dappled shade

Spilt Cream and Other Misadventures

Over the holidays I spent some time with my parents. While I was staying there, they were also looking after Gravey, my brother's dog. Gravey is a bulldog and a very nice animal. She views all people with huge amounts of enthusiasm (with the possible exception of my father when he wants to take her for a walk in the early mornings). She's also 30 pounds of solid muscle at about knee height.

This became a problem one day; I was walking across the kitchen, looking at the bowl of cream in my hands, and never saw the dog. I tripped over her and came down hard on the kitchen floor. I wasn't hurt, but I was slightly stunned. My first thought, with perfect clarity, was "Oh hell, the cream."

It was a few minutes before I was really to rights, and by the time I was, the dog had retreated to her bed in the living room. While she wasn't physically damaged, she clearly felt that the kitchen was not a safe place to be. We made a fuss over her to try reassure her, but my parents said that ever after Gravey viewed that spot of the kitchen with deep suspicion as a place where people were likely to trip over her without warning.

Since this was the first time I'd fallen over since I was in high school, I figured I probably wasn't due for any more accidents for at least another few years.

Earlier this week, though, I was hurrying to the train station to catch the train in to San Francisco. I was all dressed up for a big meeting at work, but had tennis shoes on with my dress shoes in a bag. The pavement is very uneven because it's old and tree roots have pushed it up. I caught my foot on an upraised piece of pavement and down I went.

This time I was a little more badly damaged. My knee still stiffens up if I sit too long, and people keep looking at my hand and saying "My god, what did you do to it?" (it looks like I rubbed it vigorously on a cheese grater).

Fortunately, the people I met with that day were very tactful and didn't ask too much about what happened to me. I also managed to avoid bleeding over anything. So it could have been a lot worse.

I am hoping, though, that is not the start of a trend; neither my skin nor my clothes are likely to be able to take much more of it.

Standing on a Baseboard

I decided today was the day and that I was going to go into San Francisco and refurbish my wardrobe. I've been trying to buy new clothes for at least the last two years. Most of the problem is that I keep looking at tops and thinking, "I'm not going to spend $60 for that." The rest of the problem is that serious shopping bores me to tears. Inevitably, I give up, buy some long sleeved t-shirts, and hope for a better selection next season.

To make sure I actually got on the train to go into the city (a point at which these plans often fall apart), I arranged to meet an old friend for lunch. This certainly got me into the city, but the shopping trip didn't quite work out as planned. The end result was three books (definitely not clothes), a Ghiradelli mint chocolate bar (very enjoyable, but not useful as apparel), and a top (which will most likely be returned).

I enjoyed the ride in on the train. Yesterday it poured and today was warm and sunny; I could almost see the grass growing from the train window. As long as the wet weather holds, California's spring will soon be here in earnest.

Once I got into the city I spent a very enjoyable time browsing in a book shop and then headed to downtown on the Muni. I made the only clothes purchase of the day and then met my friend for lunch. We went to a little restaurant that is either run by French people or by people who desperately want to be French. The food was excellent; nothing fancy and certainly no huge portions, just very good. (The waiter who served us was somewhat amusing; attentive doesn't seem to quite cover it. He was absolutely delighted to take our orders and bring us food. I suspect he was a born sales person because no one can be that happy about bringing someone a cup of coffee.)

After lunch, my friend humored me and we headed off to look in some shops until my small store of patience and interest was spent (about 15 minutes, though it felt longer).

We were down at the end of Powell so we decided to hop on the cable car (we walked up the hill to the next stop and jumped on there to avoid the line at the bottom of the hill). My friend managed to secure a seat (and took possession of the bags) while I stood on the baseboard that runs along the side, clutching a bar. We took the cable car up a very steep hill and down the other side to the end of the line.

The cable cars make a racket, move roughly and go so slowly that I can't say that they're exactly exciting (even when I'm hanging on on the outside). They are a lot of fun, though. The cable cars feel very much a part of San Francisco and it's interesting to imagine all the people who must have ridden in them. They're also a good way to see the city on a warm day; I enjoyed admiring all the old Victorians which were on the cable car route.

The end of the line was just outside of Ghiradelli Square. We had a bit of a walk around and then stopped for some tea. (I didn't want caffeinated tea so ended up with a very peculiar fruit tea that had coconut in it. I'm still occasionally surprised by what people decide to put in teas.) We had a very satisfying conversation about books and then got a seat on a bus (not so appealing as a cable car, but much faster).

We parted ways at the Civic Center and I picked up the Muni and headed for the train station. I made a start on The White Goddess by Robert Graves which I think will keep me happily busy for awhile. Once I got back, my very sweet husband picked me up from the train station (to save me the walk home in the cold).

A nice day filled with people I like and care about. The defining moment for the day, though, was hanging onto the side of a cable car full of tourists in the sunshine.