San Francisco: Part Three

Pin It Saturday was a day of contrasts. We went from the site of the Summer of Love and total hippieness, across the Bay to the port of quaint and rampant yuppieness. From clouds into sunshine, and then back again.



Saturday was our day in the car: a day of hurtling through time and space at breakneck speed. I ended up in the back seat on the ride into Haight Ashbury. Chloe is, (how shall I put this diplomatically?) an aggressive driver. I already knew this from riding around Huntington Beach with her last year. But California driving is not for the faint of heart. And she's not a bad driver - she's a good driver. (At the very least she's been lucky when I've been with her.) But she gets where she wants to go and takes command doing so, if you know what I mean. So we zipped into the Haight, infamous locale of hippies and war protesters of the '60's, for breakfast about 9:30 Saturday morning.



As we began walking down Haight Street, the smell of early morning marijuana drifted out the doorway of a local apartment, and hung soggily in the foggy morning air. Chloe took us to the People's Cafe for a good breakfast - and they made great lattés, too.

We chatted, and then decided to explore some of the boutiques and second hand stores that line the main drag there. And the boutiques were magnifique! Fun, and funky, and surprisingly reasonably priced. We each picked up a scarf while we were there.



It was a little chilly (the whole trip was), and so Anne decided to go into a second hand store to search for a sweater. Now, I am all about finding treasures among the trash, but the racks of clothing I was perusing reminded me in a depressing way of my own closet, and the leftover stuff from the eighties that STILL hasn't found its way to the Goodwill store. So, I passed on acquiring new what I already possess, and went to find some comfy foot attire. My feet like New Balance tennis shoes, and I found a shoe store that had half price sneakers in the back, and came home with a $120.00 pair of New Balance shoes for $35.00. Definitely a steal, and I've been enjoying them ever since. As we turned to search for someplace that would let us use their restroom facilities, a red haired lady staggered out of a bar, beamed at us, and slurred, "Can I just say that the Bloody Mary's in there are superb? Absolutely superb." W e thanked her for input, and walked on, somewhat bemused. By this time, the Huevos Rancheros I had eaten at the People's Cafe with the kind of gray looking tortillas under the extra runny egg yolk were doing quite a number on my tummy: I was starting to look and feel about as gray as the tortillas, and as gray as the sky, so the need for a bathroom was becoming more urgent. One thing I have to say about San Francisco: they need more bathrooms. They just do. So, on we walked to the crèperie, where Robin ate a crèpe, and then, (I teased her) took a crèpe as well, making use of their facilities. I went back to the People's Café and stood in line for their restroom for 15 minutes. By this time, my stomach had begun to roll like the sea, and my gray hue was taking on a decidedly green tinge. (Shades of the previous night's play, no doubt.) Finally, it was my turn, and the restroom itself would have been enough to turn a non-nauseated person's stomach, but anyway, one does what one must, and at last I was able to exit the vile place. I toyed with the idea of going back to the hotel and just lying around, but we were so close to the Golden Gate bridge at that point, and I really couldn't bear the thought of my friends having fun without me, so I sucked it up, and was glad I did.



About this time, they gave me the front seat to help my nausea, a sacrifice I deeply appreciated, We climbed in the car, and drove over the Golden Gate bridge, which had really a bittersweet appeal for me, since I know someone who took his life there. And then, Chloe put in the One Hit Wonders of the Eighties CD that The Tick had made for her, and she and Anne sang blissfully along. Now, I don't know if these girls have thought about this, but this IS my blog, and I get to say what I think:

Girls, there's a reason these groups were one hit wonders. Have you thought about that? I don't know what I was doing while Chloe and Anne were learning these songs. Maybe I was in Europe, without my own radio, and nothing but my college cassettes to entertain me. Maybe I had moved to Nashville, and was thick into the Contemporary Christian music genre scene. But I missed these One HIt Wonder groups and their songs, for the most part. And I'll just say it out loud right here, and right now: I don't think I missed out on too awful much. Techno pop crap, in my opinion. I was never so happy as when that CD finally got swapped out for ABBA. Now, I know a lot of YOU think ABBA is a form of torture, and I don't want to argue about that, but in my book, the ear torture was over when Dancin' Queen began. Everything is relative, isn't it?

As we drove north away from San Francisco, the cloud wall evaporated, and we drove through sunny Marin County. What a pleasure! How beautiful! We were taking turns telling our story, and it seems like Robin's story was the story du jour. I listened, I learned, I empathized. What a lovely woman, and what a fascinating story she has. We stopped in Sausalito, which is quaint, and lovely, and full of overpriced baubles, and one really good T-shirt shop, and Anne enjoyed her first view of the beautiful Pa-ceeeef-ic Ocean, which was a treat to get to experience with her. And we were accosted by Mother Earth loving save the planet type of handout asking individuals, but made it past them with out money intact. And then, began the never ending bathroom search again. Sausalito needs some more restrooms, too, by the way.


Back to the city we hurtled, while Chloe shared her story, and we waited in line for 20 minutes in her car to drive down Lombard Street, the curviest street in America. The trippiest part is that while you are waiting in line, it's like you're in a recliner with your feet elevated above your heart: that's how steep the incline is to get up the hill on one side. Crazy.

So, after we finally got back to the hotel, and changed our clothes, it was time to meet my friend Gigi at a very famous San Francisco restaurant called The Cliff House. It is pretty far out, but it has a spectacular view of the ocean, and I knew the girls would love it. I've eaten there with Gigi in years gone by more than once, and have some lovely memories of the place, so I was looking forward to it. Robin volunteered to be our designated driver. And may I say, it's a good thing she wasn't liquoured up, because she gave Chloe a total run for her money in terms of possessing the ability to hurtle through intersections, and switch lanes with abandon. I was sitting in the back with Chloe, and saw her eyes getting big, and I just started laughing, and said something along the lines of: "Welcome to my world - strap in and hang on. We'll get where we're going, and quickly, too!" Robin, too, has years of California driving under her belt, and is as cool as a cucumber. It's admirable, really.


We met Gigi at the restaurant. We were a bit late, but it was all good, and she took some time to tell the girls about the history of the place. It really is OLD San Francisco, having had many rebirths. And I was so tickled to see my old friend enjoying my newer friends (I just knew she would), and vice versa - to see them enjoying my wild and crazy Gigi. It was really special. And you know, I think heaven will be so great: full of meeting wonderful, new friends that you will adore and get to enjoy forever.

And then we made it back to our room, exhausted, but hating the thought that departure was on us in the morning. The next morning is kind of a gray blur in my mind. I don't remember much, apart from how depressed I felt to leave these wonderful women. I ended up with a snafu at the airport and didn't get home till midnight, but that seems incidental, now. Just a sad portion of a sad day, in general.

But I'd go through that depression again in a heartbeat, if it meant I got to have the joy of the first several days. It was a rich, rich time. I can't begin to express how great. It's connecting with friends that brings joy to our journey, isn't it? At least it brings so much joy to MY journey, anyway.



So, thanks for tuning in. It's been fun (for me, anyway) strolling down memory lane with you. Even if the clouds overtook us a few times, the sunshine was magnificent.

My trip to San Francisco: Part Deux

Pin It So, my petite posse, Robin, Chloe and Anne came to pick me up chez Gigi, and they took a walk around her lovely home, and spent a few minutes chatting with her. If you read the comments on my last post, Anne said we stayed just long enough for Grady the cat to hiss her name. (Sorry, Anne, too good a joke. I couldn't let it go unnoticed in the comments section.) And just long enough for them to see why Gigi is so precious to me.

And then we settled into Chloe's built for speed mobile, and off we went for our big No Sex In The City trip to San Francisco. Anne had booked us a room in a lovely hotel up on Nob Hill called the Stanford Court, at an amazing deal through Priceline. Can I just tell you that it literally cost more to park the car there than it did to park our carcasses there?

The thing I hadn't banked on was the cost of tipping the staff. I was all excited about our amazing deal in a 4 star hotel, but next time, I WILL remember to factor in all the car parking + tipping. I didn't spend too much: I'm just sayin': it's something to take into account if you, too, plan a fun getaway in the big city with some of your best buds.


You do know, I think, most of you, how I met these friends of mine? We met on the internet, of course, where all the most solid relationships of today are born. (wink, wink) I met Anne in real life first, two summers ago when she was attending a wedding in my area. And that fall I met Chloe when her mother (who used to live in my general vicinity) was critically ill, and Chloe came to literally rescue her. And Robin and I met for the first time a year ago in May, when the four of us attended a sort of home schooling meet-up/3 day pajama party in Huntington Beach, CA. The four of us were roommates, and loved being together so much that we decided it HAD to happen again. And so about a year later, we agreed to meet up in San Francisco. I have a feeling next year could end up being an east coast meet-up, but nothing is set in stone, at present.

I'll tell you one more little known fact about me: I think I have bad hot-tub karma. We talked and talked about hot tub parties we would have at the meet-up at Huntington Beach at the five star Hilton resort we were staying at there, And like a month before hand, we get a post-card telling us the pool would be closed. This year, we arrived at the Stanford Court and as we checked in, I inquired, and: NO HOT TUB, again. I think I must jinx things. I don't know.

The thing I love about these girls is that they are witty, fun-loving, well-educated, God loving, compassionate, hilariously delightful human beings. But apart from that, they stink. Kidding! I am so kidding. And we're all mothers of teenaged boys - which gives us immediate common ground. I'm the oldest of the four of us, with the youngest kids. ~sigh~ That's what I get for taking a decade to travel the world and work and go to grad school. Poor me, right? But we all love our kids passionately, which is another thing we have in common. Enough to want to stay home with them and try to help educate them.




So, anyway, that's how I came to be tooling along through downtown San Francisco at warp speed with Chloe, Robin, and Anne. We settled in to our room, after tipping ChaCha the bellhop, and Raoul, the valet-who-never-sleeps,
handsomely, and pondered where to eat. Chloe had been in the big city about a month prior to our visit, and when the androidish looking woman behind the desk recommended the same restaurant Chloe had taken her son to, a little Italian restaurant around the corner from our hotel called the Nob Hill Café, it seemed meant to be. So we ordered pasta, and soaked up the local ambiance.

As we left, the wind was whipping on the top of Nob Hill, and it was fast becoming clear to me that I really hadn't packed enough warm stuff. And Chloe needed a toothbrush and toothpaste, and so began our first tramp down the steeps of Nob Hill. Did you know that in the Walgreens of Nob Hill, they LOCK UP the TOOTHBRUSHES AND TOOTHPASTE??? I think it might have been to keep the homeless people from swiping them, unless there's some obscure California code that requires this, but I don't think there is one. Chloe, a Californian, seemed just as surprised as the rest of us.

So, we hiked our tails back up the hill, and talked and talked and talked. But went to bed at a reasonable hour, because my dear husband had threatened these women to never let me come out to play again if I came back sick. And we held to his request. God bless him.

The next morning, we breakfasted at Pete's Coffee, in the basement of Grace Cathedral, and then went upstairs and toured that beautiful church. I think I enjoyed visiting that place as much as anything else I did. It was so beautiful, and peaceful. The walls were covered with murals depicting the history of San Francisco, and they had been painted by artists whose styles varied greatly, from mural to mural. I just loved that.

And then, we began what became affectionately known as the San Francisco version of the Bataan Death March. Down Nob Hill we hiked, past Chinatown, and through Little Italy. We stopped to buy water bottles, and Robin wanted to linger a few moments, just to appreciate the sheer beauty of the tall, handsome bartender who waited on us, who, may I say, was well worth looking at. But Chloe dragged her out of the bar (heh, heh, that makes it sound a little worse than it was...), and it was onward and upward, oh, so very upward, to Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower. We were seven eighths of the way up the hill, when I realized that my new Crocs were carving out a hole in the top of my foot, and a band-aid was advisable. Nurse Chloe to the rescue. She charged into a Chinese speaking school, and came back bearing a multitude of band-aids, and I applied several, and I think Anne may have applied one or two herself, and then, back up the hill we climbed. The murals in Coit Tower, done by the WPA during the Great Depression were absolutely fabulous expressions of folk art. And we met a young lady who was an ad exec from NYC, touring just for fun. When she found out about us: that we were homeschool moms who met on the internet, you could have scraped her pretty little jaw off Coit Tower's floor, and I like to think that we perhaps abolished one woman's former stereotype of homeschoolers that morning. We rode the elevator to the top, enjoyed the view, and then, on to Fisherman's Wharf for lunch.

We ate sourdough at Boudin's, bought socks for our weary feet, bought fresh cherries to snack on back in the room, bought Robin some pretty silver earrings for her outfit that night, and then, back up the hill for Irish Coffee at the Buena Vista Café, where we had a marvelous view of the water. Can I tell you what a beautiful day it was? Just spectacular. Then we walked to Trader Joe's to procure some yummy cheese, and some wine, and then, began the death march in earnest, all the way back up, up, UP to the top of Nob Hill. Anne was fading, I could see it, and I tried to distract her attention from her pain by getting her to tell me about her kids, but the woman was hurting, and doing the kind of focused breathing that they teach you in LaMaze classes to keep you from murdering your husband, so really, I should have left the poor dear alone., She says she was in the zone. I say she was in the zone of suffering that only a really good Catholic girl can bear well. But bear it, she did, and we made it back to our room. Never has sesame garlic bread, smoked gouda, fresh cherries, and a lovely Sauvignon Blanc tasted so sumptuously luscious. Heaven.


Then, time to get ready for our Big Night Out. Robin had procured tickets to the Musical Wicked for us, which was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. The music, the voices, the costumes, the lighting, the script: oh, my dears. Everything you might hope for in a big night out at a play in one of the world's great cities. Even the taxi ride was elegant. Honestly, I could really get used to being spoiled like that. Truly.

I know this is WAY too much detail. Too many notes, as the Austrian emperor said to Mozart in Amadeus.

I'm sorry.

I'll comfort myself by saying that I"m probably only writing this for me.

But it's my blog, and when I'm old and gray, and can't remember anymore, I'll read back over this and say: "Wow! I had some fun times, once, didn't I?"

So, that's all I'll say for now.


Maybe I'll tell about the second day later. Or not.

My Trip to San Francisco: Part I

Pin It Well, I think I'm ready to write about my trip to San Francisco, now.. Because it was such a monumental experience, that I'm afraid if I don't get busy and write about it, it will fade into oblivion.

This trip was originally planned strictly for pleasure, but (thank Him!) God's ways are not my ways, and God had bigger fish for me to fry than just me having a good time. Which I also managed to do, by the way.

And it all happened because I have a really smart and sensitive to the Holy Spirit kind of husband, and because we were trying to be good stewards of the money He has entrusted to us.

The Big Bison said I could go to San Francisco to play with my friends Anne, and Chloe, and Robin (ABC order, don'tcha know). And he said I could use up some of our frequent flyer miles to do it. So, in trying to book the trip for some specific dates in May, I simply could not get the departure date I NEEDED. And the BB said, "Well, ya know, you could call Gigi to see if you could go a day early and stay with her." Gigi is my dear friend from college who lives in the San Francisco area. I felt really awful doing that, since I hadn't talked with her in seven years, and here I was calling her out of the blue to ask if I could crash at her pad. But to take advantage of a free ticket, it seemed the only way.

So I called her, identified myself, and asked her how she was doing, and she said in a ragged voice that she was hanging in there, and then I asked "What is it?", and then, through many tears, she told me how her dear 19 year old son had passed away. And then, she told me that due to an awful mix of depression and drugs, he had taken his life. I cannot express to you how terribly, terribly awful and deep her grief is, and how glad I was that my dear, dear husband had prodded me to call her. To let you know how dear that man is to me, he urged me to go a day early, because maybe that was what this trip to San Francisco was all about anyway.

So, at Gigi's invitation, I did go out two days earlier than my trip with Anne, Chloe, and Robin. And it was the sweetest, sweetest time. Here's a sampling of what my time with Gigi was like. I walked into her home and was greeted by the most hilarious crew of animals to have entertained me in a long time, and I'll include their pictures here, too. Sebastian, the Prince Charles Cavalier, who looked at me with the most soulful eyes I have ever seen. With his eyes, he beseeched me, "Love me. Love me. I adore you. Love me." The only thing about those soulful eyes, is that one of them wanders to the left, and they kind of bug out, so it's a lot like having Marty Feldman gazing longingly into your eyes.



Sugar, the bulldog, was a constant source of snorting, snuffling, grunting hilarity. She just cracked me up by making the most pig like noises, constantly.



And Grady, the Devon Rex (oops!) hairless cat, who wasn't really supposed to be hairless, I don't think. His coat felt like a warm suede hot water bottle. And he reminded me of an animated stick figure cat, all eyes and ears and scrawny body. Grady had a thing for toilet seats, too.




I arrived late at night, and after being greeted by the animal welcoming committee, I hugged Gigi's dear husband. And then I hugged her 15 year old daughter. And as I looked into her beautiful young face, I saw her mother's eyes gazing back at me, the Gigi I knew in college 30 years ago (can that be right?), and I nearly busted up crying right then. How does time do this to us??? Why must we age, and lose our freshness, and vitality?

So, Gigi sat me down in her kitchen, and fixed me the very best chai latte I have ever had in my life, and a piece of sourdough toast with guava jelly, and white cheddar cheese, and if that isn't the food of the gods, I don't know what is. I had a lot of spectacular food in San Francisco, but I've got to say that that late night snack in Gigi's kitchen was my culinary pinnacle. Maybe because it was served with such love? I don't know. I think the bread was gourmet and the combination of guava jelly and white cheddar cheese (the way the Turks do it: sweet jelly with salty cheese on great bread) just tripped my trigger. Love sweet and salty together.

We talked till 2:00 in the morning, California time, which was 4:00AM my time, and I tell you: if you ever want to hear a story of God's amazing grace, and redeeming love, talk to my friend Gigi. She herself is a walking talking testimony to it. She has lived through hell and back again, several times over. Much more than one person ought to have to bear. But God....(I love whenever I see that phrase in the Bible) But God, in His redeeming love, has held her close, and kept her His.

The next day, we went to her church's Bible study, and I got to meet her little discussion group, and hear wonderful testimonies of what studying the book of John had meant to these women. My favorite testimony came from a woman from Taiwan, whose English was very minimal - very broken - and very heavily accented. The class was losing its teaching leader: she is moving to the other side of the country. And so everyone was very sentimental about losing Pat. The Taiwanese lady stood up and said haltingly: "I have been in this Bible study for a year, and I love Pat. This year is over, and I still don't know Pat. But through listening to Pat, I know Jesus." Oh, my tear duct floodgates opened wide on that one. Wouldn't that be the most beautiful thing anyone could ever say about you???

After the Bible study in the morning, Gigi treated me to a manicure and pedicure, and we strolled around a little town in the Bay area whose name escapes me, but which had killer shopping. And then we picked up her dear daughter after school, and went to where her horse is stabled on a mountain near Half Moon Bay, and I had the pleasure of watching her daughter ride, and be trained (as she trained her horse) to do what is known as dressage, which is really a lot like horse ballet. It was lovely to watch, and lovely to meet the trainer, Georgia. Georgia communicated with Gigi's daughter while she was up on the horse's back through a head set. So as Gigi's daughter was riding, she was getting constant feedback from Georgia, about how to train the horse to get him to do what he should. And I thought, wouldn't it be grand if as we went through life, we could get instantaneous feedback from the Holy Spirit on how we were doing. Clear direction on how to handle various situations. And warnings about what to watch out for, and what NOT to miss out on. That's the tricky thing about the faith walk, and keeping in step with the Spirit: it really does take faith. But Jesus says His sheep know His voice. It's a challenge to me to remind myself DAILY, maybe hourly, to LISTEN to what the Spirit would have me do.



We drove down the mountain into Half Moon Bay, to the Ritz-Carlton, where we had dinner with the most wonderful view of the ocean, and then after dinner, we walked down to the fire pit near the beach, where some honeymooners invited us to have a seat in the Adirondack chairs. We covered up with some blankets, and sat with them and chatted, listening to the waves, and counting the stars, until the cloud bank rolled in. Rocky Raccoon made an appearance, and the valet told me later that Rocky had a great fondness for the S'more fixin's that people ate by the fire pits, and once Rocky wandered into one of the private cottages, and stole an entire pizza. He WAS a chubby coon, I must say.

The next morning, Gigi and I watched her son's memorial service, and sobbed like babies, and talked about him. He was SO much more than his death, which was really just a very, very permanent decision made on a bad day. But that is NOT who he was as a human being. He was so much more than that. And if nothing else gets said, I think that that is the most important thing to say about most people who take their lives. They made a terrible decision, on a very bad day. But try not to remember them for that: remember them for who they were.

And then, my dear friends Anne, and Chloe, and Robin came to pick me up, and I said goodbye to my buddy Gigi.

I came hoping to be a blessing to her. But wasn't I the blessed one? Wasn't I the one who walked away having been loved and pampered and petted on?

God is good. And he puts very special people in our path. And Gigi is one of the best and the brightest. Here's to you, Gige.



More about the rest of my trip later.

My life has been a whirlwind lately.

Pin It So much has happened that I really want to post about, and each deserves a separate post.

I had a vacation with some of my very best gal pals in San Francisco.


I spent several days just being with a friend who is mourning the loss of her 19 year old dear son.


I watched my dear daughter dance like an angel on stage, and complete a service project in fulfillment of her Bronze Award in Junior Girl Scouts.


I watched my dear son perform on stage, singing solo, playing electric guitar, playing acoustic guitar, dancing around like he was a rock and roll star, with all the confidence in the world.


My dear husband was nominated for an Emmy.


We bought a (new to us) used car, and promptly backed it into our old car that was still parked in the driveway.


And I have watched a couple of dear friends be publicly humiliated and terribly mistreated in the name of internet forum moderation. These friends, by all that is fair and just, had done NOTHING WRONG, and in the aftermath thereof, were terribly maligned.

In attempting to defend them, while still following all the forum rules, I received what to me was a completely humiliating "slap on the wrist", and I don't believe I ought to try to defend myself, for lots of reasons.

My body is reacting badly to all this: my stress comes out physically for me, and let's just say I am not handling it well.

If you would like to leave a prayer for me in the comments section, I would be ever so grateful to know that someone has prayed for me. My Mom isn't around to do this for me, and while my dear husband, the Big Bison, has been stalwart in his defense of me with those who have hurt me, I just would welcome the prayer. Truly, truly I would.