I haven't even kicked my butt in gear enough to get into San Francisco, though I will, I will. There was a "dragon-awakening" ceremony in Chinatown on Saturday. The parade on Feb. 7 is supposed to be pretty big. Alas, I will, hopefully be on a plane by then.
I searched for signs of people celebrating the first day of the lunar year, and saw an under ten year-old boy and his grandparents boarding the bus. And up by the college a young man holding his mother's hand as they wove down the busy sidewalk.
The bustle of this place, at least, is comforting, not to mention all the ethnic and vegetarian food, the coffee, the Obama buttons, the artsy bookstores, all the liberal leanings. I could stay for awhile. If ZX, and so-long-awaited language study, and a city I have called home, an so many unexplored possiblities, were not waiting.
At Peet's by the bus stop on Shattuck I remember how much I love public transportation - the encounter with PEOPLE and LIFE. A heavyset man with baggy jeans and a striped toque on the slightly raised sidewalk landscaping box. He smiles and gestures to the street like he's giving a speech, or a tour. A skinny man with a black duffel bag, a red plastic five-gallon bucket, and a caulking gun. He sets them on the metal bench with green paint but does not sit down.
I also love that Ryan and Christen have driven me to Sonoma County to climb rock faces by the coast, camp in a damp forest, and walk through giant redwoods, to Marin County to hike overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and yesterday, to Yosemite for six hours of snowshoeing. Their piles of gear cheap from REI used gear sales. Even though I felt slightly ridiculous about our ski poles when we passed other snowshoers, I was grateful for them while my hip flexors groaned the last three miles. And the waterproof gators wrapped round my ankles were so nice.
