Crumpets and Cobwebs and Starry Nights in Sausalito
I could get real used to this lady of leisure business, though I might get positively rotund if I keep this pace up.
I rolled out of bed tennish. Strolled down to the cafe in complete disarray, in last night's hair, with last night's liquor on my breath, for the biggest coffee they could serve me.
Then I threw out my kitchen, found skirry, skirry things there, and webs and ghosts of spices past. It's telling that the only things I am taking with me are my collection of salts and mustards. Everything else goes.
Met my friend PB at her house in Noe Valley, she was a lady of leisure for the day, after many pets with her dog we ambled down to Lovejoy's for high tea, where I ate my weight in tea sandwiches and drank far too much black chestnut tea. Caffeine addled and scone heavy (dear god, whoever invented Devonshire cream, I would like to worship You at the altar of Bacon) I tried to make for Marin for some tennis.
Except that I forgot about traffic. I am not used to traffic. I am never in it, what with my former reverse commute, I am used to breezing in. I don't like traffic, afterall. I was supposed to be there by 3:30, I made it by 4:30. B and I drank wine by the pool and played with the five dogs, got caught up. I am going to miss him and his partner and their crazy menagerie like mad. I love them, I love those animals.
Late for my hair appointment, behind schedule on my packing, running fast on too much tea and doped up on adrenelin. From San Rafael to Sausalito racing the sun, the music much too loud. Cut and blown, AW and I head to Poggio for burrata and pizza (like I need more cheese) a good, cold bottle of Sardengnian white, followed by a fernet, and a walk along the bay.
I can hear it now through the head phones, I can hear it in my nose, the briny lapping of the October calm bay, churning under the breakers, my City sparkling across the expanse of the water. With the undulation of the water came wavelet after gentle wavelet of sick making nostalgia, of being hopelessly homesick for the place I hadn't yet left.
That boy, the one I met at the wedding, for now I will call him The Runner, he called the other day to see if I had made it home alright, he said, I'll see you when you get home. Then there was a long pause, as I strove to reroute the disconnect I felt in that statement, because every hair on my body was standing on end hollering silently, NO! Here is Home, I am Home, then I realized, that this is only home for another six days, and I said, yes, I will see you when I get home. I felt like I was dissembling, like there was, like there is a fundamental, elemental mistatement in that. I am going to have to work on the notion of home. My home is not my home anymore, my walls and corners shorn of my possessions, it's just a shell with walls in serious need of paint.
My city, just another city, one where I know the short cuts, and the best parking spots, and the best views. AW said that since I am going to be newbee, she said I should screen all of my perspective dates by asking them to show me their favorite views of Portland. It's a grand and romantic idea, of course the cynic in me is all, Portland is nowhere near as dramatically panoramic as San Francisco, maybe I just need the right guide, maybe I need a different sort of romance. I am prepared to be amenable. I am, in fact, prepared for anything.
And, frankly, I am astonished at my own forebearance, as in holy shit, who is this clear eyed alien living in my body, and what have you done with my neurotic drama queen who dwells deep in the closet of my mind, I think the alien dined on her over a peaceable lunch, with a nice glass of wine, and just like that everything that was familiar got digested and disgorged. Where is my dervish? Where are my devils? Where are my sirens? Where is my love? well, that's easy, it's a blanket over my home, over my neighborhood, over my friends, over my family, over the headlands, and cautiously over my future wherever I might land.
Did I tell you that when I was leaving Portland, that I literally flew over the rainbow. I looked down upon the ends of the rainbow, I know where the pots of gold are, I think that's got to be auspicious.
I could get real used to this lady of leisure business, though I might get positively rotund if I keep this pace up.
I rolled out of bed tennish. Strolled down to the cafe in complete disarray, in last night's hair, with last night's liquor on my breath, for the biggest coffee they could serve me.
Then I threw out my kitchen, found skirry, skirry things there, and webs and ghosts of spices past. It's telling that the only things I am taking with me are my collection of salts and mustards. Everything else goes.
Met my friend PB at her house in Noe Valley, she was a lady of leisure for the day, after many pets with her dog we ambled down to Lovejoy's for high tea, where I ate my weight in tea sandwiches and drank far too much black chestnut tea. Caffeine addled and scone heavy (dear god, whoever invented Devonshire cream, I would like to worship You at the altar of Bacon) I tried to make for Marin for some tennis.
Except that I forgot about traffic. I am not used to traffic. I am never in it, what with my former reverse commute, I am used to breezing in. I don't like traffic, afterall. I was supposed to be there by 3:30, I made it by 4:30. B and I drank wine by the pool and played with the five dogs, got caught up. I am going to miss him and his partner and their crazy menagerie like mad. I love them, I love those animals.
Late for my hair appointment, behind schedule on my packing, running fast on too much tea and doped up on adrenelin. From San Rafael to Sausalito racing the sun, the music much too loud. Cut and blown, AW and I head to Poggio for burrata and pizza (like I need more cheese) a good, cold bottle of Sardengnian white, followed by a fernet, and a walk along the bay.
I can hear it now through the head phones, I can hear it in my nose, the briny lapping of the October calm bay, churning under the breakers, my City sparkling across the expanse of the water. With the undulation of the water came wavelet after gentle wavelet of sick making nostalgia, of being hopelessly homesick for the place I hadn't yet left.
That boy, the one I met at the wedding, for now I will call him The Runner, he called the other day to see if I had made it home alright, he said, I'll see you when you get home. Then there was a long pause, as I strove to reroute the disconnect I felt in that statement, because every hair on my body was standing on end hollering silently, NO! Here is Home, I am Home, then I realized, that this is only home for another six days, and I said, yes, I will see you when I get home. I felt like I was dissembling, like there was, like there is a fundamental, elemental mistatement in that. I am going to have to work on the notion of home. My home is not my home anymore, my walls and corners shorn of my possessions, it's just a shell with walls in serious need of paint.
My city, just another city, one where I know the short cuts, and the best parking spots, and the best views. AW said that since I am going to be newbee, she said I should screen all of my perspective dates by asking them to show me their favorite views of Portland. It's a grand and romantic idea, of course the cynic in me is all, Portland is nowhere near as dramatically panoramic as San Francisco, maybe I just need the right guide, maybe I need a different sort of romance. I am prepared to be amenable. I am, in fact, prepared for anything.
And, frankly, I am astonished at my own forebearance, as in holy shit, who is this clear eyed alien living in my body, and what have you done with my neurotic drama queen who dwells deep in the closet of my mind, I think the alien dined on her over a peaceable lunch, with a nice glass of wine, and just like that everything that was familiar got digested and disgorged. Where is my dervish? Where are my devils? Where are my sirens? Where is my love? well, that's easy, it's a blanket over my home, over my neighborhood, over my friends, over my family, over the headlands, and cautiously over my future wherever I might land.
Did I tell you that when I was leaving Portland, that I literally flew over the rainbow. I looked down upon the ends of the rainbow, I know where the pots of gold are, I think that's got to be auspicious.
posted by emma at
11:14 PM
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