Time You Enjoy Wasting...Not Wasted Time??

 

I feel very inadequate for not posting blog entries in a timely fashion.  Especially since I am unemployed outside the home and my children have all moved out.  What, you may ask, is keeping me so busy?  Huh.  An excellent question.  Some possibilities:

Puzzles.  Ever since the pandemic began, the San Jose Mercury News has been publishing three pages of puzzles EVERY DAY.  Plus a five-page insert on Sundays.  I love puzzles, and I am very bad at them, so this consumes a fair amount of my time.

Exercise.  I am not a fan of organized exercise classes, so I take healthful walks in my neighborhood instead.  However, my knees aren't great, and I don't like to get my bra sweaty, so it takes me hours to complete a five-mile walk.

 Dinner.  My fellow dinner providers all agree that the aggravation of providing dinner for the household is not the actual cooking, it is deciding what to serve.  I am a novelty seeker, so almost every day I prepare something for dinner that I have never made before.  This involves a careful reading of the recipe, which I consistently fail at, a trip to Safeway for obscure ingredients, and often a back-up dinner of cheese toast.  And a lot of dish-washing.

Spanish.  I have always wanted to be able to speak another language.  In high school I studied Latin, which was great for the SATs (a near-perfect verbal score), but you can't speak it.  In engineering school I was forbidden from taking a spoken language class because of all my computer language class requirements (COBOL, FORTRAN, Ada, Pascal, LISP, etc) So I yearn.  Much to the amusement (annoyance?) of my family, I am currently enrolled in my eighth intermediate Spanish class.  I have taken all the Intermediate Spanish classes at Foothill College and Cañada College and am working my way through the classes at West Valley College.  I love my Spanish classes, but I am very bad at them, so they consume a fair amount of time.  I just received an Incomplete from my lovely Spanish teacher at West Valley, so I will be taking 2A again in the Spring. ¡Adelante!

Crafts.  Not gonna lie, my favorite part of a craft project is the planning and the shopping.  I start many projects but then lose interest ten percent in and stuff them in a cabinet.  Some of my unfinished projects include, but are not limited to: 25 or so masks that I cut out but never sewed, a Santa hooked rug, those pants I started to alter, those old pillowcases I was going to tie-dye, that shirt I started five years ago, a knitted sweater I started twenty years ago, the crocheted string bag, the cross-stitched angel, the flapper costume, the lino print of St. Sebastian, the macrame plant holder, etc. etc.

However, I have actually finished a few things lately.  The suffragette costume that I started five years ago I finished for Halloween this year!  (I also made Larry's groovy costume years ago)

At a Christmas boutique this year I bought myself a cross-body handbag made out of an old blanket and a belt and decided that I needed some shoulder straps for it.  Having recently taken a weaving class at Montalvo, and presented a slide show on weaving for Spanish class, I decided that I could weave my own straps.  I dragged out the child's loom that's been under my bed for many years, ¡y tejí mis correas!.  

I made a Christmas present for my dad.  I went to JoAnn's Fabrics and bought a quarter yard each of some fabrics that reminded me of him and made a weird patchwork pillow.

I also made a Christmas present for my mom.  She loves loose, flowing housedresses with pockets so I made her one.  I knew I had it right because Susan said I looked like my mom.

Research.  I have embarked on a multi-year love affair with Wisconsin history and have read a lot of books and articles.  This activity involves spending a lot of time in libraries, which I adore.  I have taken reams of notes but have yet to write a paragraph.  It's a super-fun way to spend time.

In fact, I am in Chicago right now on a research trip.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  No, really, I have spent the last two days in the Newberry Library and the Chicago Public Library.  

The Newberry Library is a privately funded, publicly accessible history library.  You have to jump through a lot of hoops to get in, so there were only about four of us doing research.  It's so awesome to have a librarian bring you an old map or letter or manuscript on a velvet pillow.  I got to hold an original letter handwritten by that old French-Canadian drunk Joseph Rolette in 1826!  I think there will be a lot of research in my future.

I also went to the main branch of the Chicago Public Library, the Harold Washington Library Center.  It has nine floors of fantastic spaces and tons of books.  There's a whole indoor garden on the top floor!  I found some very interesting old books about the fur trade.  Also, I found a lot of homeless people.  They come in out of the cold, pick any old book off a shelf, and nap quietly at the tables.  It's what I would do, too, but I'm very thankful I'm not homeless.  

My friend Liz gave me a gift certificate to her friend's bookstore, Madison Street Books, and I spend a great couple of hours selecting books.  Thanks, Liz!

I also spent some time browsing in a gift shop run by a fussy old woman and an even fussier young gay man.  I felt like I was in a sitcom listening to them fret about the sock display.

I'm staying at the Aloft Chicago River North, where I have enjoyed staying before.  I love the desks that look out on Clark Street.  I have really enjoyed sitting here watching the rich tapestry of life on the street below.  Tomorrow I'm meeting Amy at the airport and going to see my parents.  Happy Holidays to you and yours!

Mouthy and Dismissed

 

For years I got out of jury duty by checking the "nursing mother" box.  But my youngest child is now twenty years old, which is an age even the staunchest La Leche League advocate would probably say is too old for breast-feeding.  So this time when I got the jury duty postcard, I resigned myself to my civic duty.  I hadn't had to do anything of consequence for so long that I barely slept the night before I had to show up at the Santa Clara County Hall of Justice at 8:30 a.m.

As a side note, I have been enjoying sleeping much more since purchasing my Miracle Bamboo Pillows.  Pillows are always too soft or too hard for me.  The first pillow in years that I found to be OK was one that was left at Susan's apartment by her departed apartment-mate Tyler.

Tyler's abandoned pillow is an IKEA memory foam pillow.  It smelled so strongly of young man (Axe?) that I had to launder it several times in one of those large machines at the laundromat, but after that I found it to be pretty good.  And then I stayed at an AirBNB in Richmond and the pillows were PERFECT!  

The perfect pillows didn't have an identifying tag but they were embossed with the word "Bamboo".  I figured that the young men who furnished the AirBNB would have purchased the cheapest pillows possible, so I ordered a "Miracle Bamboo Pillow" from Walmart.  It was - just OK.  About as good as Tyler's old pillow.  And then I was cruising through Kohl's this week and found a different "Miracle Bamboo Pillow", and after sleeping on it,  I think this is in fact the elusive perfect pillow!!  I am very excited about this.

So, after not much sleep, despite my pretty perfect miracle bamboo pillow, I showed up at the Hall of Justice.  When I put my purse through the x-ray scanner, the guard said, in a wondering tone, "Is there food in there?"  I said "Just a peanut-butter sandwich."  He started to say something, trailed off, and just handed me my bag with a defeated look.

There is a lot of waiting in jury duty.  Before we were called to the courtroom, I had time to read 63% of the Caroline B. Cooney novel "Before She Was Helen" on my Kindle.  We all trooped to a courtroom and the judge spoke to us for a while about law things.  Then we all had to fill out questionnaires and got to leave.

Since I was already in San Jose, I decided visit G-Tex Fabrics of San Jose, which always shows up when I search for fabric stores. I let Google Maps lead me to their current address.  Imagine my surprise at finding myself at a run-down warehouse full of small wholesaler operations right next to a huge purple cannabis dispensary.

The harried-looking Sikh in charge of G-Tex Fabrics told me that they are "between retail locations" and had stored all their stock in the dark warren of shelves behind him.  It was actually pretty cool - I told him what I wanted, and he went back and found it and cut the yardage for me with a dagger.  The prices were so much better than Jo-Ann's that I bought quite a bit of fabric.  

If you see me, please do ask me how my sewing projects are progressing.  (hollow laughter). Feel free to also ask me how many of the used books I bought at the last library sale I've currently read, and whether I've prepared any of the recipes that I cut out of the newspaper this year.

This morning we had to report back to the courtroom so that the defense and prosecuting attorneys could ask us questions to determine whether we could be fair and impartial.  While we were all waiting outside the courtroom, I finished the other 37% of my book and deleted 400 emails.

We were put in three groups of 24, and I was put in the second group, so I thought I probably wouldn't have to serve, which meant I could keep my hair appointment next week.  I know I should want to do my civic duty, but I've had this appointment for months!

After extensive questioning of the first group of potential jurors, fifteen were dismissed, so the second group was, in fact, called to the front.  We had to pass around a wireless microphone to answer questions.  I found that I simply could not stop answering questions.

First the defense attorney and then the prosecuting attorney had some questions about interpreting evidence, credibility of witnesses, burden of proof, etc etc and as it turns out, I have a lot of thoughts about these things!

I kept gesturing for the microphone and sharing my opinions until I guess I had said enough concerning things that BOTH attorneys decided to dismiss me for cause.  So thanks to my mouthiness and inability to shut up, I get to keep my hair appointment!  And I didn't even have to wear a Princess Leia costume.

Not Me!!!

Okay, I'm Back

Hello, hello, hello to anyone who is still following this blog even though I haven’t
written in it since July. At first I didn’t write because I was busy DOING THINGS,
and then I didn’t write because it had been so long since I had written, but now I am
determined to write again.

In late July, I took a trip to the East Coast to visit family. While making my travel
plans, I discovered that the cheapest combination of flights and rental car was to
fly to Charlotte, NC and return from Newark, NJ. On discovering this, my first thought
was “I can finally go to Biltmore!!!!”. The whole four years that Susan was at Duke I
tried to finagle a trip to the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC but it never worked out.
My chance at last! I booked a room at the Glo Best Western in Asheville and a tour
ticket at Biltmore including lunch reservations in the former stable that is now a
barbecue restaurant.

When I arrived in Charlotte I picked up my rental car and put the Glo in my
Google Maps with the Route Option of Avoid Highways. I usually do this on a road
trip since interstate highways are pretty boring. This was a mistake in western North
Carolina. The roads that are not the interstate are narrow, not maintained, winding,
and take you right past the porches of people who give you squinty-eyed suspicious
looks. At one point I drove on a gravel road through a creek. Lesson learned.

 

On Sunday nights at 9 pm in Asheville, dining options are severely limited, but
luckily for me, Chili’s was still open. I love Chili’s. I sat at the bar and had a terrific
margarita and who cares what else. I set my alarm and went to bed, happily
dreaming about velvet drapes and oil portraits. I woke up in the middle of the night
because my left big toe was on fire.



I guess my shoes had been too tight on the plane, and if you’ve ever had an
ingrown toenail, you know the pain. I took some Advil and went back to sleep.
In the morning, I found a Walgreens, bought some Epsom salts, and soaked my
toe in the ice bucket. And that’s why you should always use the plastic bag liner
that comes with the ice bucket.



The Biltmore estate was even better than I had anticipated. The road from the
gate to the estate twists and turns through the manicured grounds and is something
like two miles long. I parked and found myself in the midst of two touring groups
headed up to the house: a group of rowdy black women in “Oh Sip It’s a Girl’s Trip!”
t-shirts and a big group of family members who looked like they were thoroughly sick
of each other in blue polyester “Reynolds Family Trip 2021” t-shirts. I don’t think
anyone had consulted with the Reynolds family members under the age of 16 about
whether they might enjoy an estate tour.



It was an extremely hot and humid day, and you had to stand in line in full sun
to be admitted to the house, but upon reaching the foyer, you could stay in the
blessedly air-conditioned house as long as you liked. I lurked about inside for
two and a half hours, taking pointless photos of furnishings, right up until my late
lunch reservation in the former stable.

 

After a delicious pulled-pork sandwich with Carolina vinegar sauce, the only
correct barbecue sauce, and several beers, I wandered around the beautiful
and spacious grounds, looking for shade, and getting increasingly lost. I was
completely on my own for half an hour until I stumbled upon a groundskeeper
who directed me back to the house.

As I made my way back to the house, the sky clouded over and the weather
cooled, which was good, but thunder and lightning began, which was bad.
I booked it back to my car and got there just as it began to pour.

Later that evening in downtown Asheville I found a restaurant that reminded

me strongly of the restaurant at Deep South Glass in the movie Sweet Home

Alabama.   It served old southern favorites such as fried chicken and bourbon

Old-Fashioneds, but with fancy descriptions and fancy prices.

 

The next day I drove to Richmond, Virginia (after removing the Avoid Highways

route option on Google maps).  It was a pleasant drive, and I was listening to a

great audiobook: Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir.  As I approached downtown

Richmond on the highway, I noticed a low, dark cloud directly ahead, and then

suddenly it was raining ridiculously hard.  I couldn’t see a thing, so I pulled over

on the side of the road and put my hazards on, as did many other drivers, which

made me feel less like an overreacting Californian who can’t drive in the rain,

which, to be fair, I am.

 

Eventually the rain let up a little bit, so I slowly drove to the next exit, at which

point it began to pour again.  I pulled into the first parking lot, which luckily for

me belonged to the Captain Don Julio Seafood Buffet restaurant.  As soon as it

let up a little, I got out and scooted over to the restaurant. 

 

Captain Don’s was decorated in a nautical motif, with big captain’s chairs
and tables around which families were busily chowing down on plates piled
high with crab legs. The seafood buffet was too intimidating for me, so I
ordered a fish taco platter and very much enjoyed not driving in the storm.









Richmond is a great city for just hacking around, which is what I set out to do on my first morning there. But it was just too hot and humid for my unacclimatized self to be walking outdoors. I was beginning to feel dangerously overheated when I spotted the Institute for Contemporary Art at Virginia Commonwealth University, which is a big name for a very small museum. It was small, but the Institute had the three things that really matter to me in a museum – air-conditioning, toilets, and a water fountain.



There were a whole gaggle of arty-looking youths hanging out at the front desk.
I was the only patron. One of the youths peeled away from the others and
literally followed a step behind me as I looked through the galleries. He never
spoke, just hovered and poked at his iPad. It was very disconcerting. I mean,
I have been to a LOT of art museums of all sizes, and I have never before had
my own personal security guard. It seems unlikely that I looked like a threat to
the artworks, so I guess he was just super-bored? Maybe working on his thesis
project about how sweaty older women interact with multimedia collage?



Annoyed by my guard, but not ready to face the heat again, I hid in the ladies’
room and played Solitaire on my phone for a while. I walked back to my Airbnb,
got my rental car, and drove to the much bigger art museum, the Virginia Museum
of Fine Arts, where I spent the rest of the day in the air-conditioned comfort being
ignored by the guards, as is usual.

As I drove around Richmond, I noticed that the monuments to
Confederate Generals on Monument Avenue were mostly gone.
Only the plinths remained. As a white woman who has never endured
racism, it was surprising to me how liberated I felt seeing those
empty plinths, so I can only imagine how good it feels for victims of
systemic racism.

Susan joined me and we had a really sweaty walk along the James. We saw
some very interesting murals and some Passages youth campers whose van
had the superb motto “We Make Kids Tired!”. As I reached my heat threshold,
we found a craft brewery. I often joke with my brother that you could throw a rock
anywhere in Richmond and hit a craft brewery, but it isn’t really a joke. Before we
entered the taproom, we both guessed how many men would have facial hair.
We both wildly underestimated.

Ellen joined us, and we went with my sister-in-law Shelby and my niece Stella to the 

Poe Museum.  My expectations were low, and I was pleasantly surprised.  It's a very

cool museum that I would recommend to anyone.

We spent the afternoon at Hollywood Cemetery with two of my online friends from 

cemetery class. Backstory: I’ve always loved cemeteries, so imagine my excitement 

when I discovered that Atlas Obscura offered a four-part seminar taught by a Harvard 

religious studies professor who has also worked as a cemetery director. My zoom 

classmates were from all over the country and we mostly just shared anecdotes about 

our favorite cemeteries.


Two of my classmates, Rebecca and Kim, live in Richmond and since I knew I was 

headed to Richmond in late summer, I asked if they would give me a tour of their 

favorite cemetery, and they graciously agreed. I showed up with Shelby, Stella, Susan 

and Ellen and the seven of us wandered all over Hollywood cemetery. Even the rain 

did not deter us. Rebecca and Kim are self-described goths and they shared some great 

Richmond stories with us. It was a really fun afternoon.

Rebecca said many people believe this tomb contains a vampire.

Doug and Shelby also took us to a Flying Squirrels baseball game (a feeder team for 

the San Francisco Giants!), to an enormous farmer’s market, to the five-star Jefferson 

Hotel, and to a French café and vintage shops in Carytown. It was a great week, Doug 

and Shelby and Stella are great hosts, and it all just made me want to spend more time there.

Flora Flora and Mint Julep

 

A few weeks ago Ellen's boyfriend Jeff, who is a drummer for the band Flora Flora, invited me and Larry to attend his album release party in the basement of a bar in San Francisco.  I said, "Will we be the oldest people there?" and Jeff said "Probably, but you should come anyway."  So we did!

That whole weekend was pretty fun.  On Thursday, my neighbor Camay and I drove up to the Legion of Honor and saw the Pompeii exhibit.  We decided to get the audio tours.  The young woman whose job it was to explain how to download the tour to our phones was extremely patient, but I could almost see the thought bubble above her head saying "I got a fine arts degree for this???"

The Legion of Honor Café is finally open again, so that was very exciting.

On Friday I paid a visit to Meyer Appliance to check in with James, the salesman who sold me a GE refrigerator in March.  I know there are lots of supply chain issues, but Larry advised me to go in person and advocate for our refrigerator.  Every few weeks I stop in to get a different story from James about when my refrigerator might arrive.  He looks concerned (or as concerned as you can look with a mask on), prints some papers, purposefully strides off to the back office, and then comes back and tells me lies.

I don't mind visiting James at Meyer Appliance, though, because it's right next door to the Goodwill.  This time I got a great pair of Jaclyn Smith for K-Mart chartreuse jeans.

For our big excursion Saturday night, I booked us a room at a Victorian B&B in the Mission, since Flora Flora was the headlining act and didn't start until 11 pm.  Can you imagine anything happening in Los Altos at 11 pm?  My mind reels at the very idea.

We drove up to San Francisco, parked our car, and found our excellent B&B, The Inn San Francisco.  They take the whole Victorian thing quite literally, and the place is full of potted palms, antimacassars, velvet drapes, tasseled lamps, and little wood tables.

We had some great Peruvian food (It took some nerve to try Peruvian again after my last experience, but it worked out fine this time).  Several cocktails were consumed, and then we headed to Amado's.  It was a lot like a speakeasy - you had to show your ticket to a lady in the bar and then she opened a funky wooden door and gestured down to the basement.

Mint Julep played at 10 pm, and they were quite good.  And then - Flora Flora!  We enjoyed the music very much, and had a few more cocktails while we listened.

So that by the time we headed back up to the bar, I was drunkenly enamored by the upstairs wrap-around balcony above the bar and insisted that we all take photos under the comically large lamps.  My family indulged me, so here are some nice photos for you to enjoy.

Susan walked us back to the Inn because I had a package that had arrived in Los Altos for her.  Here is a bonus photo of Susan modeling her Teletubbies Gay Pride hat.

The next day was a little rough, not gonna lie.  It's been quite a while since I downed six(?) bourbons in one night.  Larry was very nice about it.  He drove home and even stopped at Five Guys for hamburgers to take the edge off.  There was some napping in the afternoon, and then we had a lovely outdoor dinner with our neighbors.  Derek offered me a bourbon after dinner, and for the first time in the history of our dinners, I had to decline.  Maybe next time.

A Pretty Good Fourth

 

I wouldn't say I had a *glorious* fourth, but it was perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.  (A reference to the Steve Buscemi-narrated video about Biden's presidential candidacy: you can see it here if you are unfamiliar with it.)

We attended four separate events this weekend!  Unmasked!!  They were not exactly wild parties, and none of them involved fireworks, sadly, but as I said, acceptable under the circumstances.

On Friday night Larry and I attended the town of Los Altos First Friday event, which is held, as the name suggests, on the First Friday of every month in the summer.  It consists of a handful of local bands set up on street corners from 6 pm - 8 pm and a few stores staying open until 8 pm instead of 6 pm.   

But, hey, we take what we can get out here in the 'burbs.  You can listen to a high school jazz trombonist, or to the old men playing in an all-accordion band in front of Le Boulanger, or watch the old ladies in sparkly hats doing Charleston-esque dances with each other while their husbands stoically wait for it all to be over so they can go back home and watch TV.  (We did all three!)

We also enjoyed a spot of outdoor dining.  We get to keep our parklets in Los Altos at least through the summer, so that's nice.  We ate at Fiesta Vallarta where I got to practice my rudimentary Spanish with our extremely tolerant waitress, and we had those margaritas that come with a tiny beer upended in them.

On Saturday we got together with our neighbors Camay and Derek.  We very much enjoyed our evenings together during the pandemic, and they have graciously agreed to keep up the tradition.  And now we can all sit at the same table!!  And use the same salad tongs!!!  Their son and his girlfriend were here for the weekend, so we had a fresh audience for our interminable and pointless stories.  They were good sports.

In case you haven't heard, Larry was selected as a Santa Clara Valley Water Ambassador from a wide field of candidates (according to him).  There are no actual duties, but he has been educated in water issues, so feel free to contact him if you have an interest in reservoirs.  He donned the regalia I made him for his birthday at our cocktail hour.  He has promised to wear the faucet hat to the next Ambassadorial event.

On the Fourth itself, we drove over to Alameda to visit the USS Hornet, a decommissioned aircraft carrier that is now a museum.  When our girls were little, many of their little boy friends were taken there for Boy Scout sleepovers, and I heard a lot of horror stories from the chaperones, so I've always been curious to see it.  And Larry wanted to see it, because, well, it's a big boat, and boys of all ages love big boats.

The USS Hornet is pretty cool.  Larry was a good sport about taking some Marc Jacobs-inspired fashion photos for me.

When the USS Hornet was in service, there were 3000 people aboard.  It's a pretty big boat, but it's not that big, and it boggles the mind to think of that many people crammed onto it.  There are hanging bunks literally everywhere on board, and corridor after corridor after corridor below deck.  Up on top you can hang around on the flight deck and look at the views of San Francisco.

I volunteered to take a photo of a man and woman trying to get a selfie on deck, but I kicked over the man's drink in the process, so I thought it best not to ask him to take a photo of us, which is why my photo is, in fact, a selfie.

When we got home we watched A Capitol Fourth on PBS, that corny country music and fireworks show they do on the Capitol lawn every year, since most of the fireworks shows around here were cancelled due to the pandemic.  Then we watched The Tomorrow War, because it felt like many Americans were at home watching The Tomorrow War, and we wanted to be a part of that.  It was real dumb, but the aliens blowed up real good.

Okay, so we're up to three outings.  Our fourth and final outing was on Monday to our neighborhood block party, where we stood around unmasked and drinking wine with all the neighbors we've been waving at and yelling greetings to for the last 15 months.  It was great to re-connect with everyone.  

And then Monday night I got to watch the Bachelorette on my friend's couch.  I think this season is going to be a corker.  But why do they keep letting Katie go on camera in those god-awful frocks?  Where does she even acquire them??  From slutty dolphin trainers??? (That's Jeanette's joke.)

So, yeah, I wouldn't call it glorious, exactly, but it was great to have places to go and people to see over the Fourth.

Two Inefficient Days in San Francisco

It has been hot in the Bay Area this week.  It's usually much cooler in San Francisco than in Los Altos, so when the notice of Ellen's failure to get her car smog checked arrived in the mail, with the warning of imminent impoundment, I thought, what the heck, I'll go up there and sort it out.  How long could it take?  Ha ha ha.

I drove up Tuesday morning full of purpose.  In addition to the car issue, Ellen was also dealing with fleas in her apartment.  The cat had been flea treated and Ellen had vacuumed the floors, but she wanted to wash all the bedding.  I agreed to run all the bedding through the laundromat downstairs before smog checking the car, since Ellen had to work every day this week.

The laundromat was lovely, I must say.  My kids and I loved the book A Pocket for Corduroy, which takes place in a laundromat.  A laundromat is a great liminal space, where everyone is waiting for clean clothes to emerge from the dryers, and there isn't anything else you need to do.  You can watch a telenovela on the TV, read a book, scroll through your phone, eat a candy bar, watch people on the street (I did all those things).

While all the sheets and blankets and towels were in the dryers, I set out to Walgreens to purchase tall kitchen garbage bags in which to put the clean items.  It was such a hot day in San Francisco that there were 15 people ahead of me in line purchasing cold drinks.  (In addition to my garbage bags, I also purchased a cold Cucumber Lime Smartwater, such a refreshing beverage.)

I popped into a Mexican party store on Mission Street to appreciate the excellent assortment of piñatas.  I love a Mexican party store.

By the time I got back to the laundromat, I had to move my car since all the spots off Mission are two hours maximum.  I bagged up all the clean items and hauled them in three trips up four steep flights of stairs to Ellen's apartment, after first attempting to use her keys to enter the preschool next door to her place, which resulted in much confusion for all involved.

I was meeting Ellen on her late afternoon work break, and then meeting Larry for a Giants baseball game, so I had to give up on my dream of smog checking the car.  I had noticed a tiny Peruvian restaurant on Mission so I went there for a meal before meeting Ellen.

I had a delicious plate of Aji de Gallina and was feeling pleased with myself for finding such an authentic cafe.  A little too authentic, as it turned out.   I am not strong enough for authentic Peruvian food.  Ooof.

Ellen showed me around the clothing store where she works and then we sat on some risers outside a bakery on Valencia Street.  As we were talking, mice began to emerge from the structure and I shrieked a little.  Ellen was not fazed and pointed out that in New York, it would be rats.  This was both true (the last time I was in Brooklyn a rat ran over my foot) and strangely comforting.

Larry and I enjoyed the Giants game very much.  It was great to be at the ball park.  I spent one inning in the ladies room thinking about Peru, but I was back in my seat for the eighth inning, in which Mike Yastrzemski hit a grand slam to win the game.  Very cool.

Wednesday I headed back up to San Francisco, determined to get Ellen's car off the impound list.  I parked near Ellen's work and picked up her keys.  I walked over to the closest service station to see if they could accommodate me, but I needed a STAR smog station, which they were not.  The guy there said to try the Shell at 16th and Guerrero.

I called the Shell, but no one picked up.  I was very reluctant to hike up Bernal Hill to get Ellen's car only to be turned away, so I walked a mile over to the Shell and was told I could bring in the car.  By now, my two hours of parking were up, so I hiked back to my car to drive to Ellen's car.

Here's where the day got even more inefficient.  Ellen had told me her car was parked on Bonview by the park, so I entered "Bonview Street" into Google maps and drove over and parked my road boat at the bottom of the street.  I hiked all the way up Bonview but did not find her car.  I couldn't call her at work because she's not allowed to have her phone.  I looked at the map again and discovered that Bonview is *bifurcated* by the f(#@ing MOUNTAIN that is Bernal Heights Park.

Okay, it may not look that significant on the map, but it is a monster hill.  I am nothing if not stubborn, so instead of re-parking my car, I hiked over.  I found Ellen's car, unlocked the door, slid in, and tried to remember where the start button is.  It was terrifically hot in the car, so I pulled the inside door handle to let in some air.  Nothing happened.  The door handle was broken.

Reader, I panicked.  For a few seconds I thought I might die of heat prostration in that car.  I yeeted myself over the console, flung open the passenger door, and stood panting on the street.  A concerned hipster hill hiker came over to check on me and pointed out that I could put down the driver's side window and open the door using the outside handle.  Okay, okay, okay.  I'm old enough to be allowed to be panicked and nonsensical.

I got the car to the Shell and had a pleasant hour in a tapas bar while it was being checked.  I was a little wary of ethnic food after the digestive upset of the previous day, so I ordered ham toast, which seemed safe.  I was still pretty sweaty and freaked out, but the albariño helped.

I returned Ellen's car to its previous parking spot and hiked back over the mountain.

After retrieving my car and returning Ellen's keys to her I was finally finished with my quest.  It took me 4.5 miles of walking and seven hours of time to get her car smog checked.  An incredibly inefficient couple of days, but an adventure of sorts.  I mean, I'm not sorry I did it, I guess.  I have had to retrieve Ellen's car from an impound lot once already (a good LA story) so hopefully I have forestalled that this time.  My phone says I climbed thirty flights of stairs, so that's something.