A Walk

I just slept for ten and a half hours. 

That does not happen. Not that I try not to, but I just can’t usually manage to sleep more than between five and seven hours (if I’m lucky) during my work week. If my eyes pop open in the early afternoon, and if one teeny-eeny little wiggly thought about writing or fiber or bills or god forbid ice cream sneaks into my brain, I’m up. No help for it. But today I gave myself permission, nothing to think or worry about, no place I had to be, no errands that were absolutely necessary, so I slept and slept. I did dream about ice cream, though, that’s the truth.

I’m just gonna show some pictures today. How’s that? I’m still quite sleepy and lazy, and hang on, my toes are cold. I need my slippers (Ann, you know the ones). Okay. I’m back. And dude, I found my extra emergency box of Girl Scout Tagalongs, so I’m all good.

Going back to that whole plane thing, here’s the driver, Lala’s dad:

He runs marathons, you know. Bunches of ’em. At least a dozen, I think. He said when I ran mine, "That’s so NEAT!" I think he’s neat. He and La’s mom were in town for the weekend, on business, so we got to eat lots of nice things, and I showed off by getting a big jerkfaced jerk ticketed for parking in a handicapped spot when there were lots of other open spaces around. And Big Jerk tried to cut RUDELY in front of me in line. And he elbowed his way in front of a guy with a cane who had parked in a normal spot. I tell you, it’s nice to know the cops every once in a while. La’s family thought I was hero. It was neat.)

Also neat (it’s fun to say, I like how it pulls the corners of my mouth back) is standing next to the plane, imagining that I’m off for a quick jaunt to New York for lunch with the Drafty Ladies, or that I’m jetting to Venice for the weekend before starting my whirlwind imaginary book tour. (Damn, note to self, Stephanie’s bookbookbook is IN at Diesel Bookstore, must pick it up — how proud are we of her, really?)

I must say, I have few brain cells left after that sleep. I’ve been puttering around on the computer, dashing between this blog entry and email and phone calls, and it’s taken me an hour to even get this down. Sigh. But it’s a lovely sunny afternoon, and the traffic is rushing well outside, and I love the way the light is falling across the floor. Wait, I’ll show you.

I love the instant gratification that is a camera-cell-phone sitting next to me on the couch.

What else did I do this weekend? Well, I worked a hell of a lot, but hopefully the working-on-the-weekend thing is played out for a little while. But I did have all of Monday off, and Lala and I took the dogs for a long, long ramble around the Albany Bulb. Have you ever been there? It’s this reclaimed spit of land out past the racetrack, hanging off into the Bay, and Monday was a gorgeous sunny day for it.

We sat on the beach and watched a golden dog run-run-run-run-run-run and run some more, chasing balls into the water that his baseball-capped owner tossed out for him. We drank our coffee and ate our morning buns (at the respectable four o’clock time, of course, the only time for a morning bun). We walked around the side of the Bulb, surrounded by water, viewing not only San Francisco and the Bay Bridge, but the Golden Gate and Marin, all the way around to Richmond. We are so LUCKY to live here. Day-um.

We headed around to the far side, picking our way over wet rocks to the dry land on the other edge, where we saw a huge hawk lumber from the ground into the air, a snake dangling from its beak. It hovered there, EATING in the air (I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did), and we watched until it got bashful and took refuge in a tree. Then we watched a smaller hawk take its place in the air, hanging on to wind currents so that it didn’t move at all, just stayed up as if by magic, as if hung by a string. (Lala carried wee Miss Idaho at this point. You don’t want to play around with hawks and chi-hooa-hooas. Even the trained ones can let you down.)

On the other side of the Bulb is art, the pirate-installed kind, the driftwood kind that used to line the Emeryville mudflats when I was a kid (the hippy ‘rents even took us out once to build one, one of my favorite memories).

That second is one of a series that I wish I could attribute, painted on warping plywood, set up in the sun and wind and salt, with a lovely who-cares-about-the-elements attitude.

Okay. That’s enough for now, I think. I’m chilly from not moving, and I want a bath and another cup of coffee. Then I’ll have time to spin a bit before work (only a 12 tonight). I wish you a lovely walk and a little sun and a great big hot cup of strong coffee (or tea, for Cari).