Summer soon blog nation!

Prodigal's coming home Thursday. He has been rather emotional about leaving school and friends; while at the same time thrilled to come home. I remember that feeling- that great sweet spot of the bittersweet. 

Frederick said to me the other day: "I just can't believe it is already half over." I told him he should be comforted by the fact that the best was yet to come. Upper and Senior years are so good-all that power, all that confidence. And F said: "I don't know how it could get any better..." (?) 

Ahh how quickly they forget the cold and the boredom and the latin verbs! How quickly they forget how much they needed your texts and care packages. I can't thank you all enough for checking in on him as you did. It wasn't always easy. But something is clearly useful about sticking teenagers together under one roof, with a lot of work and no parents. 

It toughens them up and it softens them. F is mushier now: more outspoken about his fears and joys, more in touch with gratefulness.  

He seems to be in charge of rallying the troops towards shenanigans over at Wentworth. They got busted for one rather complex scheme, but they didn't force F to rat out his cohorts. (He simply told them he "would rather not say" who helped him, and they let it go.) The funny part, and this is what I like about the place, is the dean was so intrigued by the technical aspects of the plan and it's rather decent execution, that he kept bringing the subject back to that. So first he would say: ok this was very bad, you mustn't put an obscene sentence in lights on the rival dorm, Bad. 

But...tell me again, how did you connect the flash light to the lap top? Why did you go with pascal and not perl? interesting....

Thomas volunteered to help him pack up this year - he left this morning; but he is comically nervous about screwing something up. 

You just know the place will be organized beyond anything ever seen in the PEA basement. My strategy for moving out was to befriend the extra large man at Exeter packaging, and catch the early flight the hell out of there. 

Saw the K's last night, and they told me Herney is already gearing up for the Brigham deluge- getting ready to cheer for three grandchildren of his old friend Charlie B. Really it's too much to imagine. 

As you may have heard, I got the bright idea to give Frederick flying lessons for his 16th birthday (anything to keep him out of a car..) and now I am sort of regretting it. First lesson is the day after he gets home. His summer is so busy with a job and test prep and taking a math class he wants to skip, that I sort of felt he needed a little time off of the earth. 

Full report to follow on the (hopefully) friendly skies. 

Clouds pull each other's pants down and laugh.

Hike Wrap Up

Two years ago, one of our hikers weighed 50 pounds more than she does now. She always liked to walk, but she became obsessed after a little contest at her bank in which employees were challenged to log their daily steps over a two month period. So far this contest, she has walked more than a million miles; and that was before she walked to and from Stinson Beach. I'm not kidding- she walked 9 miles more than we did on the way out to the beach (we walked from Sausalito to avoid the noisy bridge), and she walked 25 miles more, when the next morning- she put on her backpack and her gold toed tennis shoes, and walked the hell home.
Thomas looked at her like she was crazy: "You won't be home until 8 pm"
(she walked in her door at 8:01).
I guess you had to be there, but I nearly cried when I saw her on the bridge as we were driving home that evening. Amid the swirling fog and the honking, noisy mess of a Monday, we saw her strolling happily along- looking out to sea. She had been walking for 8.5 hours, with nearly 2 hours to go.

This is a woman who smiled so much as a kid, her parents thought she might be a simpleton. (no joke) But she is also someone with a few incredibly sad stories. The first one was about how her mother died when she was little, and as she told me, the police drove her past her mother's mangled car at the accident scene on their way to identify the body; because in those days, they didn't think of how this might affect a kid. And you all know the incredible story of her dog Bobby- the Albert clone- and the fire that killed her friend who was saving him. When Bobby was on fire he ran through the neighborhood looking for her, leaving little footprints on the places they went together (she was away on business).

I don't know what my point is other than when I saw her on the bridge, it made my heart squeeze. We have all been a little bruised haven't we? It's lovely to see someone who keeps walking.


Finally, she told me this story: she absolutely loves the great blue heron of California; and she bemoaned the fact that she hadn't seen one in a very long time. But after exiting the bridge that night, standing alone along Chrissy Field was the bird in the photo above.: a great blue heron to greet her.
"Wow" I told her. "I just got chills".

And she said: "Yea, but you would think that fucker could have handed me a beer."

Stinson March Photos

"The reason for leaving sometimes is to return. Simply return."

Yrsa Daley-Ward

I'll write the details later...perhaps on this same page; but for now, a few photos for MMB who is bored in an airport. XX

Jim came accessorized with name tag and child's necklace; presumably to make identifying his dead body easier. 

The heaven of the cool quiet redwoods. 

Accidental photo that captures my misery on Coyote ridge

First mile behind us

Thomas carrying two backpacks

Julia 

Crossing a field before hiking up from Pelican Inn to the Dipsea

The Miracle picnic table

Northern California Fog always nearby

I wish I could capture the light in this portion of the Dipsea. ...it is prettier than this. 

First sight of the goal. Our house is at the end of the lagoon in the photo. 

Waiting for pasta to be served. 

Steeling myself for the 50 degree water. Paparazzi took photo from hot tub, capturing my wimpiness. 

"In love with how it happened so far. Even the terrible things. 

Ysra Daley-Ward

The Great Green Hill Far Away

Because It's There....
George Mallory

   From my bedroom window, I can see City Hall, St. Mary's Cathedral, and the docks of Hunter's Point. But the thing that always caught my eye was an incongruous green hill with several trees on top-like hair on a doll that sticks straight up, making it look surprised. I had absolutely no idea what or where this hill was; and it was driving me slightly crazy. Until the obvious hit: I should just walk over and find out.

  Now some of you will ask why I didn't google it. But some of you are not very romantic: because really, what could be finer than a long, slow walk ending in a mystery solved?

  We know a surprising amount of people whose lives were changed, saved actually, by very (very) long walks. A Swiss friend found himself deciding between suicide and walking home from Zurich to Zug- a distance of 30k. I'm not kidding; he told Thomas it was more or less a flip of a coin situation. So rather than kill himself, he did the next closest thing- he turned into a long distance runner. He is now alive and well, with a rather good resting heart beat. Another suffered from debilitating depression after his father died and that's all he does- walk; no meds, just walking. He is this insanely attractive, tortured soul....so totally my type. But he was close to bat shit hanging by a thread crazy, and I mean that as a compliment. At dinner with him, he would focus so hard on what you were saying...as if you were spitting pearls of wisdom and wit. Even when you were talking to someone else, and thought he was too..he would fearlessly interject a little sentence into your conversation: "The capital of Angola is actually Luanda.", and turn his back again. It was intoxicating.
  Of course a man that listens like that is definitely a mutant of some sort, so walk he must. Walking keeps him upright- literally and figuratively; and the pain in his feet eases the pain in his heart.

  Anyway, Thomas accepted my invitation on a Wednesday afternoon without hesitation, even though Thomas "hesitates" at plenty of my invitations. But he rustled up the dog and some water. En route we were sort of giddy. Whenever we lost sight of the hill, we would alternatively laugh and worry (was it a mirage??); then we would cheer when we found it again. Like most distant hills- be they in Tibet or San Francisco-it is farther away then you think, and steeper than you hope. But! But! it was as good a result as I could have hoped for- a secret and a surprise and a Hershey's kiss all together in the palm of your hand. I am tempted to not tell you what it is, but make you walk there yourself. 

   Ok fine...be that way. Below is the map with our route. The hill is called Bernal Hill and for the really lazy among you (you know who you are) here is a section from the website that does a better job describing it than I could. But you really need to walk there. Amy- you could dash over to the Taqueria after! Oh! did I mention there are two enormous grown up swings that fly you out over the city? 

  Anyway, the next time a little green hill beckons you -any green hill-......for God's sake, go. 

  
  Am leaving in a few hours for our walk to Stinson. So excited..The first bruschetta will be served at 5 pm at 307 Seadrift Road. All welcome...well, all who walk there. I will try to post photos along the way-we are taking a slightly longer route: from Sausalito to Pelican Inn, and then to the Dipsea. If you don't hear from us tonight, get some food and wine and come find us.
xx

   

From the Bernal Hill Website. (How I love the person who wrote this-a true romantic) 

  "Bernal Hill provides visitors with a breathtaking 360-degree panorama and clear views of San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, downtown, San Bruno Mountain, and the hills of the East Bay. These windswept slopes are still sunny when Twin Peaks is shrouded in afternoon fog. Red-tailed hawks soar overhead, the breeze sends waves undulating through the native grassland community, and visitors hike around the hill’s peaceful summit to escape from the complexities of urban life. As one of the few remaining natural refuges in San Francisco, Bernal Hill is a special place for the city’s human and wildlife inhabitants.

One of the most dramatic tales of Bernal Hill took place in May of 1876. The Bernal Heights community caught the California gold rush fever after Frenchman Victor Resayre announced his discovery of gold on the Bernal summit, ore that he claimed would fetch $1 million per ton. For several days the hill was the site of extensive mining efforts, until it was revealed that the original discovery consisted of the considerably less valuable quartz.

 Bernal Hill’s steep slopes support a thriving grassland community, suggesting how much of the northern San Francisco peninsula might have looked 250 years ago. In the summer and fall its grasslands are dry and parched, and Bernal appears from a distance to be a tawny, uninhabitable monolith. The native grasses and wildflowers have dropped their seeds, which wait patiently in the soil for the winter rains to awaken them. By early February, the hill is transformed into a palette of brilliant colors as a multitude of native wildflowers bloom, including footsteps of spring, sun cup, blue-eyed grass, checkerbloom, and shooting star. Native purple needlegrass and red fescue blow in waves from the almost constant ocean breeze."

  

Couple more...

Pretty Typical looking housing

Behind me an average day of people dancing on stilts. 

At the Guarida; artistic shot. That stupid skirt is being shortened as we speak! I look like an Amish.