Been working out at the nicely equipped Lincoln City Community Center. Also getting physical therapy 2-3 times per week. It is amazing to me how much relief I am feeling in my back after just a handful of sessions. My therapist is using a kind of heated ultra sound on my problem spot. She also has me doing some stretches that seem to help. She's a really nice young woman but I find myself wondering when I got so much older than every medical professional I'm seeing.
The community center just bought a seated stair stepper, which is what I used to lose all that weight back in New York State. It is a piece of equipment that can be used by people who have limited mobility, but it is actually a good workout for anyone.
I went to a gym in Watkins Glen that was owned by Barb, a member of the Hector church. She was a fabulous trainer and did her work for love of fitness, not for money. She was given the stair stepper after the death of Father Dave, the former priest at the Watkins Glen Catholic church. He had severe diabetes which contributed to his death. Barb kept one of the mass cards from Father Dave's funeral taped to the wall by the machine.
Dave had been a good colleague. He had a lot of complications from his diabetes, including partial blindness We did a wedding together of a Presbyterian groom and a Catholic bride. The bride also had a Franciscan priest who she knew in college in Chicago. When Dave got the exchange of peace, he turned to who he thought were the bride and groom and said that at this point, they may kiss. But it wasn't the bride and groom, it was me and the Franciscan priest. While everyone laughed, we shrugged and looked at each other with that "Why not?" look.
It has always struck me that my friend dying brought a piece of equipment to me that helped me to be healthier. Life and death are intertwined in ways that we cannot comprehend. Surely that is something that we all believe as Christians.
Working out, cardio, weights and floor work for core and cool down, always leaves me with quite the endorphin rush. I often think of a line from my favorite movie, "The Empire Strikes Back". "I feel like I could take on the whole Empire myself." Somewhere, between the last illness and death of my mother and the stress I had on the job, I let go of going to the gym. My fall in August 2009 also slowed me down.
Now that I'm back to working out, I think I turned a lot of my anger and stress and grief in on myself. Taking care of myself ceased to be an option. It's a real danger for many people, especially for women. I thought I was beyond that danger, but I wasn't. So now I am learning to care for myself again.
Self care doesn't mean self centered. The opposite of self care is self destruction.
My physical therapist has pointed out that I've been walking around hunched over. Apparently I've been doing that for some time now. She's got me working on standing up straight when I walk. It feels unnatural right now. I feel like I'm John Cleese in that old Python sketch, "Ministry of Silly Walks", but I'm told it looks better.
Stand up straight, raise your head, shoulders back, walk. Simplest thing in the world.
God, who walked among us, grant that we may all learn to walk in your way with strength and with peace. Amen.
blessings,
Cindy
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Random Thoughts
Old men in Oregon are just adorable. When I pulled up to a crosswalk today, there was an older gentleman walking who I waved to go ahead. He stopped in front of my car, trying to read my liscense plate. When he could make it out, he said, "Oh! Nebraska!" outloud. I gave him a thumbs up and he mimed shivering to indicate that it was much colder in Nebraska. Or maybe in Oregon. Either way it was pretty adorable.
My Nebraska liscense plate is exciting a lot of comment here. When I pulled up to the Chinese place to get my takeout, a couple dining inside were pointing and talking. That has been happening a lot.
It reminded me of a time back in Hector, NY. There was a little crossroads nearby called Logan. Logan had an old Methodist chruch building, that the Logan community had bought and maintained. It was supported every year with a Christmas bazaar and a Spring bazaar. There were crafts to sell, but the highlight was the mac and cheese they sold. There were several pounds of cheese grated into each batch. So, one year, as Christmas approached, I went up to Logan for my mac and cheese. There were no Hector or Lodi church folks eating, but i saw I lady I knew slightly eating with some friends and she invited me to join them. She introduced me to her friends and one of them said, "Harvey? Are you related to the Harveys in Odessa?" It was a question I often got in that neighborhood.
"No ma'am, all my people are back in Nebraska."
This one little factual statement excited the lady. "Nebraska!" She turned ther companions. "I don't think I've ever met a Nebraskan before! They're kind of rare, aren't they?" I remember thinking, Nebraskans are common as dirt where I come from!" She looked at me again as if I were a rare species of bug pinned to board.
But the fact is, we are kind of rare. Despite providing the world with, Willa Cather, Henry Fonda, Johnny Carson, L. Ron Hubbard, Marg Helgenberger, Dick Cheney and Malcom X, (wouldn't that be a heck of a dinner party?) we are rare. There are 1.7 million people living in Nebraska. When Memorial Stadium is full on a beautiful fall Saturday the crowd of 85,000 is the third largest city in the state. 85,000 is just a blip in the population of other states. I met about 150 other Nebraskans just a week ago at the Oregonians for Nebraska in Portland, but out here on the coast, I am a rarity once again.
Anyway, back to old men in Oregon. Here is my other example, I was standing in front of the case containing eggs in the Safeway the other night, when an older gentleman said to me, "Have they brought the eggs yet?" I looked at him in wonder and gestured to the multiplicity of egg choices in front of us. He opened the ad from the store he had in his hand. "No,they've got a sale on 18 large eggs! You can get a coupon at the front of the store." I smiled and explained that 18 eggs don't stay fresh long enough for one person. He explained about several other things on sale (maybe he is one of those viral marketers for Safeway?) before I could disengage and get my other items. Weird, but still, pretty adorable.
God, we thank you for the kindness of strangers and the strange nature of kindness. Help us when we feel alone and let us know we are surrounded by your love in a way we cannot understand and by your love in our brothers and sisters who are also always around us. Amen.
blessings,
Cindy
My Nebraska liscense plate is exciting a lot of comment here. When I pulled up to the Chinese place to get my takeout, a couple dining inside were pointing and talking. That has been happening a lot.
It reminded me of a time back in Hector, NY. There was a little crossroads nearby called Logan. Logan had an old Methodist chruch building, that the Logan community had bought and maintained. It was supported every year with a Christmas bazaar and a Spring bazaar. There were crafts to sell, but the highlight was the mac and cheese they sold. There were several pounds of cheese grated into each batch. So, one year, as Christmas approached, I went up to Logan for my mac and cheese. There were no Hector or Lodi church folks eating, but i saw I lady I knew slightly eating with some friends and she invited me to join them. She introduced me to her friends and one of them said, "Harvey? Are you related to the Harveys in Odessa?" It was a question I often got in that neighborhood.
"No ma'am, all my people are back in Nebraska."
This one little factual statement excited the lady. "Nebraska!" She turned ther companions. "I don't think I've ever met a Nebraskan before! They're kind of rare, aren't they?" I remember thinking, Nebraskans are common as dirt where I come from!" She looked at me again as if I were a rare species of bug pinned to board.
But the fact is, we are kind of rare. Despite providing the world with, Willa Cather, Henry Fonda, Johnny Carson, L. Ron Hubbard, Marg Helgenberger, Dick Cheney and Malcom X, (wouldn't that be a heck of a dinner party?) we are rare. There are 1.7 million people living in Nebraska. When Memorial Stadium is full on a beautiful fall Saturday the crowd of 85,000 is the third largest city in the state. 85,000 is just a blip in the population of other states. I met about 150 other Nebraskans just a week ago at the Oregonians for Nebraska in Portland, but out here on the coast, I am a rarity once again.
Anyway, back to old men in Oregon. Here is my other example, I was standing in front of the case containing eggs in the Safeway the other night, when an older gentleman said to me, "Have they brought the eggs yet?" I looked at him in wonder and gestured to the multiplicity of egg choices in front of us. He opened the ad from the store he had in his hand. "No,they've got a sale on 18 large eggs! You can get a coupon at the front of the store." I smiled and explained that 18 eggs don't stay fresh long enough for one person. He explained about several other things on sale (maybe he is one of those viral marketers for Safeway?) before I could disengage and get my other items. Weird, but still, pretty adorable.
God, we thank you for the kindness of strangers and the strange nature of kindness. Help us when we feel alone and let us know we are surrounded by your love in a way we cannot understand and by your love in our brothers and sisters who are also always around us. Amen.
blessings,
Cindy
Friday, October 1, 2010
Beach: Just me and the Seagulls
Cold and foggy here today, Friday. It had been sunny and warm for the Oregon Coast, about 75. Just a nice warm fall day in Nebraska, but unseasonably warm on the coast.
I moved here on Monday. Here is the beach house in Lincoln City belonging to my friends Susan and Fred. I'm settling in. I now have a post office box and a library card. I had to provide my Nebraska driver's license, vehicle registration and insurance card and do some fast talking to get my PO box. The postal worker was very suspicious of me and I'm not sure he got over the suspicion. At the library, the solution was for me to pay $12.50 for three months of library privileges. Staff much less suspicious at the library. When I mentioned how much I had worked in libraries, the volunteer came running. We agreed to let me settle in first.
I've been going around finding local pubs, coffee places and eateries. Been going to places with wifi, but now I've got one of those plug in things and my own wifi anytime. But I was advised to go to the coffee place or library if I want to download something large or watch a streaming video. But now I can stay home and blog or Facebook or Tweet or e-mail and should be able to stay well within my allowance of 5GB per month. I can also pay my bills or order from Amazon online without worrying about my information being broadcast all over Oregon.
I figured out that this bed in the house is the 13th bed I have slept in since we stored my bed in Kearney, but only if you count my floor in Kearney, too. Still, that is a lot of beds. It has been nice of all my friends and family to take me in, but there is something wonderful about having my own space at last.
Wednesday morning was my first morning here that I woke up after going to the store. So I celebrated with breakfast at home: two fried eggs on toast and yogurt. Took it all out to the yard to enjoy. The house is above the beach so I didn't think anything when I seagull glided by at eye level. I wondered idly if he could catch a piece of bread in his mouth, dismissing the idea out of hand because I do know enough not to encourage the sea gulls.
I don't know if seagulls can read minds, if they know how people look when they eat or if they are blessed with a remarkable sense of smell but one of those has to be true. In a moment he was joined by two friends or relations coming closer and closer and screaming at the top of their lungs.
I beat a hasty retreat to the house. The picture of Tippi Hedren in the phone booth as in my head, but my real fear was seagull poop in my eggs. I eat my breakfast inside and at peace now. I notice they don't bother me when I am reading or talking on the phone or just sitting outside.
The ocean is a new experience for this girl from Nebraska. I know that I lived in the Bay Area for four years, but how often did I get to the beach? Not that often. Even when I lived a half mile from Ocean Beach in San Francisco I didn't get there that often. Usually, just on nice days. I've stayed on the coast before, I've stayed on this coast, but living here is something different.
Living right smack on the ocean is new. Is the tide going out or coming in? Fortunately,they print the tide tables in the paper and online. It amazes how the surf can go from light to heavy in the course of just a few minutes, just long enough to change the laundry today. I expect that constant roar to be wind. I look out the window, everything is still except the sea. Still much to learn.
I have been sending out self referrals for new calls. I have appointments for therapy next week, both physical and the other kind. Am working on getting on the Cascades Presbytery Pulpit Supply List. They have to check me out first and make sure I am decent and in order. That is how it should be.
Brother Bill's best friend since grade school, Mike C is coming out for a visit on Sunday. I'll be glad to see him, he's one of a handful of people who has a good claim to being the Fifth Harvey Kid.
A last word from an infinitely better writer:
By that long scan of waves, myself call'd back, resumed upon myself,
In every crest some undulating light or shade--some retrospect,
Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas--scenes ephemeral,
The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,
Myself through every by-gone phase--my idle youth--old age at hand,
My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,
By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,
And haply yet some drop within God's scheme's ensemble--some
wave, or part of wave,
Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.
Walt Whitman
blessings to us all, wave or part of wave
Cindy
I moved here on Monday. Here is the beach house in Lincoln City belonging to my friends Susan and Fred. I'm settling in. I now have a post office box and a library card. I had to provide my Nebraska driver's license, vehicle registration and insurance card and do some fast talking to get my PO box. The postal worker was very suspicious of me and I'm not sure he got over the suspicion. At the library, the solution was for me to pay $12.50 for three months of library privileges. Staff much less suspicious at the library. When I mentioned how much I had worked in libraries, the volunteer came running. We agreed to let me settle in first.
I've been going around finding local pubs, coffee places and eateries. Been going to places with wifi, but now I've got one of those plug in things and my own wifi anytime. But I was advised to go to the coffee place or library if I want to download something large or watch a streaming video. But now I can stay home and blog or Facebook or Tweet or e-mail and should be able to stay well within my allowance of 5GB per month. I can also pay my bills or order from Amazon online without worrying about my information being broadcast all over Oregon.
I figured out that this bed in the house is the 13th bed I have slept in since we stored my bed in Kearney, but only if you count my floor in Kearney, too. Still, that is a lot of beds. It has been nice of all my friends and family to take me in, but there is something wonderful about having my own space at last.
Wednesday morning was my first morning here that I woke up after going to the store. So I celebrated with breakfast at home: two fried eggs on toast and yogurt. Took it all out to the yard to enjoy. The house is above the beach so I didn't think anything when I seagull glided by at eye level. I wondered idly if he could catch a piece of bread in his mouth, dismissing the idea out of hand because I do know enough not to encourage the sea gulls.
I don't know if seagulls can read minds, if they know how people look when they eat or if they are blessed with a remarkable sense of smell but one of those has to be true. In a moment he was joined by two friends or relations coming closer and closer and screaming at the top of their lungs.
I beat a hasty retreat to the house. The picture of Tippi Hedren in the phone booth as in my head, but my real fear was seagull poop in my eggs. I eat my breakfast inside and at peace now. I notice they don't bother me when I am reading or talking on the phone or just sitting outside.
The ocean is a new experience for this girl from Nebraska. I know that I lived in the Bay Area for four years, but how often did I get to the beach? Not that often. Even when I lived a half mile from Ocean Beach in San Francisco I didn't get there that often. Usually, just on nice days. I've stayed on the coast before, I've stayed on this coast, but living here is something different.
Living right smack on the ocean is new. Is the tide going out or coming in? Fortunately,they print the tide tables in the paper and online. It amazes how the surf can go from light to heavy in the course of just a few minutes, just long enough to change the laundry today. I expect that constant roar to be wind. I look out the window, everything is still except the sea. Still much to learn.
I have been sending out self referrals for new calls. I have appointments for therapy next week, both physical and the other kind. Am working on getting on the Cascades Presbytery Pulpit Supply List. They have to check me out first and make sure I am decent and in order. That is how it should be.
Brother Bill's best friend since grade school, Mike C is coming out for a visit on Sunday. I'll be glad to see him, he's one of a handful of people who has a good claim to being the Fifth Harvey Kid.
A last word from an infinitely better writer:
By that long scan of waves, myself call'd back, resumed upon myself,
In every crest some undulating light or shade--some retrospect,
Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas--scenes ephemeral,
The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,
Myself through every by-gone phase--my idle youth--old age at hand,
My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,
By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,
And haply yet some drop within God's scheme's ensemble--some
wave, or part of wave,
Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.
Walt Whitman
blessings to us all, wave or part of wave
Cindy
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Worship
After being a UCC and a Lutheran since I left Kearney, I was a Presbyterian for the first time today. It was lovely. I went and heard my friend Laurie preach. She is a friend from seminary that I've been able to connect with on Facebook. I know that people joke about Facebook, but it has been a blessing for me to find so many people I have lost track of through the years.
Laurie is an associate pastor at a multi staff church here in Portland. It is a beautiful old building with a large and enthusiastic congregation with a lot of kids. The worship was thoughtful and followed the central theme of Jesus parable of the poor man Lazarus and the rich man. Laurie preached a great sermon on the topic. There was a baptism of a baby girl who looked like she was the source of infinite wisdom, as babies often do.
I realized as I watched my friend preach, that I miss preaching. I miss leading worship. I always thought of attending a worship service as a special treat. It was nice to go to church and not have to be the one in charge. It was something that I was able to do so infrequently, either at a Presbytery meeting or when I was vacation or study leave, that it was a special pleasure.
I enjoyed the worship today. I felt blessed to be among such lovely people, to see how well Laurie preached. But for the first time today, I really missed it. Preaching and worship leadership was always my favorite part of the job.
So I've got a call into Cascades Presbytery. I'm hoping to get on their pulpit supply list. I need to get back on the horse, one step at a time.
Susan took me to the beach house in Lincoln City for the fist time on Friday. We spent the night there. It is an older house, it reminded me a lot of the houses you see around Seneca Lake, up above the water, great views. The weather was incredibly clear while we were there. The sunset was incredible. There was a full moon that night and you could see the ocean in the moonlight. I felt like this was a place I could sit and watch the sea and pray and write and heal and grow strong. I move there tomorrow.
Blessings,
Cindy
Laurie is an associate pastor at a multi staff church here in Portland. It is a beautiful old building with a large and enthusiastic congregation with a lot of kids. The worship was thoughtful and followed the central theme of Jesus parable of the poor man Lazarus and the rich man. Laurie preached a great sermon on the topic. There was a baptism of a baby girl who looked like she was the source of infinite wisdom, as babies often do.
I realized as I watched my friend preach, that I miss preaching. I miss leading worship. I always thought of attending a worship service as a special treat. It was nice to go to church and not have to be the one in charge. It was something that I was able to do so infrequently, either at a Presbytery meeting or when I was vacation or study leave, that it was a special pleasure.
I enjoyed the worship today. I felt blessed to be among such lovely people, to see how well Laurie preached. But for the first time today, I really missed it. Preaching and worship leadership was always my favorite part of the job.
So I've got a call into Cascades Presbytery. I'm hoping to get on their pulpit supply list. I need to get back on the horse, one step at a time.
Susan took me to the beach house in Lincoln City for the fist time on Friday. We spent the night there. It is an older house, it reminded me a lot of the houses you see around Seneca Lake, up above the water, great views. The weather was incredibly clear while we were there. The sunset was incredible. There was a full moon that night and you could see the ocean in the moonlight. I felt like this was a place I could sit and watch the sea and pray and write and heal and grow strong. I move there tomorrow.
Blessings,
Cindy
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Oregon, not Busted
Am writing this in the comfy family room of the home of my friends, Fred, Susan and their son Colin. I baptized both Colin and Fred on the same day, Colin was just a toddler, Fred, obviously not. Colin is now a 6'2" teenager. The place, Lake Oswego, a suburb of Portland, Oregon. I made it. Fred and Susan are the lovely people who have invited me to live in their beach house in Lincoln City. Susan and I will go to see the house tomorrow, so she can make sure everything is OK and show me stores, the library, the community center and the good places to eat.
Left San Francisco last Saturday. I had planned to get to Marilee's by the Nebraska/Washington kickoff, but traffic on Hwy 101 was not cooperating. Got there in time to see Melinda, Marilee's daughter who is now a delightful young woman. The big highlight of Saturday was a trip to karaoke at a local gay bar. I sang, "L-O-V-E" as I did in Lake Tahoe. Well received, I thought. I was the only woman in the bar carrying a purse.
On Sunday morning I was a UCC with Marilee and her mother. Pleasant congregation, the interior of the church reminded a lot of the church I served in Hector, NY. Same kind of pulpit, similar pews. The organist played the hymns at a really good tempo and I had a good chat with him afterwards. Sunday night was quiet since Marilee and Erin had a celebration at MCC in San Francisco for their pastor who is leaving. The idea of attending a celebration for a pastor who was leaving seemed a little close to home, so I stayed and Marilee's mom fixed me dinner even though I told her not to.
Left and headed north the next day. Drove through the vineyards of Sonoma County, through the old Spanish settlement of Sonoma and skirted the edge of Napa before I got on the freeway to take me to I-5 which my friend Kris called "the guts of the west."
California's central valley as flat as Kansas and a shock to the system after Bay Area. But Kansas is not bordered by hills on either side. Drive, north, north north, past irrigated fields and orchards. If you eat food, you've had food from the Central Valley. Approaching Corning, California and suddenly Mt. Shasta appears on the horizon, it could be a mirage, disconnected from the ground. Stopped at the "Olive Pit" for some presents for Oregon friends and kept driving toward the mirage. I kept trying to pull off the freeway and take a photo of Mt. Shasta, but couldn't find a vista that didn't include the McDonald's arch or the sign for a muffler shop. I had to get past the mountain and a rest stop that was almost in Oregon to get a view without a sign in it.
Stopped in Redding for gas. Not only was it cheap, but a young man actually came around and scrubbed the bugs off my windshield. I was so shocked I tipped him two bucks!
Soon, I crossed the border into Oregon. Medford and my bed for the night was easily reached. I love how many of these 1950's or older motels have reinvented themselves with a updated interior and in room microwaved, coffee pots, mini fridges, free wifi and flatscreen TV's.
Next day was an easy drive into Portland and my friends. They have been cooking delicious dinners and asking if they can get me anything else.
On the drive north, I had one of my self pity moments. OK, more than one. I don't have a job. Lots of people right now don't have jobs. Most of them don't have six months of severance and a free beach house in Oregon. I thought of Job, who lost so much more than I ever have and thought of him saying, "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I realized for the first time, he said it with a lump in his throat, choking back his tears.
So, I got over my self pity and made a joke about being homeless to Fred and Susan. Susan told me later she was upset when I said that. "You aren't homeless, you have a home as long as you need one."
I learned again, the people in your life are truly a gift from God.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
blessings,
Cindy
Left San Francisco last Saturday. I had planned to get to Marilee's by the Nebraska/Washington kickoff, but traffic on Hwy 101 was not cooperating. Got there in time to see Melinda, Marilee's daughter who is now a delightful young woman. The big highlight of Saturday was a trip to karaoke at a local gay bar. I sang, "L-O-V-E" as I did in Lake Tahoe. Well received, I thought. I was the only woman in the bar carrying a purse.
On Sunday morning I was a UCC with Marilee and her mother. Pleasant congregation, the interior of the church reminded a lot of the church I served in Hector, NY. Same kind of pulpit, similar pews. The organist played the hymns at a really good tempo and I had a good chat with him afterwards. Sunday night was quiet since Marilee and Erin had a celebration at MCC in San Francisco for their pastor who is leaving. The idea of attending a celebration for a pastor who was leaving seemed a little close to home, so I stayed and Marilee's mom fixed me dinner even though I told her not to.
Left and headed north the next day. Drove through the vineyards of Sonoma County, through the old Spanish settlement of Sonoma and skirted the edge of Napa before I got on the freeway to take me to I-5 which my friend Kris called "the guts of the west."
California's central valley as flat as Kansas and a shock to the system after Bay Area. But Kansas is not bordered by hills on either side. Drive, north, north north, past irrigated fields and orchards. If you eat food, you've had food from the Central Valley. Approaching Corning, California and suddenly Mt. Shasta appears on the horizon, it could be a mirage, disconnected from the ground. Stopped at the "Olive Pit" for some presents for Oregon friends and kept driving toward the mirage. I kept trying to pull off the freeway and take a photo of Mt. Shasta, but couldn't find a vista that didn't include the McDonald's arch or the sign for a muffler shop. I had to get past the mountain and a rest stop that was almost in Oregon to get a view without a sign in it.
Stopped in Redding for gas. Not only was it cheap, but a young man actually came around and scrubbed the bugs off my windshield. I was so shocked I tipped him two bucks!
Soon, I crossed the border into Oregon. Medford and my bed for the night was easily reached. I love how many of these 1950's or older motels have reinvented themselves with a updated interior and in room microwaved, coffee pots, mini fridges, free wifi and flatscreen TV's.
Next day was an easy drive into Portland and my friends. They have been cooking delicious dinners and asking if they can get me anything else.
On the drive north, I had one of my self pity moments. OK, more than one. I don't have a job. Lots of people right now don't have jobs. Most of them don't have six months of severance and a free beach house in Oregon. I thought of Job, who lost so much more than I ever have and thought of him saying, "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I realized for the first time, he said it with a lump in his throat, choking back his tears.
So, I got over my self pity and made a joke about being homeless to Fred and Susan. Susan told me later she was upset when I said that. "You aren't homeless, you have a home as long as you need one."
I learned again, the people in your life are truly a gift from God.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
blessings,
Cindy
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Cindy's San Francisco
Long but enjoyable day. Jim took me to Japantown today. This is my old stomping ground. I spent my internship year with the delightful Christ United Presbyterian Church in J-town. Christ United is a resilient little congregation that withstood being taken over by the Presbytery of San Francisco when the members of the congregation were interned by the US government during World War II. Most of San Francisco's original J-town was destroyed during the war, what is there now is mostly commercial property centered on the Japantown mall and community organizations like the Japantown Foundation, Christ United Church and the Buddhist Church.
I grew to have a lot of fondness for that little area of San Francisco and was happy to see it again. Even happier to go to Mifune's for cold soba noodles and then to the sushi boat place just for the sheer pleasure of seeing those little boats laden with sushi glide by with their lovely treasures.
It is an amazing thing to return to the scene of one's youth and find that it is largely unchanged. I turned 30 during that internship year and felt as old as the hills. I look back now and think about that thinner, more flexible, more idealistic version of me and smile at her naivete. But it is a smile of profound affection.
Tonight, Jim and I went to the Giants game at the beautiful AT&T Park. So much fun to arrive at the gate by MUNI. Would have been more fun to see the Giants win, but any day in a major league ballpark is a good one, especially this new old fashioned ball park.
I love this city. I am not sure I could ever live or work here again, but I am profoundly grateful that I had that time when I was young. Jim and I had a conversation today about how the best time to live in San Francisco is when you are young and single and don't have to worry about educating a family or finding an affordable mortgage. I'm glad I did it when I was young and didn't mind sleeping on futon or sharing a house with two other people.
In that spirit, let me give you some of Cindy's tips for being happy in San Francisco.
1. Bring a jacket.
It gets cold in the winter. And the spring. And the fall. And the summer.
2. San Franciscans do not wear white after Labor Day.
San Franciscans do not wear white before Labor Day, either. White sneakers are the only exception to this rule.
3. Start with the movies filmed here.
There are so many classic and not so classic movies that were filmed here! "Vertigo" and "Bullit" and one my favorites "Time After Time." Get a guidebook like "Celluloid San Francisco" and check it out.
4. The real San Francisco is not at the tourist spots.
Real San Franciscans do not go to Alcatraz unless dragged there by out of town friends. It's ugly and you can't get a beer or a decent cup of coffee there. Go to Pier 39 or Fisherman's Wharf or Ghiardelli Square if you must, but know that you are in the part of town that is entirely populated by tourists or by people who work there. That is not the real San Francisco.
5. Get out into the neighborhoods.
San Francisco is a collection of all these wonderful neighborhoods, each has a history and a culture. Chinatown, Japantown, the Castro, the Haight, Noe Valley, Nob Hill, North Beach, the Richmond, the Sunset, the Mission, the Marina district are just a few of these wonderful neighborhoods. This is where actual San Franciscans live and work and shop and eat.
6. Let's eat!
A diner's paradise. Dim Sum, sushi, pizza, California cuisine, vegetarian, vegan, Thai, Russian. Don't you dare think of going to McDonald's or some other restaurant chain! Outside the tourist areas, you can find some very affordable. They brew great coffee here. I never drank coffee until I moved to the Bay Area. The coffee in Nebraska when I moved away was bitter, thin and tepid. My mom used to put an ice cube in her coffee so it would cool faster. In San Francisco I found out that coffee was thick and strong and wonderful. By the time I moved back to Nebraska 20 years later, good coffee influenced by the barista culture of the West Coast was everywhere. The premiere seafood is the dungeness crab. Good just boiled and served with lemon or in a special sauce from an Asian place.
Rice a Roni? Not the San Francisco treat. It's made across the Bay in San Leandro. The only place you will see it is the ads on the cable cars.
7. San Franciscans do not wear stupid t-shirts.
You know the ones. "Property of Alcatraz" Shirts with pictures of cable cars. Shirts that say, "San Francisco" without any affiliation to a team or organization.
If you want to blend in, buy a Giants cap or a 49ers shirt. Or if you must an A's cap or a Raiders jacket. San Franciscans dress in layers that they can add or peel off as the fog comes in or burns off.
8. San Francisco can be a deeply spiritual city
This is a minority view, but I do truly still believe it after all these years. There are beautiful churches in this city, Grace Cathedral, Mission Delores, Old First Presbyterian. Glide Methodist has a fabulous tradition of community activism. Even little churches in San Francisco tend to be architectural treasures. Julia Morgan, the architect of Hearst Castle, designed little Ocean Avenue Presbyterian where I worked in the Outer Mission. My favorite congregations in San Francisco tend to be eclectic, ethnically diverse and gay friendly.
9. San Franciscans prize people who are unique, eccentric and rebellous
So don't stare at the drag queens. Don't stare at the aging hippies. Don't stare at the transexuals. Don't stare at the Giants fans who are dressed in orange. People who walk to the beat of a different drummer are quite normal here.
10. What to do:
Golden Gate Park, the De Young Museum, Legion of Honor Museum, SF MOMA, the Giants, the Niners, music in little clubs, music with the symphony or the opera. Movies, bookstores, shopping. But please, do not miss walking on the Golden Gate Bridge. Amazing views of the city, cold winds blowing in from the ocean, the bridge vibrating in the wind or from the traffic. And it is free to walk across, free to drive to Marin County on the bridge, but if you want to get back into San Francisco by car, you have to pay the tolls.
But once you have been, you'll come back. That's why, whenever the Giants win, they play, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco."
On to Santa Rosa in beautiful Sonoma County tomorrow. Staying with my friend Marilee and her family for a few days and to watch the Nebraska game tomorrow. Marilee is a seminary classmate who is from Lincoln, so, Go Big Red!
blessings,
Cindy
PS don't call it Frisco. The name of the city is San Francisco. And don't bring up Barry Bonds. Just don't.
I grew to have a lot of fondness for that little area of San Francisco and was happy to see it again. Even happier to go to Mifune's for cold soba noodles and then to the sushi boat place just for the sheer pleasure of seeing those little boats laden with sushi glide by with their lovely treasures.
It is an amazing thing to return to the scene of one's youth and find that it is largely unchanged. I turned 30 during that internship year and felt as old as the hills. I look back now and think about that thinner, more flexible, more idealistic version of me and smile at her naivete. But it is a smile of profound affection.
Tonight, Jim and I went to the Giants game at the beautiful AT&T Park. So much fun to arrive at the gate by MUNI. Would have been more fun to see the Giants win, but any day in a major league ballpark is a good one, especially this new old fashioned ball park.
I love this city. I am not sure I could ever live or work here again, but I am profoundly grateful that I had that time when I was young. Jim and I had a conversation today about how the best time to live in San Francisco is when you are young and single and don't have to worry about educating a family or finding an affordable mortgage. I'm glad I did it when I was young and didn't mind sleeping on futon or sharing a house with two other people.
In that spirit, let me give you some of Cindy's tips for being happy in San Francisco.
1. Bring a jacket.
It gets cold in the winter. And the spring. And the fall. And the summer.
2. San Franciscans do not wear white after Labor Day.
San Franciscans do not wear white before Labor Day, either. White sneakers are the only exception to this rule.
3. Start with the movies filmed here.
There are so many classic and not so classic movies that were filmed here! "Vertigo" and "Bullit" and one my favorites "Time After Time." Get a guidebook like "Celluloid San Francisco" and check it out.
4. The real San Francisco is not at the tourist spots.
Real San Franciscans do not go to Alcatraz unless dragged there by out of town friends. It's ugly and you can't get a beer or a decent cup of coffee there. Go to Pier 39 or Fisherman's Wharf or Ghiardelli Square if you must, but know that you are in the part of town that is entirely populated by tourists or by people who work there. That is not the real San Francisco.
5. Get out into the neighborhoods.
San Francisco is a collection of all these wonderful neighborhoods, each has a history and a culture. Chinatown, Japantown, the Castro, the Haight, Noe Valley, Nob Hill, North Beach, the Richmond, the Sunset, the Mission, the Marina district are just a few of these wonderful neighborhoods. This is where actual San Franciscans live and work and shop and eat.
6. Let's eat!
A diner's paradise. Dim Sum, sushi, pizza, California cuisine, vegetarian, vegan, Thai, Russian. Don't you dare think of going to McDonald's or some other restaurant chain! Outside the tourist areas, you can find some very affordable. They brew great coffee here. I never drank coffee until I moved to the Bay Area. The coffee in Nebraska when I moved away was bitter, thin and tepid. My mom used to put an ice cube in her coffee so it would cool faster. In San Francisco I found out that coffee was thick and strong and wonderful. By the time I moved back to Nebraska 20 years later, good coffee influenced by the barista culture of the West Coast was everywhere. The premiere seafood is the dungeness crab. Good just boiled and served with lemon or in a special sauce from an Asian place.
Rice a Roni? Not the San Francisco treat. It's made across the Bay in San Leandro. The only place you will see it is the ads on the cable cars.
7. San Franciscans do not wear stupid t-shirts.
You know the ones. "Property of Alcatraz" Shirts with pictures of cable cars. Shirts that say, "San Francisco" without any affiliation to a team or organization.
If you want to blend in, buy a Giants cap or a 49ers shirt. Or if you must an A's cap or a Raiders jacket. San Franciscans dress in layers that they can add or peel off as the fog comes in or burns off.
8. San Francisco can be a deeply spiritual city
This is a minority view, but I do truly still believe it after all these years. There are beautiful churches in this city, Grace Cathedral, Mission Delores, Old First Presbyterian. Glide Methodist has a fabulous tradition of community activism. Even little churches in San Francisco tend to be architectural treasures. Julia Morgan, the architect of Hearst Castle, designed little Ocean Avenue Presbyterian where I worked in the Outer Mission. My favorite congregations in San Francisco tend to be eclectic, ethnically diverse and gay friendly.
9. San Franciscans prize people who are unique, eccentric and rebellous
So don't stare at the drag queens. Don't stare at the aging hippies. Don't stare at the transexuals. Don't stare at the Giants fans who are dressed in orange. People who walk to the beat of a different drummer are quite normal here.
10. What to do:
Golden Gate Park, the De Young Museum, Legion of Honor Museum, SF MOMA, the Giants, the Niners, music in little clubs, music with the symphony or the opera. Movies, bookstores, shopping. But please, do not miss walking on the Golden Gate Bridge. Amazing views of the city, cold winds blowing in from the ocean, the bridge vibrating in the wind or from the traffic. And it is free to walk across, free to drive to Marin County on the bridge, but if you want to get back into San Francisco by car, you have to pay the tolls.
But once you have been, you'll come back. That's why, whenever the Giants win, they play, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco."
On to Santa Rosa in beautiful Sonoma County tomorrow. Staying with my friend Marilee and her family for a few days and to watch the Nebraska game tomorrow. Marilee is a seminary classmate who is from Lincoln, so, Go Big Red!
blessings,
Cindy
PS don't call it Frisco. The name of the city is San Francisco. And don't bring up Barry Bonds. Just don't.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Our Heroine's Journey So Far
I'm in San Francisco, at the home of Jim and Dolly. Jim is a seminary classmate who is now a college counselor and delightful Dolly is a nurse. I was lucky enough to stay with them for a few days last year when I came to San Anselmo for study leave. They spoiled me rotten on that last trip and they are continuing now. They have a large house just south of Golden Gate Park. We all went out for Dim Sum today before Dolly had to go to work and I am still feeling stuffed! Sorry I haven't updated lately, but here is the journey so far.
Left Omaha and stopped in Kearney. Got my hair fixed one last time by my stylist. Had to go to church to pick up a few forgotten items and it was OK. Went to storage and dropped off extra clothes and pick up winter coats. Coffee with Lutheran pastor John G, dinner with Presbyterian pastor, Caroline Vickery for excellent Thai food. Yes, Kearney has Thai food made by actual Thai people! Went on to North Platte after dinner.
Spent two nights with the Hawley family in North Platte. Several good conversations with BFF Amy Hawley. Ate good Chinese food, spent time with charming Jamie and Aaron Hawley, the kids. Jim off meeting and greeting with his fellow wizards.
Spent one night in Denver because my little place in the mountains didn't have a reservation the first night. I forget between visits how much Denver just pisses me off. The traffic, the sprawl, the general frack you attitude. At the end when I was trying to get turned around and to a gas station, I just yelled to the cars interior, "I just want to leave this #@& city!!!" So I did and headed for the hills.
I love going up into the mountains. When I was a kid, we went every year from Omaha to just above Idaho Springs where we rented one of the Big Spruce Cabins operated by the Cole family. After we left Denver, we would say the name of the exits like a mantra. Lookout Mountain, Mother Cabrini, Buffalo Bill's grave. Buffalo Bill's grave always included mutual agreement about injustice of him not being buried in Nebraska. El Rancho, Floyd Hill, Chief Hosa, turn off to Central City, Idaho Springs! Idaho Springs!
In the fifties, my dad's best friend moved to Idaho Springs and we would come out first to visit them and my parents former pastor from Lincoln. Renting the cabin for a few weeks meant we had our own place and own place to cook, especially the trout we caught.
The Cole family sold Big Spruce in 1977. Alan Cole, the son of the couple who built the place, came and told us while we were staying there. An era ended in the Harvey family. We had lost that common place we all loved. Since then, Tom and my parents came to love Georgetown, Mike and Sue often go to a friend's home in Salida, Bill and family have Evergreen and Aspen. I didn't find my happy place until I found Hot Sulphur Springs just last year. The Big Spruce Cabins passed through a few different hands and is now owned by people who only rent it out for months at a time and who want to run a credit check before you rent. The days when Mr. Cole would take a personal check and a handshake are long past.
A few years ago, I drove up to Big Spruce Cabins. The Big Spruce it was named for is now gone. Lightening or pine blight, I suppose. I got teary as a took a picture of the enormous stump to show to my brothers.
I still like to stop in Idaho Springs, though. Somethings are exactly the same, like the statue of Steve Canyon, the old gold mines and the water wheel. Somethings are new like the Starbucks and a new addition just this summer since June, a business named "Cannabis Med." I had to circle the block three times to make sure I was looking at what I thought. No, I did not stop.
There is a charming deli in Idaho Springs, Two Brothers. A lot of locals hang there and so do I. It is run by laid-back women, has wonderful sandwiches and soups and coffee.
Then it was up I-70 the the Eisenhower Tunnel. I like to drive in the mountains. Both of my parents had sure hands and taught me how to slow the car without stepping on the brakes by down shifting. It was frustrating all the way up to the tunnel because two lanes had to merge to one. We had a lovely delay of about 40 minutes for about a ten foot section of work being done. Two lanes again through the tunnel. When I emerged from the tunnel, I pulled into the fast lane and descended 3500 feet to Dillon/Silverthorne yelling "WHEEEEE! WHEE! WHEE! WHEEEE!" just like the pig in the Geico commercial.
Exited at Dillon/Silverthorne and wound around into Grand County and Hot Sulphur Springs. Small town, not entirely touristed up like most of Colorado. A bar with good food, a breakfast lunch place with good food, an ice cream stand with good food. A little general store that doesn't sell much besides beer. The Hot Springs spa. You can stay there, but I prefer one of the other two motels, The Ute Trail. There is also a charming candy shop where I bought cocoa and candy coated shelled sunflower seeds. Crazy Delicious.
The Ute Trail is one of those old, two lane highway motels. The furniture is early American blond, the walls are knotty pine, the fixtures in the bathroom are "classic." Every inch is spotlessly clean. The beds are new and comfy, the rates are rock bottom. There are microwaves and fridges and coffee makes. The owner, Dee, has just invested in Dish TV. Dee is a sweetheart and sells discount passes to the Hot Springs. I soaked and vegged and enjoyed for three days.
On Monday of this week left for Salt Lake City. Passed through the area of Utah known as "the basin." The thrifty Mormons have damned up the rivers and have been taking advantage of that greatest of Nebraska exports, center pivot irrigation from Valley. I could see the blue Valley signs on them, some from quite a distance. I thought of a friend who went to Africa and saw an center pivot. He went over to look at it. It was from Valley.
Drove far into the evening to get to a unimpressive but cheap hotel out by the airport. Didn't sight see or anything in Salt Lake City. The next day, drove from Salt Lake to South Lake Tahoe, so two long days in a row. Passed through that amazing Great Salt Desert west of the Lake. Miles and miles of nothing, empty. No birds, no animals, no plants.
People have a need to mark this empty space. There is a sculpture, "Metaphor: The Tree of Utah" by Karl Momen. Here is a link to some info and a picture.
http://www.utah.com/amusement/metaphor_tree.htm
You approach this massive thing for miles and it is in stark contrast to the barren landscape.
There are informal installations as well. People come out, from Salt Lake City, one would think, and leave circles of stones, or cairns or a heart made of stones with two initials in the middle. Some people write out words with stones. There are also places where dozens of beer bottles are pushed neck first into the sand. One would hope that more than one person was involved in emptying all those bottles.
Long but easy drive across Nevada. Stopped in Winnemuca for $3.99 ham and eggs. Wasn't hungry until I saw the sign. Didn't gamble at all in Nevada, not even a nickel into a slot machine. Got into Tahoe about 9 o'clock. My friend Wanda came. We had not seen each other in almost 30 years. We just fell to talking right away. She took me to karaoke and she sang "Promises, Promises" by Naked Eyes and "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. I sang "L-O-V-E" ala Nat King Cole. "Cindy picked up that song and spanked it!" sand the KJ. (Karaoke DJ).
I loved the karaoke. There is a crowd of regulars. They are all really supportive of each other. Nobody gets booed, everyone gets a nice round of applause. Wanda has a lot of friends in that group. I gave her the same caution I give all my friends before they take me to a party, "Don't tell them I'm a Presbyterian minister. Some people really freak out." God bless her, she didn't.
The next morning, Wanda I took one of the midday cruises on the Tahoe Queen a beautiful paddle wheeler. Wanda's daughter Sarah works on the boat. I hadn't seen Sarah since she was three and she is now a gorgeous young woman with a daughter of her own. Then, set out for San Francisco. Wanda and I promised each other it would not be thirty years before we met again.
It always amuses me that almost immediately coming into California, people start driving like Californians! There is lots of jockeying for position and aggressive driving. Came down from the mountains, into the Central Valley and suddenly, palm trees appear. Sacramento, Davis, Vacaville, Vallejo all pass by, suddenly there is the Bay.
I was on the Oakland Bay Bridge in 1989 when it broke during the Loma Prieta earthquake and have never felt happy about driving across ever since. Made it without any freak outs. It helps that I was driving into the city on the top level, instead of exiting the city on the bottom level like I did during the quake. I realized I didn't have Jim and Dolly's address anywhere handy, so I called and got the address and was able to find it without any trouble.
They welcomed me with a comfy room and hot pizza. Today we gorged on dim sum before Dolly went to work and then Jim and I went to the Beach Chalet to sit in the bar and enjoy a cup of coffee for him and a club soda for me. Beautiful building built during the WPA years at the beach end of Golden Gate Park. Filled with old murals and tile work depicting San Francisco. The murals are oddly devoid of anyone Asian or African American or Hispanic. One pair of men was setting off my gaydar, however.
The Beach Chalet was boarded up when I lived in the Bay Area 20 years ago, but a combination of private and public money has made it into a display about the history of Golden Gate Park on the lower level and a restaurant and brew pub on the upper level. The fog lifted briefly on Ocean beach and I was just able to make out the breakers coming to shore. Tomorrow, AT&T park and the Giants, one half game back in the NL West.
blessings,
Cindy
Left Omaha and stopped in Kearney. Got my hair fixed one last time by my stylist. Had to go to church to pick up a few forgotten items and it was OK. Went to storage and dropped off extra clothes and pick up winter coats. Coffee with Lutheran pastor John G, dinner with Presbyterian pastor, Caroline Vickery for excellent Thai food. Yes, Kearney has Thai food made by actual Thai people! Went on to North Platte after dinner.
Spent two nights with the Hawley family in North Platte. Several good conversations with BFF Amy Hawley. Ate good Chinese food, spent time with charming Jamie and Aaron Hawley, the kids. Jim off meeting and greeting with his fellow wizards.
Spent one night in Denver because my little place in the mountains didn't have a reservation the first night. I forget between visits how much Denver just pisses me off. The traffic, the sprawl, the general frack you attitude. At the end when I was trying to get turned around and to a gas station, I just yelled to the cars interior, "I just want to leave this #@& city!!!" So I did and headed for the hills.
I love going up into the mountains. When I was a kid, we went every year from Omaha to just above Idaho Springs where we rented one of the Big Spruce Cabins operated by the Cole family. After we left Denver, we would say the name of the exits like a mantra. Lookout Mountain, Mother Cabrini, Buffalo Bill's grave. Buffalo Bill's grave always included mutual agreement about injustice of him not being buried in Nebraska. El Rancho, Floyd Hill, Chief Hosa, turn off to Central City, Idaho Springs! Idaho Springs!
In the fifties, my dad's best friend moved to Idaho Springs and we would come out first to visit them and my parents former pastor from Lincoln. Renting the cabin for a few weeks meant we had our own place and own place to cook, especially the trout we caught.
The Cole family sold Big Spruce in 1977. Alan Cole, the son of the couple who built the place, came and told us while we were staying there. An era ended in the Harvey family. We had lost that common place we all loved. Since then, Tom and my parents came to love Georgetown, Mike and Sue often go to a friend's home in Salida, Bill and family have Evergreen and Aspen. I didn't find my happy place until I found Hot Sulphur Springs just last year. The Big Spruce Cabins passed through a few different hands and is now owned by people who only rent it out for months at a time and who want to run a credit check before you rent. The days when Mr. Cole would take a personal check and a handshake are long past.
A few years ago, I drove up to Big Spruce Cabins. The Big Spruce it was named for is now gone. Lightening or pine blight, I suppose. I got teary as a took a picture of the enormous stump to show to my brothers.
I still like to stop in Idaho Springs, though. Somethings are exactly the same, like the statue of Steve Canyon, the old gold mines and the water wheel. Somethings are new like the Starbucks and a new addition just this summer since June, a business named "Cannabis Med." I had to circle the block three times to make sure I was looking at what I thought. No, I did not stop.
There is a charming deli in Idaho Springs, Two Brothers. A lot of locals hang there and so do I. It is run by laid-back women, has wonderful sandwiches and soups and coffee.
Then it was up I-70 the the Eisenhower Tunnel. I like to drive in the mountains. Both of my parents had sure hands and taught me how to slow the car without stepping on the brakes by down shifting. It was frustrating all the way up to the tunnel because two lanes had to merge to one. We had a lovely delay of about 40 minutes for about a ten foot section of work being done. Two lanes again through the tunnel. When I emerged from the tunnel, I pulled into the fast lane and descended 3500 feet to Dillon/Silverthorne yelling "WHEEEEE! WHEE! WHEE! WHEEEE!" just like the pig in the Geico commercial.
Exited at Dillon/Silverthorne and wound around into Grand County and Hot Sulphur Springs. Small town, not entirely touristed up like most of Colorado. A bar with good food, a breakfast lunch place with good food, an ice cream stand with good food. A little general store that doesn't sell much besides beer. The Hot Springs spa. You can stay there, but I prefer one of the other two motels, The Ute Trail. There is also a charming candy shop where I bought cocoa and candy coated shelled sunflower seeds. Crazy Delicious.
The Ute Trail is one of those old, two lane highway motels. The furniture is early American blond, the walls are knotty pine, the fixtures in the bathroom are "classic." Every inch is spotlessly clean. The beds are new and comfy, the rates are rock bottom. There are microwaves and fridges and coffee makes. The owner, Dee, has just invested in Dish TV. Dee is a sweetheart and sells discount passes to the Hot Springs. I soaked and vegged and enjoyed for three days.
On Monday of this week left for Salt Lake City. Passed through the area of Utah known as "the basin." The thrifty Mormons have damned up the rivers and have been taking advantage of that greatest of Nebraska exports, center pivot irrigation from Valley. I could see the blue Valley signs on them, some from quite a distance. I thought of a friend who went to Africa and saw an center pivot. He went over to look at it. It was from Valley.
Drove far into the evening to get to a unimpressive but cheap hotel out by the airport. Didn't sight see or anything in Salt Lake City. The next day, drove from Salt Lake to South Lake Tahoe, so two long days in a row. Passed through that amazing Great Salt Desert west of the Lake. Miles and miles of nothing, empty. No birds, no animals, no plants.
People have a need to mark this empty space. There is a sculpture, "Metaphor: The Tree of Utah" by Karl Momen. Here is a link to some info and a picture.
http://www.utah.com/amusement/metaphor_tree.htm
You approach this massive thing for miles and it is in stark contrast to the barren landscape.
There are informal installations as well. People come out, from Salt Lake City, one would think, and leave circles of stones, or cairns or a heart made of stones with two initials in the middle. Some people write out words with stones. There are also places where dozens of beer bottles are pushed neck first into the sand. One would hope that more than one person was involved in emptying all those bottles.
Long but easy drive across Nevada. Stopped in Winnemuca for $3.99 ham and eggs. Wasn't hungry until I saw the sign. Didn't gamble at all in Nevada, not even a nickel into a slot machine. Got into Tahoe about 9 o'clock. My friend Wanda came. We had not seen each other in almost 30 years. We just fell to talking right away. She took me to karaoke and she sang "Promises, Promises" by Naked Eyes and "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. I sang "L-O-V-E" ala Nat King Cole. "Cindy picked up that song and spanked it!" sand the KJ. (Karaoke DJ).
I loved the karaoke. There is a crowd of regulars. They are all really supportive of each other. Nobody gets booed, everyone gets a nice round of applause. Wanda has a lot of friends in that group. I gave her the same caution I give all my friends before they take me to a party, "Don't tell them I'm a Presbyterian minister. Some people really freak out." God bless her, she didn't.
The next morning, Wanda I took one of the midday cruises on the Tahoe Queen a beautiful paddle wheeler. Wanda's daughter Sarah works on the boat. I hadn't seen Sarah since she was three and she is now a gorgeous young woman with a daughter of her own. Then, set out for San Francisco. Wanda and I promised each other it would not be thirty years before we met again.
It always amuses me that almost immediately coming into California, people start driving like Californians! There is lots of jockeying for position and aggressive driving. Came down from the mountains, into the Central Valley and suddenly, palm trees appear. Sacramento, Davis, Vacaville, Vallejo all pass by, suddenly there is the Bay.
I was on the Oakland Bay Bridge in 1989 when it broke during the Loma Prieta earthquake and have never felt happy about driving across ever since. Made it without any freak outs. It helps that I was driving into the city on the top level, instead of exiting the city on the bottom level like I did during the quake. I realized I didn't have Jim and Dolly's address anywhere handy, so I called and got the address and was able to find it without any trouble.
They welcomed me with a comfy room and hot pizza. Today we gorged on dim sum before Dolly went to work and then Jim and I went to the Beach Chalet to sit in the bar and enjoy a cup of coffee for him and a club soda for me. Beautiful building built during the WPA years at the beach end of Golden Gate Park. Filled with old murals and tile work depicting San Francisco. The murals are oddly devoid of anyone Asian or African American or Hispanic. One pair of men was setting off my gaydar, however.
The Beach Chalet was boarded up when I lived in the Bay Area 20 years ago, but a combination of private and public money has made it into a display about the history of Golden Gate Park on the lower level and a restaurant and brew pub on the upper level. The fog lifted briefly on Ocean beach and I was just able to make out the breakers coming to shore. Tomorrow, AT&T park and the Giants, one half game back in the NL West.
blessings,
Cindy
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