A Real Summer Day

The day after visiting Muir Woods, I was once again barreling up Hwy 1.  This is not a usual area for me to come to, so I was quite amused by my being there two days in a row.  I was also a bit concerned.  If you remember, it had been quite cold in Muir Woods the day before and this time I was headed along the same road but to the beach, Stinson Beach.

One of Mr. Trizzle’s friends had arranged the outing.  A nice group of people spending the day on the warm sand.  A cooler full of beer, snacks and a frisbee.  What more could you need?  Ok, we appreciated the beach towels, citenge cloth and suntan lotion, too.

It was a little cold when we first arrived, but the beach was still crawling with people.  The biggest attraction was the bubble man.  Dipping a long string tied to wire poles into some soap, the bubble man raised his arms to the sky inviting the wind.  Beautiful large bubbles floated through the sky, elongated rainbows that shifted shape as they glided overhead.  Children scrambled and ran after the small bubbles that trailed behind.

The sun warmed the sand and the crowd on the beach increased.  It didn’t take more than a few games of Frisbee to find my layers unnecessary, and soon I was laying out in my bathing suit.

It was interesting, the group, how different our concepts of hot and cold were.  While I was fabulously comfortable frolicking in my bathing suit, Mr. Trizzle lay on a chair, sleeping under a citenge cloth in jeans, a t, a long-sleeved t, and a sweatshirt.  One of his friends lay next to him on the sand, similarly clad.  Meanwhile, the friend who had arranged everything was far out into the Pacific Ocean, diving into waves in his swim trunks.  (I had gotten as far as standing on the sand where the waves had splashed up.  The sand alone was so frigid, I’d gone scampering back up the beach to our base.)

Whether sleeping, swimming or sunbathing, we all had a fabulous time.

 

Well,  I did have a fabulous time at the beach, but when I got home and saw where I’d missed with the suntan lotion, it was less fabulous.  The tops of my legs were tomato red.  Luckily, I’d had Mr. Trizzle help me with my back, so I only had one missed patch.  Interesting shape though; reminds me of a continent I once lived on…

Muir Woods

Overheated Doublemint, the smell radiating from the glove compartment, permeating every inch of the car’s sun-boiled  interior.  That’s what I remember most from my last trip to Muir Woods.   Well, there’s also some vague visions of giant trees floating somewhere in the file cabinet of past experiences that is my head. 

There was no gum in the glove compartment this trip. There’s hardly room for any in there with all the maps I need to get around the Bay Area.  I guess that left more room in my memory for trees this time around.

The Great Ecclestone’s parental units were in town for vacation and I was greatly delighted to see them, despite the lack of a performance by The Great Ecclestone. [Here’s a picture of me and the Great Ecclestone when we all went to some of his shows in Texas.]  They wanted to see the woods, which are a bit difficult to reach from SF if you don’t have a car, and Betty and I were free.  Perfect!

We drove over the Golden Gate bridge and took the park’s shuttle from Sausalito.  The way up was delightful and the view resembled that of my Uncle’s porch, the inside of a milk bottle.  Thanks Karl.

Already dressed in San Francisco-appropriate layers, we wandered through the woods admiring the towering trees and chuckling at the tourists in shorts and freshly purchased Muir Woods sweatshirts.  The Weather Channel website predicted high 60s by early afternoon, but with the cold wind from the sea and the sun blocked by a canopy of branches, it hardly felt more than 50.

Taking our fill of the paved paths and plenty of pictures, we wandered through the gift shop and back to the shuttle.  I was thinking it would be fabulous to do lunch at my favorite restaurant, Avatar’s, since it’s right in Sausalito.  But, then came the bus ride.

Karl had moved on and with this vision impairment removed, the bus driver delighted in cajoling down the winding hills, catapulting the bus up steep inclines and whipping around tight curves.  We reached Sausalito safely, but my stomach was still trying to catch up from the 101-1 split.  There was no way I was eating anything.

So we headed back to the City, to the bustling sidewalks of Fisherman’s Wharf.  With stomachs built of stronger constitutions, my friends went off to lunch and I went home to nap.

Forget San Francisco, I Left My Heart on the Bay Bridge

I know it’s not really him.  The same way Munchkinhead knows its not really Daddy Bunny that Gibby’s talking to.  He is, after all, 160,000+ tons of concrete and steal.  Hardly your normal source of excellent conversation.  But when the Bay Bridge tweets, he’s so much more than rock and metal.  He’s a conversationalist, a humorist, a warning system for bad traffic or weather, a friend.

There are tons of non-human entities on twitter.  Companies, buildings, weather elements.  There’s a whole bunch of accounts simply for getting around the Bay Area: @kcbstraffic, @SFBART, @CalTrain, @RideACT, @SF_CableCar, etc.  But by far ,the best is @SFBayBridge.

He’s up on current events, “I wonder how many times the length of my span the combined Harry Potter lines in San Francisco and Oakland are.”   
Talks to other structures, “@searstower Oh no, lightning's never a good way to wake up! Though I can't even rest through it, with so many towers it could choose to hit.” 
And, when something goes wrong on the bridge, it upsets him.  He doesn’t want anyone hurt or disgruntled because of delays.  “But as much as 405 is a jerk, I'm happy for him that his lanes reopened early. Being closed when you know people need you is a bad feeling.”

I’ve always liked the Bay Bridge more than his little sister the Golden Gate. Perhaps it’s because I’m not much of fan for the glamorous. Or maybe I just have a special affinity for the oldest child.   Yet, I still approached the Bay Bridge with fear and trepidation. Whether driving myself or as a passenger in a car or bus, I would get nervous. Pictures from 1989 would flash through my head. Memories of last year’s S-curve incident in which a truck plunged off the bridge into the icy bay would create quivers in my tummy. All I wanted was to get over that bridge and back onto solid ground as fast as I could. But things are different now.

Now, when the toll booth beeps and grants me permission to proceed onto the bridge, I am all smiles.  I’m content with whatever lane I’m in, happy to be on the bridge, enjoying the view and the fresh air high in the sky.  As I proceed up the incline, my tires rolling over the smooth pavement, I do not think about trying to get around the car in front of me, or how far down the water is.  I think, “hello bridge, how are you today?  It’s nice to come visit you again.”  Sometimes, I even let him know I’m coming to visit; he always says “hi” back.  

Yes, talking with the Bay Bridge on Twitter has directly affected my actions. I drive more carefully now, not wanting to cause any harm or create concerns for him, this bridge, my friend.

Baby Steps

:)

Finally Some Football

There are a lot of things that are different out here in the Yay compared to back home.  A lot of new things for me to get used to.  No snow, ever.  Being one of the tallest people around generally, unless I happen to be around other Midwestern transplants.  Avoiding getting stuck behind a Prius the way back home we try to avoid getting stuck behind someone with a AAA sticker.  Etc.

By far, the strangest thing I’ve found out here is that there are people who don’t watch football.  Can you believe this?  It’s so crazy, after nearly two years, I still can’t wrap my head around it. 

Not watching football.  I mean, it’s like not going to church.  Oh wait, the people out here don’t do that either.

 

Back home, a typical Fall Sunday involves starting the day with church service, sitting in the pews with people already wearing their Packers jerseys or decked out in dressy team colors.  On super big games, or after a big win, someone’s likely to offer up the Packers during prayer.  Service ends promptly so everyone get home before kickoff.  -  Our church once had a pastor who would let church run a bit too close to noon.  Church goers were not pleased.  The pastor asked, “What’s more important, God or football?”  But this is a false dichotomy as God is not church and church is not God.  Besides, hadn’t the pastor heard, God’s a Packer’s fan?  He wants to go watch the game, too.

Then it’s home to gather around the game.  Snacks, cheering, jumping, clapping.  Sharing the anguish of a close loss, hugging after a great win.  The laughing, the yelling, the love for the team no matter what.  A warm afternoon filled with sunshine and family and a common bond.

Nothing like that out here.  No one in jerseys.  Service runs long, not that it matters since the games start before church in the morning.  No one even talking about football.  And it’s not just the church setting where it’s odd.

I don’t see regular people in jerseys on the streets.  If any, maybe a few thug-looking folks in downtown Oakland in Raiders gear.  The supermarket has one sign for the Raiders and one for the 49ers and one for Cal football and that’s about it.  Few people at the local sports bar on game day.  Stadiums that aren’t sold out.  So few regular game day football parties that I’ve never heard of one.  And what really struck me as odd, there are no office pools.  No squares to pick, no point spreads, no last numbers of the scores, not even a simple one team over the other.  Nothing.

It’s all so very strange. What do these people do instead?

This Sunday is the biggest Sunday of the year.  It’s a Packer game Sunday, and not just any Packer game Sunday; it’s Superbowl Sunday!  And finally, there’s some football talk.  I even know a few (albeit very few) people having Superbowl parties.  Finally!

People are getting into it, and they’re choosing the right team. ;)  Yesterday, at the Warriors basketball game, there was a guy in a Packers jersey!  (Rodgers’ away jersey.)  Earlier, while I was walking down the stairs at BART with my Packers gym bag, someone walked past and yelled “go pack!”  My local supermarket has a Superbowl display made out of soda can boxes.  Even people at my office are talking football.  It’s all so wonderful.

 

I’d like to add, I’m very grateful for Twitter and the amazing Packers fans and players I follow on there.  They help keep football alive in this alien word called California.