills toward the brilliant blue Bay.

I settled into my modest motel in my old neighborhood. It’s a few blocks from my first apartment here and just around the corner from my last apartment, which just sold a few months ago for half a million dollars more than John and I paid for it. Maybe we should have held onto it…

I ordered dinner from my old friends at Lemongrass and went to sleep virtuously early, to the familiar sound of fog horns and the hum of the city.

I woke up to sunshine and the wild parrots wishing me good morning. I made my way to Polk Street and did a little delightful shopping, including a card for a friend whose second son was born on Christmas Eve and a birthday card or two. After getting my nails done (appropriately enough, OPI’s “Sweet Memories”) at my cheap and cheerful nail salon, I sat at a little green table outside the French bakery and had a prosciutto and fig sandwich on a freshly-baked walnut baguette, enjoying the sunshine and the passing crowds. Also the “dog parking” sign:

Tomorrow I’m heading over to Berkeley to meet up with our IT person to get…an iPhone. Wish me luck figuring it out!

Well, I’m back on the foggy Coast.

I left the jobette on Wednesday afternoon and stopped off in Willits to bring the Chamber of Commerce some brochures. I had never been there before and I was charmed by the fact that the Chamber is in an old train depot, which is still in use by the famous Skunk Train. I loved the antique clock in the Depot:

And the retro Rexall Drug sign on Main Street:

It was a magical microclimate tour: 60 at the Coast, 90 in Willits, over 100 in Ukiah, the county seat, in the 80s in Sonoma, and back to 60 in San Francisco. All this in the space of 150 miles. My last meeting of the day on Thursday was with some people from New York, who were completely mystified by how it could be 85 in Menlo Park and 60 in San Francisco. “All the way here I could see the temperature dial in the car dropping!” they marveled, as we sat outside under heat lamps at a bar downtown. The fog and chill did not deter them after the oppressive heat they’ve experienced this summer:

I got a lot of work done while I was in the city, but that was about it. The traffic was terrible coming home, jammed up for an hour and a half. I left the city around 1:00 and got home at nearly 5:30, greeted by Luna, Clyde, and Audrey. Roscoe, of course, was too cool to get all excited, or even show up until dinner time.

Megan said that when she came by to let them out that morning, they all raced outside (Yay! Freedom!), but then turned around and raced right back in (Hey! Pets!). I think they missed me.

Well, I’m back home in my humble Hooterville abode, and it’s my birthday eve already. I haven’t even told you about my trip to the City yet. So little time, so much slacking! But then, Slothfulness is one of my special skills.

After my meetings on Thursday, I made my way to Chinatown to pick up something for dinner on my way back to the modest motel. I decided to stop by Great Eastern on Jackson Street, figuring that if it was good enough for the President, it would be good enough for me. I was right, and it was delicious, worth the wait and the madding crowds. I had forgotten how crowded Chinatown is and how its denizens have a very different definition of personal space. It’s been a while since so many strangers have smushed my boobs and butt.

On my way to the bus stop with my to go order, I couldn’t help but notice a very reasonably priced handbag that was practically begging to be added to the Suzy Collection. How could I refuse?

Triumphantly clasping my Prez-approved food and Suzy-approved handbag, I hopped on the bus up Union Street, making sure to sit on the side where I could enjoy the view of the Bay, which was looking its best in the spring sunshine.

Friday saw me back at my old stomping grounds in the Financial District. Meetings were about a block from where I used to work on California Street. Crossing the street, I found it kind of incredible that I used to walk up and down that hill nearly every working day for more than a decade:

I left in what I thought was plenty of time to get to Berkeley and have dinner before seeing the Beach Boys at the Greek Theater. However, the traffic was indescribable:

Eight lanes, all waiting!

Eventually made it to Berkeley and had my hand henna painted:

There was still an hour and a half before the show started, so I thought I’d park the car and look for somewhere to eat dinner. Unfortunately, half of the 8,500 people attending the show had the same idea, so finding parking pretty difficult, and pretty expensive when I did find it.

By then, the gates were open, and the line of thousands was inching forward slower than the traffic on the approach to the Bay Bridge. In their infinite wisdom, the powers that be who run the Greek Theater did not see fit to have separate lines for those with tickets and those without, so it was a long wait to get in.

When I finally did, I was happy to see that my seat was much closer than I’d thought (about ten rows back) and on the same side of the stage as Brian Wilson and my two long-standing crushes from his band, Scotty Bennett and Darian Sahanaja.

The theater itself is beautiful and historic, and there’s nothing like seeing live music in an outdoor setting. And there is nothing like seeing the Beach Boys perform on their 50th anniversary tour just days before your 50th birthday. I felt like they were singing just for me:

During the show, images were projected on the screen behind the band, including footage of the Beach Boys in their youth. As Brian was singing the poignant “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times”, he got so absorbed in watching the pictures of his late brothers that he forgot to sing, and Mike Love stepped in to cover for him. I saw Brian realize what happened, give Mike the OK sign, and Mike wink back at him. There is a real bond when you are not only cousins, but band mates going back half a century.

Another moving moment was when the band “backed up”, as Mike put it, footage of the late Carl Wilson singing “God Only Knows”, playing along as Carl sang in that angelic voice of his, and then to Dennis Wilson singing “Forever” shortly before he drowned in the Pacific. Wild spirited and sexy, Dennis packed more into his brief 39 years than most of us do in 80.

The show was nearly three hours long, but it just sped by. It was a wonderful experience and a memory I will always treasure. I feel so lucky to have been there on that beautiful spring evening.

Everything seems to have been too strange for too long.

First there was Rob’s difficult trek to his Mother’s bedside, then it was Megan’s birthday and he wasn’t here, then it was Memorial Day and I didn’t have to work but Megan did, so I was on dog patrol, people came up to visit, then I worked one day at the jobette – where I had a feeling of doom all day – and now I’m in San Francisco for some meetings.

It all seems really weird.

Despite all the weirdness (and all the nightmares I had last night), it was a lovely drive. The sun was shining and it was like driving through a big postcard or a Visit California ad. Turning the other way on the highway (instead of the way that leads to the Big Town), I drove past the ocean, then down some hairpin turns to the river, which regularly overflows in the winter and traps Hootervillians and their visitors when the road is closed.

Then it’s through dappled sunlight and groves of ancient redwood trees that almost blot out the sky. There is something really special about being in the midst of these great trees. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it has elements of spirituality, eeriness, serenity, and the feeling that they have been here for centuries and will be here long after you’re gone.

Next up is the beautiful Anderson Valley:

Bedecked by vineyards and apple orchards:

This is where it was time to put on the A/C.

The Valley gives way to rich farmland, dotted with peaceful cows and glossy horses, the trees still that fresh, translucent green of spring, the rolling hills still verdant from the winter rains, but with hints of the “golden” summer to come. The live oaks make deep pools of shade for the farm animals.

Of course, I had to stop for lunch at the Hamburger Ranch and BBQ in Cloverdale:

Past San Quentin* and the Marin Civic Center, Frank Lloyd Wright’s last commission, and you’re almost there. From the Waldo Grade, I could see that the Bridge was lightly accented with fog, so it was time to turn off the A/C and open the windows. Crossing the Bridge, which had just turned 75 to much fanfare just three days earlier, the fog blew mistily over the towers as if in a movie. There was still lots of sun to highlight the International Orange always worn by the grand old lady of San Francisco – she didn’t need Sephora to tell her it was the Color of the Year.

Now I’m at my home away from home, the modest motel about four blocks from my former home and four hours from my current one. I called Megan when I got here, but just got her voicemail, so I have no real update for you on Rob’s Mother.

She is in hospice care, and the doctors withdrew everything but painkillers several days ago, so it’s surprising that she still (as far as I know) is with us, though not conscious. I have to admit that it makes me sad that Rob went through all that hell to get to her side as quickly as humanly possible and he never got to talk to her or hear her say a word. I hope that people are right when they say that his Mother was aware of her children’s presence, and I further hope that she is in no pain and will pass peacefully.

Rob is flying back tonight, from Ottawa to Philadelphia and then Philadelphia to SFO. As I write, he must be in the air. He will arrive at the San Francisco airport at about midnight and take a cab for our friend Clayton’s house in the Haight. Tomorrow he’ll take a two hour bus ride to Santa Rosa and Megan will pick him up there, and together they will make the two and a half hour drive to Hooterville.

It makes me tired just thinking about it.

I realize that Rob and I will be in San Francisco at the same time, but we won’t see each other.

Everything really is weird.

*Megan used to teach some preschoolers whose classroom had a distant view of San Quentin. They thought it was a castle, and Megan never disillusioned them. Discuss: why does California persist in allocating prime Bay front real estate to prisons (Alcatraz and Quentin)?

Well, my last day in the City did not go exactly as planned.

I packed my bags and the car and otherwise managed to kill a couple of post conference call hours in the early morning. Around 9:30, I set off for Swan Oyster Depot, knowing that they open early. What did not know is they don’t start counter service until 10:30, a new and unwelcome scheduling change.

I walked back to the modest motel, stopping in at Bob’s doughnuts on my way:

I checked out, packed the final few things in the car, and headed back to Swan’s, parking the car in a garage around the corner. It was about 10:45 at this point, so I was kind of shocked by the length of the line at Swan’s. It used to be that if you got there before 11, you’d be OK, but apparently that has gone the way of early morning counter service.

Figuring on a half hour’s wait, I was wrong – it was closer to an hour, but by then, I’d invested so much time, there was no way I was going to leave. Eventually, I perched on a tiny, uncomfortable stool, elbow to elbow with total strangers, and ordered a half cracked crab, which comes with sourdough* and butter and a smile.

It was sparkling fresh, as always, and I enjoyed the ballet behind the counter, as the brothers cracked crabs, shucked oysters, poured wine, and rang up bills – one of the charming things about eating there is telling your server what you had, which he rings up on an old cash register – in the narrow space.

After that, I picked up some extreme take-out from Victor’s:

and headed to the Legion of Honor to the Cult of Beauty exhibit:

where the views of the Bridge:

and the City:

and Sutro Tower:

were lovely.

Inside, not so much. Another line to buy a ticket, much like an airport check in line, where those ahead of me took forever and I took about 30 seconds. How can it take so long to buy a ticket? Arriving at the exhibit, another line to get in, and then I was awash in hordes of tweens, chasing each other around, screaming, giggling, texting – anything but actually looking at the priceless works of art. Not for the first time, I congratulated myself on steadfastly refusing to reproduce.

Despite the tweenage horrors, the exhibit was full of lovely things. My favorites were a chair designed by Sir Lawrence Alta-Tadema (who knew he designed furniture as well as being a painter) in 1884, much more fabulous than any photo could capture:

A remarkably modern tea set made by the gifted Christopher Dresser in 1879:

And of course, Whistler’s Battersea Bridge Nocturne.

By the time I got on the Bridge, the Giants’ home opener was already in progress, and I listened to Matt Cain pitch a one hit shutout, 5-0, against the PIttsburgh Pirates as I headed back to Hooterville.

The sun vanished when I was a few miles over the County line, and there were some showers before I arrived home and greeted the kitties. They definitely missed me. Yesterday, the boys chose sitting with me over playing in the sun, and Audrey, never the most demonstrative of cats, sat on my lap all evening instead of going outside. I’m officially more fun than the Great Outdoors!

*It’s from Boudin’s Bakery, but they bake it longer for Swan’s, so the crust is dark and crispy. I highly recommend it. And remember: you pronounce it Bo-DEENS.

Storm clouds on Polk Street

Well, here I am, ending my trip as I started it, with a pre-dawn conference call. I’m drinking reheated coffee from the French bakery, which I bought just for this purpose, figuring that it would be better than the dreaded in-room coffee. So far, I’m right, though I managed to incur a small, cigarette-type burn on the lower part of the cup while yet leaving the coffee tepid.

Go Me.

I think you need coffee before you make it. Or re-heat it.

Yesterday was mostly a blur of meetings, though I made time at the end of it to meander aimlessly around boutiques in my old ‘hood, buy a birthday card for Megan, and get my nails done at the cheap and cheerful nail salon. I was surprised on this occasion that there were two men there, and they could not have been more different. One was the metrosexual poster child, who also got his eyebrows waxed (clearly copying Me), and the other was the rare to near extinction Gentleman, who wore a hat and carried a cane and not a single white hair was out of place.

In the evening, I gorged on delivery Thai food and hockey playoffs, which are getting unprecedented coverage on TV this year. I checked in with Megan, who told me that the kitties were fine, and that there had been a thunderstorm, garnished with lightning and hail. A couple of hours later, the storm showed up to my party. The thunder was so loud that it kept setting off car alarms. It’s a lot easier to hide from the storm in the modest motel than in the fishbowl of my hippie hovel.

[Update: It wasn’t just my imagination: it was a hell of a storm. 750 lightning strikes in four hours, and nearly an inch and a half of rain. It’s sunny now, though – hopefully a good omen for the Giants home opener on Friday the 13th.]

The real dilemma for today is what to do after the early morning call. There are three or four hours to kill before museums and Victor’s opens. What’s a girl to do? Stay tuned…