Two Steps Back

Well, I caved and returned to Facebook.  Lots going on with my children that I was out of the loop on. Why? Because Facebook has replaced other forms of communication. I learned that solidly in my year and a half hiatus from it. People just don't take the time to stay in touch any other way anymore. So much easier to  "see" what people have been up to, and one can be completely covert and voyeuristic in doing so. No need to say or do anything-just peek right into someone's life. Do I sound sarcastic? I hope so. 

Although it's a relief to be more closely connected to a couple of my children who eschew old school communication, I regret the fact that I am back in the muck and mire and general nonsense that's involved. My friends list is trimmed down, and I do so love many of them. But the fact remains- a growing number of people don't care about maintaining contact unless it's through Facebook. Emailing is a thing of the past for many, and forget about phone calls. Texts suit most people just fine. We are becoming watchers, not participants. I find it all a bit creepy, but then I am of another era. I still write cards, and love handwritten communication. I'm no Luddite, either. I've been communicating via computer since the early 90's, and my last job on the mainland was at an ISP.

My cave-in occurred about a week ago. Many days had passed since I'd had an update from my eldest child, my son. His life has been a lot like a meat grinder lately, and I get concerned, especially being across the sea. All I had to do was get back onto Facebook, and voila-conversation was immediately possible. This is a must, since we've been planning his escape from the Bay Area for a while. After 7 years of working and living there, he is about to jump ship. 7 years have brought a lot of change to that region, and most of it is negative. Especially if you're not a real estate magnate, start-up entrepreneur, or vapid techie. It's all over for the regular folks like me, who just happened to be born and raised there. Older daughter wants out as well, though not to Hawaii, yet. Probably to Santa Cruz county initially. But I digress... My son will be here soon. We both are thrilled and look forward to helping him decompress, wind down, regroup and rethink his life. We truly welcome the chance to have this time with him. He needs us, even though he is 32 years old. So what? He is my own flesh and blood until I breathe my last breath. Nobody is done growing and learning at 32, no matter what they say. Hopefully, one is growing and learning all of their lives. They should be! 

This opportunity for my son would never, ever have been an option with my own parents. Not when I wanted to get away from the Tahoe party life and go to college, or when I had my face pummeled by someone who claimed to love me, never did my family open their arms or their home to the younger me. Sometimes our children need a little emotional support in this life, and I haven't lost sight of that.

Do you ever wonder why some people had children in the first place? I do. I mean, I know why it happens... But why bother, if all you do is make them feel like they are burdensome disappointments throughout? My kids are this life's one true gift, and the primary reason I climb out of bed every day. They will never be made to feel otherwise, as I was.

I'll even put up with Facebook, if it means staying connected to my beloved family.

Maya Angelou

An inspiring woman on many levels. I met her once...

It was September of 1979, and I was on my one and only East Coast Grateful Dead tour. In a week's time, I saw shows in Glens Falls, N.Y., Rochester, N.Y., Augusta, ME., and then 3 nights at Madison Square Garden. (Ah, youth!)

My friends and I had just seen the final MSG concert. We had been staying with a deadhead friend in Manhattan. He wanted to drag us California kids to Greenwich Village for our first egg cream. We happily complied, and were soon chattering excitedly at a busy joint in the village. It had been lots of fun for all in the big apple, but we were ready to go home. As we verbalized our homesick thoughts, a woman in the booth next to us turned around and with the most beautiful smile said: "Oooh, I love San Francisco!" We then all conversed about the many things we loved about that city by the bay.

There were introductions at some point... And when she said her name was Maya Angelou, I was electrified-and not just because I had just seen my favorite psychedelic band kick ass at the Garden!

Being a big reader and wannabe poet, I immediately recognized her name. Not so sure whether the deadhead dudes I was with understood my giddiness or the prowess of this woman. I most certainly did! I've never forgotten her warm smile and kindred words. Thanks for inspiring, always, Ms. Angelou.

More than a decade later, I was at home in La Selva Beach with my 7-month old daughter, watching the inauguration of William Jefferson Clinton on t.v.  It was a celebratory time. I had worked for his campaign in my precinct, and life felt pretty damned hopeful. As I sat with my nursing daughter, watching Maya Angelou read her now-famous innaugural poem, tears of joy streamed down my face and onto my brand-new child. I will never forget that memory. The poem was published in small paperback form and I promptly purchased one for myself and one for my father, who also loved words and was hopeful about our newly-elected president. I still have mine, of course. Hoping to read the poem aloud to Glen later, when he is home from work. (He was forewarned, HA!)

Maya Angelou shares this date with my father. Today marks two years since he departed, leaving an emotional crevasse I am just beginning to understand. I mourn what was... And even more so, what was not.

Here's more about her San Francisco ties: 

http://blog.sfgate.com/stew/2014/05/28/maya-angelous-san-francisco-connections/

Tales from the Mainland

I left the island on a balmy Christmas afternoon.  My surprise gift was having three seats to myself all the way to Oakland.  The poor man's first class!

The other unusual thing about my flight to Oakland International Airport was that it ended in a late-night BART ride to the city. Since my plane arrived late on Christmas night and BART was operating, it seemed smart. In years past, I might have wimped-out on such a solo adventure.  I have unfortunately lived in one-too-many small, mostly-white towns over the last couple of decades, until I reclaimed my inner city girl a few years back. The town I now call home is definitely small, but extremely diverse. I am much more comfortable, living in that environment. Anyway... the last leg of my mainland journey was a cinch.  And no poor soul had to drive across the Bay Bridge to fetch me at 11:30 on Christmas night. Plus, I didn't pay $75.00 for a cab ride.

My checked bag showed up fast and I headed outside to catch my AirBart connection. It cost $3.00, and the bus rumbled through the streets to the Coliseum BART station.  My belongings consisted of one rather large checked bag-on-wheels, my backpack, and a reusable Foodland shopping bag. I dragged it all to the automated ticket area, spent  $4.00 on my ticket, then went up the escalator to the platform. I waited only moments for a Daly City train, which would take me to my final destination. 

 

The Golden State Warriors had just won the basketball game at the Coliseum, and  some  of the attendees were also boarding the train. The mood was jubilant, due to the team's victory and it being Christmas.  I grabbed a seat and let my daughters know I was on the final leg of my day-long journey.  They were meeting me at the 24th and Mission stop-several blocks from older daughter's apartment. My poor son was sick with a hellacious cold, so I didn't see his face until the next day.  The flight had arrived ahead of schedule and I'd be in the city well before midnight.  The trip under the bay was swift and entirely uneventful.  I listened to a couple of tunes and enjoyed a little people watching and was in the city in about thirty minutes.  I rode the escalator upstairs and there were my daughters, laughing and smiling.  Sweet relief. We scurried through the now-hushed streets to my daughter's apartment. Then it was officially Christmas.

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."

Helen Keller

Wordless Wednesday

In the Home Stretch

One more week on the mainland.  Longest stay yet, and it's gone remarkably well.   

Remaining open and flexible makes it simple, really.  

The man and I have not been apart for this long in almost 15 years of life together!  I miss him very much and at the same time, am thankful to have had lots of time with my children.  Never, ever enough. 

  View from Sutro Heights Park

  1/13/14

Wordless Wednesday

Happy New Year

From San Francisco, land of magical unicorns!

Where I Was From

Not Entirely Wordless Wednesday

Mele Kalikimaka! This is where I long to be... and will be, at about midnight.

At my older daughter's place in the city, where I will reunite with my three kids!

Because the best things in life aren't things. 

Fifty Years On

I went to Sherman School, located on Union Street, in the now-bourgeois Marina District of San Francisco. There were still many economic levels represented, back then.  It was not the hipster Mecca we now know. 

I was in the first grade, a six year old dreamer. My few memories of Sherman School are terrifying. Being forced to square dance regularly, red ants invading the playground, and some older kids scaring us little kids with dry ice.  Why dry ice was scary I do not know, but it most certainly was. 

Our neighbors on Leavenworth Street were the Waldrons. They had one child, Sara.  We were fast pals, she being a year older than me.  Her dad often took us to school, and he had the coolest Volkswagen Bug ever.  It would  start without a key, which I found mysterious and exciting.

"That" morning, I remember the teacher telling us that President Kennedy was dead, and then all of the school's students being herded through the hallways and onto the playground.  Reactions were varied, depending on ages of the children. Us young ones seemed mostly frightened and confused, and some kids in the upper grades were noticeably upset.  All of the teachers and staff seemed to be wailing.

I was indeed confused, yet aware of the enormity of the unfolding event.  See, my parents were big JFK supporters, always.  Politics were already familiar to me-since I had heard grown ups discussing them from the time I could comprehend.  I still recall my father's disdain for Barry Goldwater.

At one point, after what seemed like an unusually long stint on the playground, an older student approached me, sobbing.  She said: "Why aren't you crying?  Don't you know the president was shot?"  Then she punched me in the stomach.  And I cried.  

School ended early.  Things were intense when I got home from school that day.  My parents were upset in a way I was unfamiliar with.  And although I had not yet reached the alleged age of reason (7 years), I knew that the reliable little world I had known would never be the same.  It was not. 

My second grade report card from Sherman School. 

Wordless Wednesday

Some of my San Francisco Ohana, en route to their weekly movie date.  Photo by my daughter.

Wordless Wednesday

9/9/94

Today would have been my Father's 19th

wedding anniversary.  I guess it still is, technically.

He married his true love about eight years after they started dating, both wanting to be sure that they had "staying power."  They were quite the match.

Their wedding ceremony and reception took place at The City Club in San Francisco on a warm autumn evening.  My brother was best man, I was maid of honor.  It was a dressy affair.  There was music and merriment.  

Everyone had a lovely time, of course. My children and then-husband and I stayed in the city that night, at the Hotel Canterbury on Sutter.  Owned by an old friend from Galileo High School.  (RIP, Jon J. Lehr.)

Late that same night, my then-husband left our hotel room in a crazed state, and disappeared into the belly of the beast (The Tenderloin area) until the next morning.  The writing was on the wall, and yet it would be another five years until I escaped my doomed union.  I'm a slow learner.

The photo is another from Stillwater Cove 

on the Jenner coast, where some of my father's ashes were scattered back in June.

Happy Anniversary, dearest dad.  Glad we both found real love in our lifetimes, eventually.

Friendly Reminder

Buy the ticket, take the ride.

Hunter S. Thompson

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Chet Helms Day

Golden Gate Park

October 30, 2005

Jefferson Airplane~"Won't You Try"

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bV_4g-SEL_0&sns=em&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbV_4g-SEL_0%26sns%3Dem

Baker Beach

May 19, 2013

Wordless Wednesday

Hoya

My San Francisco daughter has successfully made her move to a much-improved living situation. She's out of the vast wasteland that is the edge of the Tenderloin district. Her new place is in the Noe Valley/Mission area. Hordes of vapid hipsters, but less human excrement and crack heads. And no more bummer boyfriend. Extremely difficult to watch one's children repeat one's own missteps. Ouch.

Happy to report that she is good now and better every day. So many humans stay in unacceptable relationships. Especially women. I am proud of her courage to get the hell out. He was not a mean person, just a very lost soul that she couldn't fix. Lesson learned... When I left California, she inherited my houseplants. My former hoya plant began as a cutting I grabbed about 10 years back. The original plant belonged to the man's father and stepmother. It thrived at their place in Sea Ranch, and had SO many sweet pale pink waxy blooms. I was smitten. It took a decade, but the hoya is blooming again! Daughter sent some pics.

I need to grow them here, outside! Wondering if the jade flower vine we have is related?

Wordless Wednesday

Solar Eclipse
10/27/04

Photograph courtesy of pal James, who took it on the roof of his building in the Sunset District of San Francisco.