Way more than anyone in theirright mind would ever want toknow about my trip to San Francisco

The first time I went to San Francisco was in the fall of 1985. It was around Thanksgiving, and I'd driven out with a bunch of strangers from the ride board at school in order to visit some friends in Oakland and Sacramento. As we crossed the Bay Bridge and drove into the financial district, I was totally blown away by the scale and intensity of it all – the bridge, the buildings, the lights, the people. It was the first real city I'd ever seen and the moment I saw it in person I knew I wanted to live there someday.

Not long after that I did move there for a couple of years, and by the time I left I was thoroughly weary, wary, worn out, worn down, exhausted, and pissed off. I still loved the city, but only as a friend ... the kind of friend whose voice on the phone always makes you tense up just a little, the kind of friend who never seems to know when enough is enough.

Anyway – to cut to the chase, this weekend I sort of fell in love with San Francisco all over again. Maybe because I'm older and more comfortable with myself these days, or maybe because I knew I didn't have to actually live there again, or maybe because I wasn't trying to drive and park, or maybe because the city itself has changed since I lived there – whatever – I felt good there.

(And here I will interrupt my narrative to report that I just offered Tater a sip of my Breathe Easy™ tea, which he declined (by turning his head away, and away, and away, until I thought it might actually turn all the way around à la Linda Blair), preferring to suck on one of Mr. A's crusty wool socks from the dirty clothes hamper. This is funny because he usually loves any kind of tea I offer him – what is it he objects to about this one?)

So the hotel was just a couple of blocks from the Civic Center, and by some weird freak of nature we ended up with an actual view – the beautiful, newly restored dome of City Hall, all lit up and looming over us like a big benevolent bald head at the window all night long.

Sunday morning I got up early, and since we were so close to the Tenderloin I decided to go to the 9 o'clock service at Glide Memorial Church. I totally, totally love Glide – why didn't I know about it when I lived in the city, when I spent so much time feeling lonely and like I had nowhere to go? I did used to sometimes sit outside some of the gospel churches in my neighborhood and listen to the choirs ... but going inside and actually connecting with people, and singing, and hearing positive, hopeful messages about love and hope and reconciliation – that's a really good feeling. I decided while I was sitting there that finding a way to feel that way more often is something I want to do for myself this year.

There was this woman in the choir, a soloist, who was introduced as being in some kind of enormous crisis and wanting to offer her song to God as thanks for seeing her through whatever it was. So she sang the song (about continuing to stand) in an incredibly strong and powerful voice, and as she finished she sort of semi-collapsed, and then all these people surrounded her and it was just so beautiful to see her being embraced by so much love and support.

After that I headed out to the de Young, where I spent several hours taking in a show of paintings, drawings and wire sculptures by Ruth Asawa (that's her in the photo at the top of this post). Wire is one of my favorite materials to work with and I got a lot of new ideas from this show.

From there I went next door, to the Japanese tea garden, where I saw my first blooming tree of 2007 – a single tiny cluster of pale pink blossoms. Then I walked through the park – taking pictures along the way of some of my favorite old trees that I used to like to visit – and past my old house on Fell Street. It's been repainted (the part that was mauve is now dark red) and the big tree in front is gone, replaced by a much smaller, younger one. When I lived upstairs in that building, I would look out my windows and instead of seeing buildings, cars or people, all I could see was the sky and the beautiful green leaves of the top of that tree ... it was one of the main things that made it possible for me to stay in the city as long as I did. (Julie, the downstairs apartment we both lived in is vacant right now!)

After that I walked up to Haight Street in search of a certain kind of fabric I want to line all these wristie things I've been knitting. I didn't find what I was looking for, but I did buy a slice of pizza and some books and a groovy thrifted zebra-print corduroy skirt, and even treated myself to a small brass sculpture of a hand making the sharanagamana-mudra (the gesture of giving refuge). Then I caught the 7 bus back downtown and was dropped off a half a block from the hotel just in time to hook up with Mr. A and three other instructors, who by sheer chance had made plans to have dinner at the same Chinese place I used to go to for the cheap lunch buffet (which now costs almost twenty bucks!).

So that was Sunday.

On Monday I went to the Mission hoping to have breakfast at a place I used to love, which is no longer there. Instead, I had pancakes and eggs at the Pork Store, which was almost as nostalgic, since I used to frequent the one on Haight Street when I lived in the neighborhood. After breakfast I walked around the Mission for awhile and spent a couple of hours at the Mission Dolores, mostly wandering around the graveyard reading stones. I love the old engravings and artwork and poetry – here's one I found this week that I hadn't seen before:

The night dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps.
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
will long keep his memory green in our souls.

Being in that graveyard sort of reawakened my childhood obsession with Victorian hairwork and mourning jewelry. A few years ago I made a great little woven piece out of some of the long hair from Tater's tail; now I want to look into engraving stone. How do they make gravestones, anyway? That would be a cool skill to learn one of these days.

Another new thing I noticed on this trip is that MUNI drivers no longer seem to be checking bus transfers – they don't even take them from you anymore, just glance at them and wave you in. When I lived there that never would've happened! They used to always take the transfer and actually check the time, and if it had already expired you had to pay again.

Anyway – I used a transfer (non-expired!) to get from the Mission to Japantown, where I ate yummy Japanese snax, looked at antique woodblock prints and brush paintings, considered buying several fabulous cast iron teapots, and actually did buy some incense and a bunch of weird Japanese office supplies (another obsession – a sort of useful one, this time!).

And that was basically it! After Japantown I went back to the hotel, packed up my bags, and drove back home to feed the dogs and go to bed. But I'm going back tomorrow night to have dinner with Mr. A again and probably spend another night at the hotel – I love that king size bed!