Spontaneous Combustion

There are moments in life when the planets and the stars align with the full moon resulting in a spontaneous combustion of feminine energy. Saturday was one of those times.

It started innocently enough with me attending another walking group meetup. We gathered at the Palace of Fine Arts which rises majestically like a grand Roman architectural monument atop a strip of  land between the maze of Marina condominiums and the Golden Gate Bridge.

The group meandered from here along the bay, under the Golden Gate Bridge, across Baker Beach. Not a nude in sight. Maybe it was just too cold. After emptying the sand from our shoes, we sauntered along the coastal cliffs ending at the souvenir shop near Ocean Beach, about 6-7 miles. Howard, our walking guide, pointed out Robin Williams' ex-wife's house again as we moved through Sea Cliff... except it wasn't the same house he showed us two weeks ago.  But then Robin Williams has two exes so maybe they live in the same neighborhood.  Who am I to question Howard's facts?

The group photo following lunch on one of the batteries doesn't begin to suggest what lies within some of us.

In the midst of the hike, a woman whose name tag says, 'Heather' asks me if I'd like to go for drinks and dinner in North Beach with herself and another woman.  "Sure," I reply.  "Okay if Mary comes along?" "Of course!" Heather says, "But it's girls night out only."  "Uh? Okay."  Debbie asks, "Are you going to Mike's Pizza?"  "I don't know. Somewhere in North Beach. Since you're a woman, I'm sure you're welcome to come along."

Little did the evening and North Beach know what was in store for the neighborhood. Take five women who know nothing about each other, mix them together with a couple carafes of red wine and yummy food after a day of hiking in the cold fog for five hours, riding a bus for thirty minutes and then walking another mile to North Beach.... and there is no predicting what the outcome will be.

Here we are... a 40 something, three 50 somethings, and a 68 year old together for the first time. An IT software engineer, a medical doctor, a nurse (the North Beach local), a medical transcriptionist, and a gypsy. Cafe Deluva for wine and appetizers, then across the street to Soto Mare for prawns, salmon and scallops with steamed brocollini and more wine.  Delicioso!  My face still hurts from laughing.

After dinner our local North Beacher took us to Specs to meet the artist who makes $270 a night selling painted cocktail napkins.  To inebriated tourists I'm sure. One must think creatively these days. And yes, we bought some. Well, the doc bought one for each of us as a memento.

I must admit seeing it on the table this morning made me laugh out loud as it reminded me of Heather speaking Spanish to the Italian waitress whose face clearly portrayed what her training would not allow her to speak to a  customer, 'WTF is wrong with you woman'.

And Heather did this after attempting earlier in the day to speak Arabic to a Persian woman who finally replied in perfect English that she didn't understand a word Heather was speaking. They're both"you had to be there" moments of tears and laughter but I strongly suspect that Heather who has amazing dialect abilities probably speaks neither Spanish nor Arabic.

How is it that five women who know nothing about each other can have such a spontaneously combustive and amazing experience together? Perhaps the very fact that we know nothing about each other allows us to simply relate to that which is the same within each of us. Who knows? Who really cares? It was a hoot and reminds me how much I love the unplanned opportunities I have to meet incredible and wonderful wild women everywhere I travel.

Just a Walk to the Park

The blog becomes more challenging to write these days. So many personal shifts and changes taking place as I acclimate to city living. Each feels monumental to me personally in the moment but rarely are the actual events of my daily life interesting enough to put into words.

I pause briefly from time to time to wonder at the flow of my interests over these last ten+ years which have run the gamut from fire walking, reiki, and hypnotherapy to singing kirtan to painting to writing poetry, then prose, then the travel blog and sharing photos, and now to ????.  As I reflect on it all, the one consistent thread for me besides my continual personal evolution has been my love of walking.

My life in San Francisco right now is all about walking. When one walks everywhere, there isn't time for much of anything else. I walk to the grocery. I walk to Walgreens. I walk to the bank. I walk to the library to take out books and to participate in Tai Chi which is free on Wednesday afternoons. (By the way, Betty, you have my utmost admiration right about now for being good enough at Tai Chi to be an instructor.) I walk to Old Navy. I walk to the Walking Company in my never ending search for the most comfortable walking shoes. I walk to the wonderful reflexologist and Chinese Medicine Massage Man in Chinatown. I stop at different coffee shops and restaurants while I walk because it's a pleasant break. I walk home from the theater because it's easier and probably safer than wandering the streets after dark in search of the correct bus stop. I walk home from dinner because it's faster than the 29 minute wait for the bus. My body is getting stronger and stronger and I feel amazingly healthy and alive.

I don't miss my car and have no desire to drive anywhere right now. I pause from time to time to wonder at myself  because after all I am  the 'Queen of the Road Trip' and have been known to drive without a destination just for the sake of driving. Now I am compelled to walk just for the sake of walking! So it feels entirely appropriate to join the meetup group called Walking San Francisco for Health and History.

I'm the one in the orange sweater. The group numbers 4,900 but this is probably the usual number of participants for each outing.







Yesterday, we walked seven miles across the peninsula - from the Embarcadero to Land's End Park. The 'history' amounted to walking past Danielle Steele's house and Robin Williams' ex-wife's house.




The architecture of San Francisco lifts me up as much as the natural beauty of the Mendocino Headlands.

Following the group walk yesterday I indulged in a thoroughly nostalgic meal of Gegrillte Nürnberger Bratwurst mit Sauerkraut und Kartoffelbrei at Suppenkuche in Hayes Valley with Vicky and Jim, two other crazy folk who just enjoy walking the streets of San Francisco.

Skinny Jeans

I may not be dancing in the kitchen like in Mendocino and

wiling away hours reading on the deck is a bit less enticing here so I'm out and about most of the day.

My new fitness test is, "How many blocks can I walk without stopping to wheeze loudly?"  The answer depends on whether I'm walking up or down the hill.









My clothes are getting baggy... so today I celebrated with a pair of skinny jeans.  The sales lady assured me it was okay. I'm sure she was telling the truth.

Heart Lost and Found

The­­ emotional highs and lows of the first week in San Francisco rival her hills and valleys.  Each day straining up, up, up, and up, then down, down, down, and down checking out neighborhoods - the Mission, Cow Hollow, Pacific Heights, North Beach. Shins and calves screeching disapproval. Biceps strengthening from holding my weight while straining to stay upright on mass transit, not always successfully, but hey, you never know into whose lap you may fall.

I was pretty proud of myself to recognize a Craigslist scam before getting sucked into it and I'm grateful to have found an apartment I can move into on Friday thanks to Barb (sis-in-law).  And all the while I search and find my way in a new location, texts and emails fly through cyber space about people I love working to overcome pain and illness.  I'm torn between my own happiness at having a new adventure and the real life challenges other family members are facing.

A few days ago while traipsing the hills, I stop to rest at an outdoor dining table. I don't intend to eat here.  Just need a breather and a moment to check my location on the map. Within half a second Andrea 'like in Bocelli ' appears before me with a great Italian welcome to E Tutto Qua. He is charming beyond belief, telling me the story of his aunt opening the restaurant five years ago and all the family has come from Italy to work here. After listening, I don't have the heart to say, "I just want to rest my shins" so I ask for his red wine recommendation and order the Umbrian that he suggests.  Another young man delivers the wine speaking a lovely Italian phrase. I search my brain for the memory of a word, a phrase. Rosetta Stone where are you? The best I can do is ‘gratzie.’ He replies, ‘prego’ and I am transported back to Lucca, Rome, and Florence.

With a little time to ponder, later I ask Andrea if ‘E Tutto Qua’ means ‘Everything is Here.’  His eyes light up. “Oh, madame, perfetto!”

I've observed from the giggling twenty somethings leaving the restaurant that Andrea knows how to beguile the young women and, quite frankly, he's not doing so bad with the 'young at heart woman' nursing her shins either. A very Italian young man.

I settle deeply into the wicker chair relaxing my legs, sipping Umbrian wine, noticing the surrounding environment for the first time. Across the street 'Condor Topless A Go-go' is situated next to 'Big Al’s Cheez N Bologna' and there are rooms for rent above the ‘Hungry I Club’. I chuckle to myself that I chose this spot to relax and what's more, I'm perfectly comfortable and enjoying myself. It's 4 pm. The wine, sunshine and inner giggles warm my heart. The sign below "Roaring Twenties" proclaims “You are about to enter the sinful speakeasy” and strangely enough it makes me feel at home. Perhaps I left my heart in San Francisco in a flapper lifetime! Who knows from whence these strange feelings suddenly appear.

Another sip of wine while observing the multitudes passing by along the sidewalks. I enjoy that no group of faces look alike and listening to the variety of languages brings a lump to my throat. I'm enthralled with this location. I can't leave yet, so I order a Caprese and another Umbrian red.  I'm celebrating. What? I don't know but it feels like a real celebration!

While I wait for the Caprese my thoughts drift to another only-in-San Francisco encounter earlier in the day.  Or is it only-a-Margie encounter?  I'm not really sure. I was waiting at a busy intersection for the traffic signal to change. I glance to my left and catch the eye of a very large black man wearing a green neon vest over navy shirt and trousers, the uniform of a city employee. He stops cleaning the street and stares at me with a grin as huge as he is round and tall.  His eyes sparkle and he's laughing, “OK, I just have to ask. What’s with the scarf?”  I make a face to indicate his question puzzles me. He says, “The scarf. What's the deal with all the colors?”  “Oh,” I reply,“It's from Africa. Made from scraps of different colored cloth sewn together.”  “So, it’s meaningful to you,”  he acknowledges.  “Yes, it is."  I hesitate when the light turns and ask, "Why? Do I look silly?”  As I step from the curb he replies, “Well let's just say not many people could pull off wearing something like that." Then with a nod of his head and a wink of his eye, "But you do it just fine!” It doesn't take much to amuse me or lift me up. A kind interchange with a stranger works just fine.

I'm smiling at the memory as Andrea serves my Caprese with a flourish of amore`.  He then strolls to each of the other three outside tables and announces, “You're from Germany, you are from Germany and you are from Germany. Everyone is from Germany."  Not to be left out I jump in with, “My father was from Germany. Does that count?”

Now I’m chatting with the Deutschelanders.

Whenever I meet someone from Germany I ask if they know the area where my father was raised. I usually speak the town names in order of size from small to large(r), Emstek, Drantum, Cloppenburg, Oldenburg.  I usually don't even try Fladderlohausen, the town where he was born.  No one I've ever asked has heard of them. The replies have usually been,“No. Sorry.” Or sometimes “I’ve heard of Oldenburg but don't know where it is.” But on this day the family at the table next to me replies, “Of course. Emstek is one hour, forty minute drive from Hannover where we live.” 

Someday I hope to stand on the corner of Broadway and Columbus with my grandchildren and tell them how I found my heart right at the intersection of E Tutto Qua and Condor Topless A Go Go enjoying an afternoon in San Francisco with the Italians and the Germans.

One Chateau, Half a Family, and Some Horses

Spent the weekend at the ranchette.  A house-swap with the owners of my Mendocino house.

A lovely chateau complete with stable on some acres in Sebastopol.  

Mary Ann, (sis) joined me there.

Talked for nine hours straight never moving from our spot.  Occasionally a shift of position was required but we chatted up the backside without missing a beat.





Hugh (bro) and Barbara (sis-in-law) joined us the next day.   

We chatted and grazed ... and grazed... and conversed....  and grazed.


  

that is, when we weren't redecorating the chateau...   

If this were mine, I would...  

We laughed, we cried, we bid one another adieu.

I returned home to Mendo House, spit-shined, 

polished and wearing something new.

"To sleep, perchance to dream."

"Unless (new) experience be a jewel."
                                                                                    Shakespeare

Another step forward into the unknown.

Morning Mayhem in Mendocino

It's the crack of dawn.  Breeze... well wind.. bangs the blind back and forth against the open window. It's cold. A foggy mother's day in Mendo. The banging doesn't bother me.  I snuggle deeper into the down comforter. A siren wails.Wow! the first siren I've heard in almost a year. I'm not a fire chaser. I'm content to turn over, wrap the comforter tighter, drift iiiinnn and ooouuut.  Screeching louder ... banging blind... my reverie. Hhmmm. Fire... must be close. Hmmm. Have to be. About eight streets in the Village? Hhmmm. Hhmmm.ScreechCloser.Bang.Closer.Louder.Bang.Closer.Bang.Hmmm.Could be this street.  Sudden Silence in front of my house. Instantly awake. Sniffing.Oh my god! Is MY house on fire? Holy S**t! Sudden silence in front of one's house is louder than the screaming siren and the banging blind. Did you know that?

Jump from bed. Alarms Silent. Good sign. Are they functioning? Run from room. Bang head. Slanted ceiling. Curse. Cross hall. Front window. Decent pajamas.

Outside my house. The one and only Mendocino Firetruck. Fire Fighters in full regalia, yanking the hose, flipping gears, running, wasting not a second. It's not me. Across the street. Stop everything now. Stop and heave a long, deep, relieving sigh all the way from my head down to my toes.Thank you, God! Within a second my blogging instinct, natural to me now, kicks me down the stairs, I grab my camera and begin to record the scene. Maybe I am a firechaser. Maybe it's just been too long since something happened in Mendocino.

The Baptist Church. Relief ... it's not my house!  Sadness ... the young reverend whose name I can never remember and his parishioners. It's Mother's Day! A Sunday! Must be more than the usual steam billowing out the upstairs vent.  

The big guns from Ft. Bragg arrive.
Better get dressed. May have to move my car. I hope there's no one inside the church.  It's so early, probably not.

I've never witnessed firefighters in action from such a close vantage point before.They really do risk life and limb. Especially this one who climbs right up to the smoking vent to survey the situation.Who knows what's going on inside that building? I hope no one's in there.  Eric Sondeen, a firefighter and friend from Boulder, comes to mind.

This brave man stays on his perch quite awhile before reversing his steps. The men below stand at the ready waiting for instructions.

They talk quite awhile after he's down.  When they begin to move, it takes them no time at all to re-roll the fire hose, re-secure the ladder, turn off levers, switches, and gears, remove their hats, open their jackets and leave.  I guess it was just the steam from the boiler.

As they prepare to climb into the firetruck, it seems to me their shoulders are slumped just a bit. Are they dejected?  The adrenaline rush has to be ginormous... receiving the call, leaping into immediate action, completely prepared to risk their life, to do their job.  And it's a false alarm. Has to be a letdown.

Or are they relieved to return to the fire house.  Take up their usual positions and discuss the almost-drama on Mother's Day in Mendocino.  Probably a bit of both.  Maybe Eric will let me know.  Anyway, I'm impressed with the quick response of the men who volunteer their time and are willing to put their lives on the line to fight fires.

As I think of the mothers of these young men who showed up at the crack of dawn on Mother's Day to fight fire, this blogger and this mother is grateful for the gift of almost-drama  to blog about rather than the real thing.

And I've done it without one photo of flowers... well, except for the wild ones in the field next to the church.  I bet you wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't told you about them.

Pure Joy

Today while walking I can't help but feel pure joy.  

I know ... I know ... a broken record ... is there nothing else to say?  Well I could tell you about the women's concert I went to last night but... then I'd have to tell you I cried when two old couples danced the jitterbug to a swing song and by the time the choir sang Hallelujah I was sobbing.  Or I could tell you about the coast garden workshop I went to this morning where I learned calla lilies are weeds.

So I'd rather tell you that I have never lived nor visited a place that feels like Mendocino. And even though I drag emotions up from the depths from time to time, I have completed writing and recording three sets of online classes and now I'm busy writing and recording guided imageries that will be available on my website as well.

And I get to do all of this while feasting my eyes on the weeds that I've let get out of hand in my garden.

Then when I stretch my legs each day, new discoveries never fail to show me the way.

Whenever I think it just cannot get better than this,

red hot pokers and a worn fence move me to bliss!

Ever changing, ever the same.

Wonder of wonders, the name of this game.









Faced with choice, which way to go?

How 'bout to the wild iris show.

Nearing the end, having made the Headlands circuit.

I am welcomed by a riotous circus.

Looking inward to a perspective that's new













I step through the gate

and spring's first rose graces my view.

PURE JOY!