Pissarro is coming to the Legion

I spent yesterday in the quiet tower at the deYoung reading the
the catalog for the upcoming exhibit at the LOH. Camille Pissaro,
October 22 - January 22...mark your calendars.

So who knew? He was Jewish, Danish and also lived in France where he
painted with the Impressionists. He was left-leaning (hoooray) and
seems like an honorable man who really loved his friends and family.
Back in the 1870's there was much disease and death and he lost
several children tragically. His daughter Minette died and his lovely
paintings of her will take your breath away.

I really, really need to read every catalogue before every exhibit. Why
didn't I do this before? I am a dunce.

I know it's not Sunday

(but here's an old daily write that I like...)

OPEN THE BOX! (rr #7)

It's blue, a clear blue like your memories of Lake Tahoe the first time
you saw it. There is a sound inside - tweet/tweet. Birds are chirping
and that is the only noise. It has a gentle warm feel to it - like the
soft croissant that you just had for breakfast. You put enough sweet
butter on that to cause a heart attack, but it was almost worth it.

But back to this box. It's a Sunday, a rare Sunday you have off,
because usually it is your day to open the Borders store and be the
manager in charge that day. You have always liked to work on
Sundays, but holding this special blue box today, you understand why
so many people beg to have this day off. They say it is for "religious
reasons" and for once you don't scoff. For once you understand.

Sunday is so different than every other day, especially in this frantic
city. You have been up for hours, anticipating this special time. You
opened the back door even if there was still a slight chill. This
Sunday-in-a-Box is still unopened, but there are so many presents inside.
But you want to open this gift very slowly, enjoying the luxury of it all.

A Street Fair on Haight Street. Oh, perfect. Lots of people to watch
and a chance to walk in this glorious weather. Lunch outside, of
course, maybe the French toast at Pasta Pomodoro. A walk at
Crissy Field would be perfect. You've already started the Sunday
Chronicle and because you were able to read it over coffee on your
back deck, it seemed like the writing was better. Your husband and
you exchange mindless comments about a few articles you have read.

Everything is more poignant today. The past, the future, but especially
living in this perfect moment with the Sunday Box in front of you, that
you continue to open very slowly so you can savor every moment.

06/13/04
8:50 am Sunday vaca

complete with book bag

I know, it doesn't seem possible, but RR is now in the 2nd grade
and yesterday was her first fine day of the new school year. We
all wish her the very best and look forward to lots of news of
her activities: guitar, piano, friends, reading, horses, tennis,
boogie boarding, biking, raccoon watching, art projects and
trips with her adoring family.

Valencia Street detailed

Still a lot of boarded up store fronts

Many with interesting art

Outside Community Thrift which was packed yesterday

Galleries and cafes galore ~ note new "parklet"

Chain stores are not allowed on Valencia Street, if that tells you
anything. Nor chain restaurants, come to think about it. This
is a nabe in transition and the once-low rents means that there
are lots of unusual new stores, coffee shops, art galleries and
restaurants. And they bring in the young who bring in the rest
of us and it's just a colorful mixture and a treat to walk,
especially on a holiday.

When I'm part-time again (25 days) I'll explore 826 Valencia
where Dave Eggers has his writing school. But for now, I
gotta go, gotta gig (as Will Walker poet extraordinaire would say.)

Labor Day in The Mish

I had about the nicest Labor Day possible because it combined:

• walking
• friendship
• great food
• sightseeing in MY city

Dancing Jen is a walker (too) and we met at 16th and Valencia
at noon and then I dithered and dickered and couldn't decide
where we should eat because I don't like to stand in line and
we wanted more than a coffee shop and yadadadada. Anyway,
Beretta was perfect and they didn't hurry us along even though
I didn't like the first table offered. (I have a theory that women
don't get the best tables sometimes, so I'll bore you with that
another day.) In any event, all the restaurants wise enough to
be open today were packed ~ the usual unusual Mission
District crazies of all ages, colors, shapes and sizes. Really,
it's why we love SF so much (most of the time), isn't it?

I so needed to stretch my legs and my imagination, what a
mood lifter. Jen is always a pleasure to be with because she
is so bright and funny. Plus there was sunshine today,
imagine that.

The thin couple next to us had 3 substantial courses. Jen
and I were startled when that final pizza appeared, but
they knocked it back with aplomb. Good times.

After lunch I continued walking up to Trader Joe's on
Bryant and she headed back downtown. We both logged
in some much-needed mileage today. Hoooooray!

gold, silver and jeweled enamel

(it must be because of the Mourners, but I'm drawn to this poem and
to the poet who gives of himself as he questions love and life)

Visiting the Wise Men in Cologne

We arrived late at a small immaculate hotel.
Like most we'd come for the cathedral and tomb
Of the three wise men. The young owner
Wore a puffy silk shirt, and in all rooms
Swayed handsome inside plumes of smoke.

The next day, before we set out, we saw photos
In the breakfast nook of a tennis player—headlines,
Trophies, fawning women, sleek cars—evidence
Of fame, the accoutrements of a lavish style.
The star was the young man's grandfather—

The thick black hair, high forehead and
Easy smile, identical. Riding on family
Fame, the young owner had already mastered
The jubilation of the blurred sweet life
Without ever having gripped a racket.

We could picture him routinely eating late,
Smoking and drinking after the cafes closed,
Driving a peppy sports car, keeping women
Charmed with his insouciance, his disregard
For boundaries, appetites, signs of distress.

We talked about the drug of extravagance,
The thrill of speed as we aimed for the cathedral,
Stained nearly black by pollution and nailed
Above the Rhine like a lacy bat's wing.
Did I envy the purity of his abandon

As much as you rejected the kissed promise
Of the greater life rushing toward this man
Through women he would never love enough?
Did I crave the pleasures of my younger self
With no intention of telling you I felt lost?

Inside, the basilica flamed radiant as hydrogen,
Encased in gold, silver, and jeweled enamel.
Brighter still were the faces of pilgrims
Who saw in the tomb a shining child
Waiting for the beginning of the world.

J. P. White

All Good Water
Holy Cow! Press

stacking duck day

Husbando had a minor procedure on his eye yesterday and
afterwards he took his support team (Ginger and me) to lunch
out at California and 6th Avenue. The Mandalay is a v. pleasant
lunch spot and even though one of our friends won't eat tall
food, the duck on spinach and squash pictured above was excellent.
And there was actual sunshine in our city, so all in all, it was
a fine day. This morning? Gobs of fog...

brother's b.day

Here we are in the dim, dark, distant past. Evan died in 1998, and
even though we weren't close (could we sit any further apart in
this photo?) I think of him often and fondly. Cause of death?
Bladder cancer. What did I learn from his too early departure?
Make peace with friends and family while you can. Simple
truths become apparent when Mr. Death knocks. I think of
Evan every time I read e.e. cummings' poem:

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeons justlikethat

Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what I want to know is
how do you like your blue-eyed boy
Mister Death

(Sorry, e.e., you designed this a lot better than Blogspot allows
me to copy and paste it, but I will try again.)

glorious day in the sun

Club Level, Section 231, Row A, seat 14

The Cubbies in the 9th inning

Lunch at Primo Patio on Townsend

The real reason we won...

Very special day for Ginger (b.day!) and for the Giants and all their fans.
I bought this cool cap on the street for $10 (no tax) and I'm quite
sure it was the good luck charm that our team needed. We sat in
the Club Level and everything was perfect, especially Maddy's
pitching with 11 strikes.

good mourning

The Mourners: Tomb Sculptures from the Court of Burgundy

August 20, 2011 - December 31, 2011

The Mourners: Tomb Sculptures from the Court of Burgundy consists of 37 sculptures from the tomb of John the Fearless (1371–1419), the second duke of Burgundy. His elaborate tomb, once housed at a monastery on the outskirts of Dijon, is now one of the centerpieces of the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon.

These aren't very tall and a lot of people are misled. Under two feet each. These somber alabaster grieving men (I didn't see any women, but since they are all wearing long white robes, there might be one or two, but probably not because women then weren't exactly important.)

The Legion of Honor does a great job displaying these up in Galleries One and Two. You can get really close and study the delicate details. And what is interesting is how HUSHED the visitors are, almost like a real funeral.

Speaking of which, we are going to a Giants game today.

another pop-up adventure

The 3 chefs on their only day off...

Soft egg delight

Blogspot is acting irritable this morning, so I'll just go with this
one photo of risotto duck confit for now. Last night the Plotties
joined us at the Bernal Supper Club to test the Monday-night-
only pop-up at 18th and Mission. We had a great time and
the food was carefully and exquisitely prepared.

Three SF chefs from Bernal Heights started this in August and
it's a huge success, from word of mouth only. I had a soft farm
egg on millet cake (ahem) and my companions all had the
risotto ~ but first we enjoyed smoked trout and avocado salad.
Peach cobbler for dessert. No coffee was the only draw back,
but I'm sure that will change.

OK, I managed to get the other photos in, so disregard my
opening line. The area is a bit dicey, but the best way for that
to change is for lots of people to descend on it ~ folks not
involved in gangs or drugs. Remember how they cleaned up
Central Park in NYC? Normal (whatever that is) citizens
returned to their beautiful city park, or so they tell me...

a little intrigue

Currently I'm reading The White Lioness after giving up on
Angelology by Trussoni. When I was young I'd force myself to
finish books, even if I didn't like the writing or the plot, but that
is no longer the case, especially with The Green Apple, usually
eager to buy my rejects. So I jumped into a mystery by the Swede
Henning Mankell, this one from 1993. I'm about half way
through and appreciating his masterful story telling. There's
nothing like a cold blooded murder or two to keep one's mind
off baseball.

what we do for good food

I'm off today and the sun (!) came out in Bernal Heights about
11am. So what did we do? We zipped right out into the heart of the
fog on Clement Street to our favorite Chinese restaurant ~ Taiwan,
at 5th and Clement. Oh yum. And we bought some pork buns to
reheat another time. Now we are suffering through another tight
Giants game, but I did get outside for a little weeding in our
pretty new garden. This year features more spiders and webs
than ever; I'm still feeling that maybe one or two selected my
old comfy museum tee shirt for a new home. Yikes.

I'll try to get a walk in after we win (please) the game.

unconditional love

Odd, we were just talking about animated films the other night in
Tiapos. Here's another good one ~ My Dog Tulip is based on J.R.
Ackerley's 1956 autobiographical novel. Christopher Plummer is
the voice of the writer who adopts this skittish Alsatian pup and
their close friendship endures for 14 years. Amusing, touching
and totally delightful.

amazon thwarted?

I am pleased to read in our morning Chronny that some Dems are
trying to pass an online sales tax measure that would force Amazon
and other retailers to pay their fair share. Amazon has spent $5 million
funding a referendum to put this on the ballot, hoping that we would
vote it down. Just collect California taxes for god's sake, Amazon,
so I can stop boycotting you. And, by the way, you never answered
my thoughtful email explaining why I won't purchase one tiny
thing from you until I can pay an itty bitty state tax for the good of all.

what I needed to hear

Tonight is our writing group (Tiapos) and the piece we are reading
and commenting on is by K. I've spent a few hours thinking about
what she has to say and, as so often happens, her message resonates.
Trust The Universe. In her case it's about getting the money for
a class (Medical Intuition) she wants to take and the moment
she clicked on the button, checks and money from unexpected
sources came her way. Course fee covered within a week.

So I worry a bit about finances after I go part-time, but I know
in my heart that everything will be fine. I will get unemployment
and we do have the 401(k) to draw from and our house
mortgage is very, very low and everything will be A-OK.
And I remember Plottie's daughter wisely saying that we
have First World problems because we don't have to worry about
clean drinking water or malaria or starvation. Got it.

Life, she be good, all in all. Did I say easy? No, emphatically.
(Sheeeeesh, I forgot Social Security ~ it is a lifesaver and do NOT
let the GOP privatize it. Remember our personal accounts in
2008? Eeeeeek)

for those of us who want more...

I Ran Out Naked in the Sun

I ran out naked
in the sun
and who could blame me
who could blame

the day was warm

I ran out naked
in the rain
and who could blame me
who could blame

the storm

I leaned toward sixty
that day almost done
it thundered
then

I wanted more I
shouted More
and who could blame me
who could blame

had been before

could blame me
that I wanted more

Jane Hirshfield

Come, Thief
Alfred A. Knopf

it reads like GREAT fiction

This is an incredible article on the planning and execution of bin
Laden, amazingly well written and detailed. Nicholas Schmidle is
the reporter and you'll find it in the August 8th New Yorker. It
even includes a dog named Cairo. Here is the link ~ can't wait
for the movie!

thirty eight days

Time to start checking off the days until I go back to heavenly part-time
work. I don't know how the red dots got on my little note pad, but
they aren't tears. My contract is up on October 9th, and I'm ready for
a whole bunch of ME time. Actually, it's less than 38 days because
days off do not count, as all of you know full well. Plus, I'm taking
a wee vaca in September ~ more about that later. Make it under 30
days...and whoooooooeeeeeeeeee.

question answered

Q. Why was this movie made?
A. Unknown

The best parts were the scenes of Berlin and the 456 car chases
and crashes, how else would one know that it's an American
made movie? I like Liam, but he mostly look puzzled during
this film, probably trying to figure out who could write such
drivel. We watched the whole thing, I'm sorry to say.

the word on the street

I saw this on my walk yesterday and came home to Google it. Very
clever, turns out that they are a dog walking service here in Bernal
Heights, specializing in the little guys. Chalk this up to smart and
cheap advertising.

hysterics from the past

(This is one of my favorite Borders memories ~ from July, 2003.
There is nothing like uncontrollable laughter amongst chaos and
I really miss this kind of craziness in my current job.)

One Sunday afternoon, Marie Cilley came to do an author event at
our store. She wrote Sink Reflections and she is known as “The
FlyLady”, for some reason. Marie has a web site and a huge following
of mostly women, who want to be organized and get their housework
done better.

The event was at 2pm and her worshipers started arriving about noon.
They looked like they drove here straight from Iowa. Hefty women, all
white and very chirpy. They commented on the fact that I was wearing
a purple blazer and I later discovered that purple is Marie’s color and
in fact, many in the audience were purple-clad.

We weren’t exactly prepared for her signing. The woman who handles
events was late and we hadn’t put the books out yet. So we had to
scramble and sticker the books with Borders special labels and then
build a display in the third floor event space. We had to take down
a bunch of other books to do this and we all had other projects that we
were working on, so we were not real happy about this interruption.
These were not our regular customers and we wondered if these
women had ever been in our bookstore, or any bookstore, for that matter.

The place was packed! Maybe 100 beefy women were there. Marie
herself is overweight, but certainly pleasant enough.

While we were building the display Kevin M. asked Robb why Marie
is called, “The FlyLady”.

“Because she vomits in her food before she eat it,” was Robb’s
immediate reply.

The three of us could not stop laughing as we built the display. It was
not very professional of us, but it was just too hilarious. One of us
would finally stop laughing and the other two would try and we would
all be in hysterics again.

(in case the reader doesn’t know, flies vomit on their food to keep other
flies away, or so fly experts report)

his childhood refuge

Today calls for some poignant poetry...

1986: The Court

Behind our house, although the front was kept
sprinkled and cut, a bramble jungle swept
down to the vague edge of the property.
A staircase teetered from the basement door
and disappeared in briars. It felt to me
like ugliness. And also weird allure.
Scratched from the tangle, when you reached the end
there was a fence. But only to suspend
the vines: a hole was ripped in the chain-link
and opened on a tennis court. Who knows
how long it lay abandoned. Arrowing slink
of a garter snake or squawking of some crows.
And there it stood. And I could disappear:
free from the whiplash of that house. That year
time had a ragged, wave-like undertone.
My father lived with us again, then didn't.
Life happened all together, then alone.
To stomp and shriek and sing and cower, hidden
there on the crumbling court, or even lie
on its cracked clay and watch the square of sky
braiding with clouds made everything, the gleams
of rage and happiness and feral love
and loneliness, dissolve to jabbering streams
my hideout floated at the center of.
And I brought others also. I can see
Jason and Lee and Karen crouch with me
coughing on ripped-off cigarettes. Our hair
almost translucent in the sun, our faces
brimming with sun, we are wholly elsewhere:
sliced from all time that this one time erases.
The home above, its breaking, shines both clear
and blotched in memory. A purple smear
of evening rooms and then, slow-mo, a shot
of screams and smashing glass. The crumbling court
stays, though, as if the details I forgot
moldered around its edges for support:
the chain-link and its canopy of green
burn to a yellow scribble, while this sheen
of skin remains there, held against the pull
of all outside. Soon wave-like glimmers leak
across us. Only fragments stand out full
in the sun ... lips moistened, opening to speak.

Peter Campion

Harvard Review
Number 40

this used to be ours...

SUBTITLE: When We Had More Money Than Brains

The SF real estate market is now, and probably always has been, a weird
place to invest and make or lose money. Because the city is so small and
dense, property values are way too high, plus there are a lot of foreigners
who invest here because they love the city and compared to London, Paris
or NYC, we are still a bargain.

There are probably no homes underwater here in the city. Perhaps if you
go across a bridge or two, that isn't the case. On the other hand, why would
one want to cross a bridge or two when you live right here?

Back in the 80's we got caught up in the real estate thing. We bought rental
properties in the neighborhood. If we could have "stomached" the landlord
life, we'd probably be wealthy by now. I took a photo this morning of one of
our properties a few blocks east of Casa Verde. It's a duplex with a fabulous
view of the city. Views make up for a lot of basic problems and this property
had a lot, including a structural challenge because the whole thing rested
on one two by four in the basement. ("It's true," Husbando just commented.)

The best thing about this duplex on Mullen Avenue was that our daughter
Nancy lived here for a few months. It was wonderful having her right up
the street and we'd pop in and out of each others lives like some fun urban
sit com. After she left, we rented one of the spaces to a woman who
forgot to pay rent and when we finally evicted her I remember sitting on
the curb while they changed the locks. The immediate neighbors jeered
me as the tearful woman abandoned (!) her adorable cat and shuffled away.
(I had to call Animal Control and by then I was in tears too.)

Because we are animal lovers we allowed pets. One tenant had a
Great Dane, but he didn't seem to be as much of a problem as the
friends of friends of someone who stole all my mother's furniture that
we had stored in the basement there. How stupid was I at the time?

Husbando reminded me just now of the tenant who paid cash and
only cash. We always suspected that he was selling something other
than used clothing or books from his rental unit.

I couldn't wait to unload the properties that we owned. Even though I do
believe in rent control and fair treatment for renters, I know that it takes
a steel heart and lots of emergency money to be landlords. We
didn't have either. I think we made some money when we sold our
properties, but I'll have to check with Husbando to make sure I haven't
put a happy ending on this story. ("We made some money," he assures me.)

the right woman for the job

Last night we watched the Gloria Steinem HBO hour. Is it too dramatic
to say she changed my life? Ginger, Susan and I went to hear her
speak once Back In The Day ~ what a treat. We were already radicalized
feminists, so we simply basked in her beauty and banter. What didn't
come across last night was that she could hold her own in any situation
and she was soft-spoken as well as brilliant. I think we probably
guessed that she was tender along with tough, but that wasn't completely
revealed until she started writing about it all later in her life. The world,
my world, is a better place because of Gloria.

walking solves everything

Fog burning off early (7am)

New house on Bernal Hill

Old house, new paint job ~ clever, no?

I so needed two days off in a row to shake a mild depression and
to appreciate my easy life again. Walking does that, fiddling around
with the blog was delightful, and yesterday I also did some weeding in
the garden (in the sun!) while listening to the baseball game. Then
today early I walked up to the hill and after breakfast I hoofed it
over to Mission Street to meet Terri for coffee at the Mission Pie
Shoppe. If I'm not 100%, I'm way over 90% ~ ready for whatever
might come my way. Even work, I can do it!

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

Yesterday I asked the most wonderful Linda ONE SIMPLE
QUESTION and she answered succinctly and quickly.
And here I am with a totally new blog because I had been
so afraid to update it that I had to spend a few hours with
the new templates (well, not new to everyone, ahem) and
lordy, has Blogspot made things easier, or what?

Anyway, what fun I had. How do you like it?

Check out the Leukemia Walk gadget thingy. Please join
us for the Light the Night Walk. Please. More about this
later. Have I told my readers lately that I appreciate you?
I do, oh indeedy I do!

angels in our midst?

This is so not my kind of book, but my friend Corriander at
Books, Inc. on Van Ness recommended Angelology by Danielle
Trussoni. I've just started it ~ very well written and I might
even love the plot, we'll see. As one reviewer put it, "a better
slice of the Dan Brown pie." (or like that, rough quote)

Here is a bit from the NY Times:
One snowy day near the end of the last millennium, a young nun working in a Hudson Valley convent library discovers a secret correspondence between a former mother superior and the philanthropist Abigail Aldrich Rockefeller. After some further research and with a smitten art historian, Verlaine, at her side, the nun, Sister Evangeline, is drawn into a centuries-old struggle against the Nephilim — a fight in which both of her parents, now dead, were once engaged (hence the visit to the caged monsters). In under two days, she and Verlaine will quest after missing letters, books and an object so precious and singular that it has been commemorated in both angel iconography and the ancient myth of Orpheus. They will also find out what it means to wrestle with angels.

pardon his mess...

Pretty soon I'll have to close my 2002 notebook of daily writes and get back into the now. But first, this is a fun one from September of that year:

LOBSTER WITH BLACK BEAN SAUCE

No one enjoys eating shell fish more than my husband, Bill. On one of our first
dates he introduced me to lobster at a fancy restaurant in Sacramento. I had
never tasted lobster before and I did like it, but I enjoyed watching him eat more
than I enjoyed my dinner.

When Bill eats lobster or crab that is all he does. There is no conversation or
polite asides. He eats with total and complete abandon using both forks,
the nut cracker, his fingers and most of his face. When we have cracked crab
at home we put newspaper on the table for all the shells. Bill doesn’t like
to be bothered by anything when he is enjoying shell fish.

Last night we went to the Tong Palace on Clement Street. “Oh oh,” I thought
when I saw the two for $25 Lobster special on the menu board. We decided
on the lobster with black bean sauce and when they brought the platter we
stopped all conversation. The meal was delicious.

I noticed a table of eight Chinese customers watching Bill eat. When they
finished eating and paid their bill, they walked by our table. Each and every
one of them made a comment about how “you really know how to enjoy
food.” It is such a pleasure to watch Bill’s lobster-only concentration and
not a shell goes unturned during this joyful mealtime activity.

the best part of the game

We arrived early yesterday and enjoyed the sunshine, garlic fries
and chit chat with our friend Ginger. Then the game started
and all hope was lost. Bad pitching, no hitting and an ugly
error and we are out of first place. Hello, Arizona. But hope
springs eternal and we are already looking forward to our next
game on August 31st.

only two?

Drat. I was hoping that all the GOP State Senators would be recalled
yesterday, but alas, only two Dems won. It's been an interesting
process watching Wisconsin. Like many people I have mixed feelings
about Unions, but after worrying and fighting them for years as a
manager person, I now belong to one. Interesting, no? When I was
at Borders and one of the stores joined a union, it seemed like
suddenly corporate woke up and across the board everyone either
got a raise or our benefits improved. Big picture? Unions benefit
everyone, even if they do protect a few people who aren't exactly
workaholics. Anyway, I guess two is better than none...

Footnote. I grew up in a strong Republican union-bashing family.
When I went away to college I changed and that caused a few
problems for everyone. OK, major upheaval is more like it.

the week of the Duck

We had lunch at Serpentine in Dog Patch,
even though we had reservations at Piccino

Service was slow so the restaurant treated us to this
and to soup, salads ~ very nice!

Friends make life so much better and easier...

Yesterday's lunch was, as always, special because of the Great Duck's
birthday next Friday. We had some only-in-San Francisco-probably
moments to savor: four free bags of granola from Piccino who didn't
honor our reservation because the restaurant is closed on Mondays,
a walk in The Dog to Serpentine (owned by the Slow Club) where
the food was excellent and the service slow, neutske bacon that
didn't appear on the smoked mozarella sandwiches, etc. But the
service staff was so warm and friendly that we all adjusted nicely
and we talked of many things and laughed and enjoyed our time together.

did you hear/see the review?

I might have to hit Books, Inc. this week to check out this new
fiction entitled The Family Fang by Kevin Wilson. I heard about
it on NPR this morning and if I write about it in da blog, I'll
be sure to remember because my kind readers will remind me.
The reviewer said that it is an exceedingly original plot and her
enthusiasm infected me greatly. Has anyone read it yet?

back to Borders (2004)

I need to cleanse my mind of work issues this morning so I can
enjoy my three days off and not have half of me still at Borders.
The big strike at Macy's has my boss very nervous because we
always worry about union activity and we recently changed our
sick day policy and that has a few people upset because they can
no longer just call in sick because the sun is out or it is foggy or
they are hung over. The poor darlings only get 12 sickie and late
days a year. We are so cruel.

On top of this it was the usual week of broken escalators, overflowing
urinals and booksellers who are "clocking Kara" who dicks around all
day instead of working. When I suggest that maybe they would want
to do their own section work and customer service instead of watching
the lazy-ass Kara, they get annoyed and stomp off to clump together
again with their friends and bitch about Mary Ann.

We are short of managers on Mondays and I have to handle all the
pissy little problems myself. There are 6 of us on the Management
Team (do not ask me HOW MUCH I hate that Team term), but some
days there is only me. And Mondays are especially bad because
all the repair people are there from the weekend breakdowns
and I am filled with resentment because I know they make twice as
much as I do because they belong to unions.

So, the power is in me to turn my mind to more pleasant things. I
will walk, go to yoga, write emails, do some daily writing, A good movie
is arriving from Netflix® and my husband and I will have lunch out at
a restaurant every day. He knows I like to sit outside if it is warm
enough and to me that is almost like being on vacation. Already my
real self is coming back into focus.
07/20/04

let's go out to the garden again

Early Girls are almost here!

First flower after re-mo

Guaranteed to piss off Plotnik

Our excellent new garden is coming along just fine and yesterday
while Husbando was out watering someone called "hello Sir!"
and handed him a bag of avocados from their tree. The International
House of Women is/are an ever-changing, friendly bunch of really
nice neighbors and we often talk about how lucky we have been
with people on both sides of our house over the years.

Houses in SF are attached to each other. No breathing space. And
yet when we think back, only once did we have difficulties. That
guy was a drug dealer and we were there for the arrest and public
handcuffing, so it was all worthwhile. My half assed theory is
that city people know there is no space, so from Day One we
decide to get along with each other. Hmmmm, logical, no?

out at 34th and golf course

I have been remiss in my art reporting lately. At first I had a little
trouble appreciating this 17th century art out at the Legion of Honor.
The Picasso at the deYoung is whimsical and enchanting, and this
Dutch and Flemish work is not. The artists loved all cloud formations,
it appears, and there is a whole roomful of ships. Everyone loves
the soft little dog in the top photo and you will too. I find that as
I dash in on my breaks and study a piece or two, I am liking the
exhibit more and more. It's here until October 2nd, so come visit.