A Night at the Planetarium

Universe.  Hubble.  Orion.  Andromeda.  Stars.  Galaxies.  Constellations.

For someone who dreams too often about being among the celestial bright bodies of our evening skies, the presentation of Universe at the Morris Planetarium last Thursday night was nothing short of extraordinary.

For a time, I shared this fascination and love of stars with a man quite special.  However, as with all beautiful things, our relationship slowly turned to stardust.  Sitting in the Planetarium that evening, in the presence of these entities he and I once talked about, I wanted very much to turn to my right and see him sitting next to me . . . quietly smiling as he always does and gently squeezing my hand ever assuredly.  And I thought (perhaps foolishly) that if I just closed my eyes and wished hard enough, somehow the Pinocchio effect--that Disney magic--could happen a second time.  I was, after all, in the midst of countless twinkling stars.  Alas, when the presentation came to an end, the possibility of that real boy came to an end, too. 

As I walked out into the night, I was greeted by a sky full of stars (or as he and I used to call it, a sky full of moles).  Though bittersweet, I was genuinely happy to be reminded of him and to think about us as we were once, instead of what we are no longer.

And for a brief moment, I stood quietly under the brilliance of those bright stars . . . reveling, appreciating, and simply remembering the feeling of being.

Sunflowers & Snowy Plovers

Seems a storm is brewing . . . the city is expecting some much needed rain tomorrow.  By habit, I picked up a few sunflower stems to balance out the grey day(s) this week.  

Also, I finally stopped by Andytown Coffee Roasters to see what they had brewing.  And that was when I met Snowy Plover: a little fizzy over ice with espresso--most ingenius pairing.  I was plentifully pleased by the Plover (think Pellegrino teased with a shot of aromatic coffee, topped with the freshest dollop of in-house whip cream this side of the coast has tasted), and the customer service was, in short, superb.  Outer Sunset, San Francisco.  

Objects

A few Sundays ago, as I was driving back from church and waiting for the traffic lights to change at this intersection, I found myself traipsing through the background details that were set before me.  Mural.  Bulldozer.  Fog.  Perspective.  

To Indulge

La Boulange de West Portal.
Almond croissant.

Succulent Sunday

Sloat Garden Center on 3rd Ave.  Two pots of quirky succulents. 

Whole Foods on Ocean Ave . . . Blue Bottle Coffee's New Orleans Iced Coffee in milk-carton form.

Late Nights, Early Mornings

Memorial Day weekend 2014.
Summer legs.
Mission Beach Cafe: Crab and shrimp eggs benedict. 
Tartine: Lemon cream tart.
Rebirth: Gerbera daisies and begonias.

Green Bench, Green Grass

There are days when I wake up with an overwhelming desire to walk a long distance.  That is what I did yesterday.  I walked through and all around the east end of Golden Gate Park.  

When it was time to rest, I stopped by the Rose Garden.  I surveyed the area and spotted the utmost perfect bench in the midst of the green, green grass and colorful petals.  When I reached it, I read its memorial plate, and well, the message brought a smile to my face.

I kicked off my sneakers, laid down on the bench, and read for an hour as dragonflies flew all around me.  

Man & Dog

Alamo Square.  Monday.  I was attempting to finish Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being whilst lying on the green grass when I looked up and saw this man sitting not too far away, hugging his canine companion.  The man's arm was draped around his dog and it was the most perfect sight.  Love was very evident that day.

Lovers & Strangers

Easter Sunday 2014.  After attending service, I indulged my wandering spirit with a walk through the west end of Golden Gate Park.  Much to my surprise and joy, I found a blossoming tulip garden (the Queen Wilhelmina) nestled beside a windmill--a windmill that I would stare at curiously from my past trips down the Great Highway.

There were plenty of lovers and strangers in each other's arms that day.  The sun was almost too perfect for their little frail bodies to handle.  I took out my Moleskine to document my observations.  The sight was almost too perfect for my little frail body to handle.

Next to Each Other

I spotted this couple on a walk through the Palace of Fine Arts a few Mondays ago.  These two were even more inspiring than the surrounding architecture.  The husband was reading the newspaper, the wife was working on a crossword puzzle (or so I surmised).  It was as if they were in their own little world and the hands of time decided to stop long enough for them to enjoy the passing afternoon.  It was just him and her.  No one else.  They didn't look up once at the people walking by their bench.  They sat under the bountiful shade of those tall trees, content and assured of the very thing that so many of us seek: a romantic love that lasts a lifetime.  I found the corners of my mouth curling upward into a smile as I watched them.  In the moments that followed, I discovered how much of my own existence ached for a newspaper-reading partner.  Someone to sit by me from now until our departure into forever.  

I hope a few decades down the road, I will be that seventy-year-old woman sitting next to her husband in the park on a quiet Monday afternoon, working on the daily crossword puzzle and only looking up to catch him slowly turning the pages of his newspaper.

Man & Sea

There is a constant of which humans are unaware: the delight of solitude, of aloneness, of a condition that many mistaken for social ineptness.  Its beauty is in everything, in what is seen and in what is unseen.  Parallel to the seas and skies, man traverses this earth daily, whether it be in a crowd of ten or solely on his own.  For it is an easy goal to find one's worth in the company of lovers and strangers, but a challenge to find one's worth independent of such.  To know who you and I are as plainly as we come--without the engagement of external relationships--well, that is a feat in and of itself.

This City in Which I Live

Old military fortifications, vegetation, water, fog, concrete . . . Golden Gate Overlook in The Presidio, what a beaut.

Morning Buns and Painted Ladies

Tuesday: Morning Buns from Tartine and an afternoon visit to the Tanners.  Painted Ladies, your Victorian rooftops fascinate me.

Bateman

Friday.  Did the routine eight-mile walk.  Returned to the abode, slipped into some black jeans and boots, grabbed the Moleskine and trekked out to the Conservatory again.  Chose to sit on the grass this time.  Took off my shoes and felt the strands of green leaves tickle slightly my bare feet.  Penned the rough draft of a new short story.  Pinned up my hair and the sun blazed against my neck.  I welcomed it though--every last bit of it.  Topped off the evening watching one of my favorite films, You've Got Mail, with an encore presentation of a real theatrical doozy, American Psycho.  While Christian Bale a.k.a. Patrick Bateman a.k.a. American Psycho fantasized about murders and executions, and 80s Wall Street yuppies sized up their male counterparts by the paper density of their business cards, I had myself the sweetest strawberries.  Because I'm strange like that.

Conservatory

After finishing a meeting this morning, I was aching to spend some time soaking in every moment of the semi-clear/semi-sunny weather the city was experiencing after yesterday's downpour.  I stopped by GG park once again, but this time I decided to duck under my favorite spot across from the Conservatory of Flowers.  This spot has been a personal goldmine for the last few years.  I was able to draft the outline for another short story while I observed the different patrons walking through the field of well-kept flowers.  After a while, an elderly couple made their way over to my bench and I smiled and made room for them.  

I added the couple to my short story outline.  The mundane can be very inspiring.

Three Days Lived

The last three days were well lived.  I spent the entire night on Friday catching up with a compadre whom I love exponentially.  We had a candlelit dinner at Beretta on Valencia [Street], then proceeded to drive to the opposite end of the city for some dessert.  Stories were shared, tears were shed, and laughter was had.  The night was honest, raw, emotional . . . indelible.  (I highly recommend Beretta's Crab Dungeness Arancini antipasto and Margherita Burrata pizza topped with anchovies.)

Saturday was spent hiking Mount Tamalpais with someone new.  I cannot explain the joy of reveling in the handsomeness of looming tall redwoods . . . such moments are not to be taken for granted.  On our drive down the mountain en route back to the city, I welcomed the quick wind running her hands through my hair; I reflected.  I let my thoughts trail the cliffs like spilled ink on paper.  We returned to the Marina and had a late lunch at Dragon Well. 

Woke up this Sunday morning and knew it was time I headed back to church.  I made my way over to Cornerstone in the Mission.  As always, it was a blessing to hear Pastor Terry speak.  His commitment and conviction to live a selfless life, to serve God and others completely, come from a genuine heart; there is not one ounce of pretense in his speech or in his actions.  And to be honest, it has been a while since I stepped into the Lord's house.  I won't list any excuses for why I have been away.  Simply put though, life is hard enough as it is without me attempting to duke it out on my own.  I want the arms that carried me in the past be the arms that carry me now.  It is true: His strength and love know no bounds.

Since it was too beautiful of a day not to make the most of it, I visited the Marketplace at the Ferry Building after service.  It was the perfect amount of hustle and bustle.  Dropped by Sur La Table where I picked up a few La Parfait jars; I figured they would come in handy for upcoming picnicking excursions (envisioning vanilla yogurt parfaits with fresh fruit and pumpkin flax granola).  I also stopped by Acme Bread where I picked up a couple of baked goods: a cinnamon currant (because I am a true cinnamon junkie--I have cinnamon-scented pine cones in my car after all) and a sweet loaf.  Retreated to a bench across from the waters and wrote a bit.  

I had me a grand ol' time this weekend.

Perspective

No man knows till he has suffered from the night

how sweet and dear to his heart and eye 

the morning can be.

How blessed are some people, whose lives have no

fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing

that comes nightly, and brings nothing 

but sweet dreams.

-Bram Stoker