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.  

Slice of Thanksgiving on a Sunday in May

My Sunday went a little like this: Church.  Home.  People in costumes on every street corner surrounding GG Park.  Traffic for miles.  Bay Bridge.  I-80.  Ike's Lair.  Sitting on stone blocks at Lake Merritt while people-watching and enjoying the late-afternoon sun dance across my bare back.

I have to say, the Going Home for Thanksgiving on Dutch Crunch was absolutely scrumptious.  Cranberry sauce, turkey meat, Havarti, Sriracha (!), lettuce . . . Pay Ike's a visit and order the GHFT if you're in the mood for an early autumn/Thanksgiving treat.  

   

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.

Morning Buns and Painted Ladies

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

Rain's Revelry

 

It was past two o'clock in the afternoon when I got into my car.  It was raining hard--storming actually.  I had heard peals of thunder moments before stepping out of the house.  There were barely any breaks in the downpour.  Yet, I was prepared to drive eight hours down the California coast.  I had thrown my overnight bag and backpack, along with some water and mixed nuts, into the hatchback without any intention of reconsidering the trip.  It was the last day of March and spring wanted to drench the region with three coats of wetness.  I could not refuse the inescapable, so instead, I welcomed all of it.  In retrospect, the storm was the perfect touch to that day's road trip.  I cannot begin to describe or explain what it was that I felt as I moved through the storm's presence.  There was an untainted beauty in the darkened skies, strong winds, and deep puddles.  I found myself reveling, contemplating, laughing, and even crying at times as I drove further and further away from the city that bore so much heaviness, so much meaningless weight.

A lot has transpired since that day two weeks ago.  Many changes, many new thoughts.  Yet, here I am, finding myself wishing I was caught in that stormy procession once more.

Here & Gone, Part III: Return

 Cafe Gratitude plate . . . post-meal.  See its before photo below.

The "I am bueno" dish: summer squash tacos with toasted coconut flakes

Tara's Organic Ice Cream (on right: hibiscus sorbet, orange agave sorbet, and orange cashew ice cream)

At Pegasus Bookstore . . .

Though the art selection was limited, there was a book on Egon Schiele.  I picked up the hardcover only because it reminded me of something someone once said to me.  Everything--be it minor or major--happens for a reason.  I happened upon this book for a reason: a beautiful painting was waiting for my discovery within its pages.  And then I read the painting's title.  See image below.

Autumn follows this painter everywhere . . . and I'm happy for it.

Truth be told, I have a slightly bizarre infatuation with autumn.  Woodsy notes . . . fiery reds, coppery oranges, and earthy browns . . . leaves dancing everywhere . . . Pain does not feel as sharp, burdens do not feel as heavy, and time feels suspended in every waking moment.

Two places at once . . . one foot in Berkeley, one foot in Oakland.

Ended the night pondering about changes, constants, permanence and the temporal.

Week of 03-31-2014.

Here & Gone, Part II: Torrey Pines

Inside the lodge, I encountered some rather beautiful wildlife . . .  well, sort of.

(There was a recent time in my life when I considered acquiring a couple of pet snakes . . . I suppose the above photo serves as an indicator that the idea has not quite left my mind.)

Get in a good hike wherever you go.  Your body will welcome it.  Torrey Pines, San Diego.  Week of 03-31-2014.

Here & Gone, Part I: Carlsbad & Encinitas

Carlsbad.  Field of Flowers.  Pot of Argyranthemum.  Beach layover.  Encinitas.  Street roaming.  Whole Foods.  Blueberry cookie discovery.  First part of road trip from the week of 03-31-2014.

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.

Grassland Blue

A young girl, who saw me sitting cross-legged and barefoot on a tree stump and  scribbling away in my Moleskine, came over and inquired, "Are you writing a journal?"  I smiled and replied, "Writing poetry."  "Oh," and she sauntered away.  She returned shortly and proceeded to ask, "Are you in high school?"  I advised her I wasn't.  "College?"  "I actually graduated."  "Working?"  (Girlfriend definitely is a precocious one.)  I gave her a brief synopsis of my current state of affairs.  I then asked her, "Do you enjoy poetry?"  She started to say no, but decided to tell me about a time she read a poem that she didn't understand.  We spoke a bit about writing.  Before we parted ways, I said to her, "If you have an interest in writing, nurture it."

She ran back to her after-school group.

First day of spring . . . was pretty darn perfect.

And I had my first Blue Bottle Coffee fix (New Orleans Iced Coffee).