Revival

Heads up to anyone who still looks at my blog: I'm going to revive this thing.

Stay tuned - it will get more exciting soon, I promise. In the meantime, go here:

www.weinerdograces.com

and entertain yourselves.

The big 2-7

So every year, when my birthday rolls around, I delight in rehearsing telling people my new age. You know, just so I don't forget in the heat of the moment and accidentally tell people that I'm younger than I really am.

This year when I practiced, it didn't feel so exciting anymore. Without sounding melodramatic, something feels a little different about turning 27.

I have this idea that everyone has an emotional age, the age that they are on the inside, after which they have to work to remember the right age to tell people. My mom, for example, says that on the inside, she feels about 26. Some people hold 30th birthday parties year after year because they don't quite move beyond it in their minds.

I wonder if 27 feels weird because my emotional age is 26. Is this it? Will it always feel funny from here on out? Will I seem hopelessly immature for the rest of my life, after having seemed extremely grown-up for my age until now? Maybe when I'm old, it'll be cute.

Don't blame me; I got busy!

OK, so I realize that it's been so long since I posted that probably nobody even checks my blog for updates anymore. However, it's not a bad thing to do a little journaling once in a while, so I'm going to go for it.

School started, and things are pretty interesting. The other students are all smart and friendly, and so my social life is indescribably better than it was over the summer. So much better, actually, that I'm a little too busy with social stuff!

The first semester of an MPH program is a little broad, especially if, like me, your area of focus is Health Policy and Management. My interests lie in the teeny area of health related to health care delivery (hospitals, health centers, doctors' offices), and this semester we're learning about the larger world of public health: people in other countries die more than we do, there are huge socioeconomic and health disparities within the US, and it's damn hard to push those boulders up a hill. It can all be a little disheartening. I'm also taking biostatistics and epidemiology, both of which have some things in common with classes I've taken in the past, but are more specifically applied to public health this time around. My star class is called Healthcare Quality: Measurement and Improvement, and is really sort of the foundation for what I'll base my career on. There's a lot of reading for the class, but I love, love, love it. The class is absolutely enthralling, and we're working with our University Health Services to apply what we're learning to help them improve the reliability of their smoking cessation activities. Guess what I'm doing? I'm the project manager, of course! I can stand only so much talking without action, so I put myself in a position where I can push things forward to results more effectively. Of course, I also made myself the go-to person for logistics...but it turns out that things really don't progress if someone isn't handling logistics. So sue me.

What I Realized on my Summer Vacation

I'm back in San Francisco, listening to the sounds of construction as I try to settle back into my west coast life and figure out the plan for this week (grad school orientation starts tomorrow).

It was a little strange to leave San Francisco to visit Vermont, then head to Boston for a few days, before coming back here. I grew up in a tiny little town in rural vermont and spent years scrambling toward the exit sign. I was so excited to get the hell out of there and never look back. When I visit, I remember that I never really fit into the culture of that small town, and of course I still don't. But Vermont is just so beautiful. It's small, and soft, and green, and quiet, with quirky weather and any number of endearing qualities. After living in the city for so many years now -- and having just moved to San Fran, which is about 40% bigger, population-wise, than Boston, and therefore totally stuffed to the gills with people -- becoming progressively more anonymous among the crowds, I can kind of see what draws people to move to Vermont, or at least someplace nearby. I know that I'm romanticizing the concept, at least partly because I'm increasingly sure that San Francisco, the city at least, isn't really the best fit for me. Conceptually it's great, but I don't know if a few years here is going to make me consider SF to be "home."

Actually, that's really the crux of the issue. I miss the feeling of having history in a place, of being "from" there, of being "at home." When I was in Vermont, I felt like I was at home, and then in Boston I felt like I was at home. All I could think when I got on the plane to come back to SF was that I was one step too removed from where I was supposed to be. Just a feeeling of wrongness or something.

I'm not sure if that's because I'm a big baby about the whole moving thing, or if it's a gut feeling that I need to pay attention to. I guess I'll pay some attention to it and see how I feel in a few years when we're at the point where we might relocate. As TCH told me last night, we should take some time to enjoy the next few years, and make a decision when we're able to make an actual change. So the plan is to put off worrying about it, which is always a challenge for me. I'll try.

Picture it...

Me. San Francisco International Airport. A glass of wine. A 3-hours-early arrival for a red-eye flight to visit my parents in Vermont and see friends in Boston.

It's the perfect recipe for me to finally post something on my blog!

Lots, and very little, has happened in the past two weeks.

I passed my CPHQ exam (Certified Professional in Health Care Quality), so now I have a credential that I can attach to my name. It's apparently more popular on the west coast than in the east, so I came to the right place.

TCH's parents are visiting, and right now, so are his aunt, uncle, and grandmother. I'm proud to discover that I've gotten pretty darn good at navigating around San Francisco, and I can take visitors from out of town on really fun sightseeing tours. Today (feeling like a mama duck leading her ducklings), I took the whole crowd to see the Golden Gate Bridge while TCH was at work. It's lots of fun.

So I've gone back and forth between feeling annoyed that there are so many people crammed into MY apartment (why can't they just stay at a hotel like normal people?), and feeling guilty for being such a selfish American who wouldn't want to welcome her auntie, uncle, and grandmother into her home (we're all the same family, it's only temporary, it's expensive to stay at a hotel, and they're sacrificing space, too).

It's complicated, obviously, and although I consistently expect these situations to be absolutely unbearable, each visit with TCH's parents is more fun than the one before. I get myself all worked up before a visit--an absolute mess, stress-wise--because somehow I am fixated on the awkwardness of their first couple of visits, back before we really knew each other. These days, things are different: we get along easily, his parents are more laid-back, etc. So why don't I remember that when they're about to visit?? Is it because I think I'm "supposed" to have a weird relationship with my in-laws? I guess not. But while they, coming from an Eastern culture, are more collectivist, I think that I, on a personal level, have a lot of my own isolationist tendencies that don't really help the situation. And also, the mental grudge list that I can't stop adding to.

Maybe this is one of the things that get easier as we age?

Lands End

And by Lands End, I don't mean the outerwear company. I mean the lovely San Francisco park that is the last remnants of the wild west coast terrain left within city limits. I hiked there the other day, and took some pictures. Here's what I saw:
It was a little foggy (big surprise, considering where I am!), so the pics are a little gray, but you get the idea. There were a lot of people in the area next to the parking lot, but it was pretty empty in other parts. The scenery was amazing, so I continued exploring. And of course, pretty soon after I thought, "Hmm...it's kind of lonely here. Maybe I should head back to where there are other people, just to be on the safe side," I turned a corner in the trail and a guy was sitting next to the trail, dressed completely in red, exposed and fondling himself. He said, "Oh, hey, sorry!"

Give me a break.

I just got out of there quickly, moving fast until I was near some other people--and I've been brainstorming verbal lashings for him ever since. Isn't that the way things go?

So the landscape was gorgeous --but next time I'm taking along a buddy!

Climing the stairway to heaven...(OK, so that might be a stretch)

San Francisco has a lot of stairways. Anywhere a hill gets so steep that you would fall down it if you tried to walk on a slanted sidewalk, the sidewalk turns into steps. I've started building these stairways into my workouts. They're good exercise (my favorites total around 300 steps), and when you climb a stairway, you're sure to end up with a good view at the end, as long as there's no San Francisco Fog (TM). The best set of stairways I've found so far are the Filbert St and Greenwich St steps. For those who know San Francisco, at the top of those staircases is Coit Tower, one of the best vantage points in the city. From Coit Tower, you can see the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Angel Island, the hills of Marin County, and the Bay Bridge. It's just beautiful.

In fact, beyond climing stairways and hills for exercise, I've developed a growing urge to get to the top of things, to see what's in the distance. I suppose I'm looking for a reminder that there's a world out there.

See, I've been working from home this summer, and while I think it would be a lot easier in a city where I was better settled, telecommuting from the study/guest room has been a bit isolating. TCH is pretty busy with his resident schedule, so finishing work and heading out to explore the city solo, rather than staying home and feeling lonely, has taken some discipline. I enjoy this place so much more, though, when I put on my sneakers and head out to find a new peak with a new view. The other day I climbed a stairway, then hiked up the rest of the way, to the top of Twin Peaks. The stairway (Pemberton Place) was very well-maintained, and featured a water fountain that would allow me and my dog, if I had one, to get a simultaneous sip. Like this:

Which reminds me: does anybody but me remember the 'Love Toilet' spoof from Saturday Night Live? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBmvlvZQIcM

But I digress.

Anyway, after the staircase ended, it turned out the sidewalk didn't go all the way up the hill, so for a while I practiced Defensive Walking (people coming down the winding road were way too psyched about taking the hairpin curves fast and wide), and then I ended up bushwacking my way up the hillside on a sort-of path. When I got to the top, I was rewarded by a 360-degree view of San Francisco and the Bay Area. Beautiful!!! It was windy, and at one point I glanced down and saw a hawk below me, floating in mid-air and held aloft by the breeze. I would have a picture to show you, but the camera ran out of batteries. [Note: the camera being out of batteries was the end of a bigger oops involving a dropped (and broken!) camera, new camera purchase, trying out new camera, forgetting to charge batteries - so by that point I was done complaining.]

I climbed steps (yes, more steps) to the tops of both of the twin peaks, then headed down, bushwacking my way down the hill on loose red soil. It turns out that when you slip and fall, the red soil melds almost completely with your clothing, and for the next several hours, people give you and your rear end funny looks. I suggest wearing rust-colored pants for this expedition, or perhaps just trying to be more coordinated than I am!

The really interesting part of all this is that even within the city, there are a lot of sort-of-natural places you can get to. The stairs up to Coit Tower wander around terraced gardens with gorgeous flowers (yes, I stop to smell them sometimes!), and many of the little adventures I've gone on count as bonafide "urban hikes." Sometimes I feel a little wistful that my own apartment is a bit far from many of these places, so that in my day-to-day life I don't see a great deal of greenspace. However, there are green areas all around the city, and it just takes a little time to get to them. The other place I've visited that had such an intertwined relationship with nature even in the urban environment was Norway, which I visited several years ago for work. Even in the biggest cities in Norway, there are dedicated urban forests and hiking areas, because the Norwegians believe that people need contact with unplanned, unharnessed nature on a regular basis.

Anyway, is it any surprise that it's taking me a little while to feel at home here, given that the city reminds me most of a foreign country 6,000 miles away?

Googled myself...

I was curious to see what would turn up if I googled myself. (Would my blog turn out to be findable? Are pictures from my wedding still up online?)

It turns out there are quite a few things floating around out there with my name on them. One of them was kind of a nice, if wistful, surprise. My paternal grandmother passed away in 2001, and my father wrote a wonderful, lengthy obituary about her life. It's not San Francisco-related, but I've pasted it here in case you have any interest -- kind of a neat history.

MARTHA [last name ]GRANBY, Conn. / WILLIMANTIC, Conn. / [my hometown] –Martha [LAST NAME], 91, of Granby, Conn., died July 7, 2001, at the homeof her son, [MY DAD] and his wife, [MY MOM], in [MY HOMETOWN]. She was born in Glasgow, Scotland, on April 11, 1910, the daughter of William John andCatherine (Shannon) Moran, whose families had fled Ireland to escape the potato famine and partisan strife. The family immigrated to Quebec in April 1912 amidst the furor immediately following the sinking of the Titanic. Not long after their arrival in Canada, the family settled in Barnston West, a rural Eastern Townships community within a mile of the Vermont border. Having never farmed or experienced the rigors of a Canadian winter, they scrambled to eke out a living. Born to a gifted mother, Martha learned earlythe value of proper diet and balanced nutrition. She had great knowledge ofwild edibles and looked forward every spring to a feast of dandelions, milkweed shoots and cowslips. On the farm, during the hard years, she learned all the ways to prepare snared rabbit and young woodchuck for the table. Years later, when her squeamish children expressed disbelief at the idea of woodchuck edibility, she said, “”There isn’t much that can beat woodchuck stew.” Her recipes consisted of basic steps and direct guidance. “First kill, skin, and gut a woodchuck. Then cut it into two pieces,slicing it through just behind the shoulder blades. Discard the front part and boil the rest,” and so on. Contemplating woodchucks, she said, “They are best early in the season. If you’ve ever had woodchuck pie you’d know it was good. Why wouldn’t it be? They eat fresh green grass all the time. And woodchucks are plentiful. Hell, every decent hayfield has ten of them. How anyone around these parts can suffer from malnourishment is beyond me. All it takes is a little work to make a meal you’d be proud to feed to company.” At age 10, Martha was given a Sharpe’s .57 caliber Civil War rifle by an aged veteran of that war. She and her brothers learned to pour their own lead bullets in drilled hardwood blocks, split the blocks and shave the lead slugs to fit both their weapon barrels and the cartridge casings, which they then loaded. At the age of 16, she and her 10-year-old brother, Frank, ran the family farm when her older brothers chose to follow the Canadian wheat harvest west. Martha grew to be an accomplished teamster, log skidder and woodlot estimator, out-finagling Yankee males at their own game. She was also an expert horsewoman. Her children remember the pride and fear they felt at seeing her, years later, standing atop the bare back of a cantering horse. As a young woman, Martha played the violin with the Stanstead College/Community Orchestra and then, years later, with the Manchester, (Conn.) Symphony. She became an accomplished watercolorist despite a late start, beginning art lessons at age 60. Her work has been displayed in the Emily LeBaron Gallery of North Hatley, Quebec, the Chaffee Gallery of Rutland, Vt., and the Ellsworth Gallery of Simsbury, Conn. Martha’s paintings are presently held in private collections in the United States, Canada and France. She produced several hundred landscapes in her 25 years as a watercolorist. Her other interests included hiking, skiing Mount Mansfield in the pre-lift days, raising Dobermans, gardening and berry cultivation, driftwood lamp making, sewing and quilt making. She always looked forward to the annual expedition north to the family farm in Canada. Steeped from birth in Irish wit, humor and fatalism, and gifted at observation and brevity, she had a consummate ability to drive home a verbal nail. Martha always was a keen observer of nature and a lover of animals. As a young child, she had the responsibility for several hundred baby chicks which, grown into egg producers, were a major source of family income. “I learned not to help chicks escape the shell no matter how hard they struggled,” she said. “”Those I helped died anyway. I left them alone after I figured that out. They developed the strength they needed for life from the struggle to be born. I guess having it easy isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.” Never having had it all that easy herself, Martha believed in persistence, frugality and compound interest, values she imparted to her offspring with varying degrees of success. Her love of art, music and literature they all absorbed at an early age. Martha was predeceased by her parents, her husband, Frank, and all of her siblings: a sister, Cecelia Ellis, and four brothers, John, William, Daniel, and Frank Moran. Survivors include her three children, [names removed], Nine grandchildren, [names, including mine, removed];14 great-grandchildren, [names removed]; and several nieces and nephews. The family wishes to thank the staff of the Hospice Program of the Franklin County Home Health Agency, 3 Home Health Circle, Suite 1, St. Albans, Vt. 05478, for their incomparable support during Martha’s last days. Those so inclined may make a donation to Franklin County Hospice in Martha’s memory. A memorial celebration of Martha’s life will be held in Connecticut in the fall at the convenience of the family.

This is a weird place.

The other day I slept in really late--like REALLY late, so late I'm not going to say when I actually got up, because it's a little embarrassing--partly because I was tired, and partly because I was feeling a little homesick. Not homesick, since this is my home at this point, but feeling a little wistful for a place where I knew what the heck was going on. I lived in Boston for so long that I'd gotten used to, and become comforted by, its predictability.

Now that I've been here for a few weeks, I think I can see why California types tend to stay in the east for a few years and head back west...and also why everyone I know from Boston who moves to SF ends up moving back east eventually! The Californa types find Boston boring, and the Boston types find SF to be too much of a moving target. Things are constantly changing. Those of you who work with me know that I've spent the past five years working for an organization that values change very highly, and I do, too--in my work life. The sense of daily uprooting is a little less enticing, but I suppose you get used to it, and even like it, eventually.

So anyway, when I woke up late (let's just say it was sometime in the early afternoon), TCH and I were talking for a little while. During our conversation, we heard a skateboard go by outside, 15 floors down. And then we heard another one, and another one...and then it sounded like 1,000 skateboards. So (for some reason) I said, "Oh, it's the skateboarders," as if The Skateboarders are a known entity, and we went to the window to look out. And you know what? it really was about a thousand skateboarders, rolling down the street in the middle of the day on the 4th of July. Hilarious. [What makes this even more hilarious is that we saw basically the same thing earlier in the week, but with bicycles and about 5 times as many participants. With the bikes, as well as the skateboards, I was struck by the fact that although there were many cars stuck behind the skateboards or bikes as they clogged the roadway, nobody honked. Not a single horn! I'm trying to imagine which mode of transportation will be next: horses? ski-skates? hamster wheels?]

And then things got funnier. See, I've learned that nighttime public transportation in San Francisco doesn't exactly have all the wrinkles ironed out, especially for the train line that goes past my house, because it opened recently and they are still "studying the ramifications" of its route and schedule. Basically, sometimes it shows up right away and sometimes it takes 40 minutes. Since July 5th was TCH's first day in the OR during residency, we figured it probably didn't make sense to stay out really late on the 4th and then take forever to get home. Instead, we would watch the fireworks in Berkeley, which I thought we probably could see from our front windows.

As it turns out, Berkeley has NOTHING on my noberhood. At 9pm the street along the waterfront lined up with cars, and then a big group of SUVs pulled up and a crowd of thugs in long, baggy shorts got out...and proceeded to put on a fireworks show worthy of a small city for the next 90 minutes. By the time the first baggy pants group finished, another group of people with even bigger fireworks showed up, this time rattling the building for another 45 minutes. There were whistling fireworks, multi-colored fireworks, small ones with a big bang, large ones with several phases -- any variation you can imagine. Who needs city fireworks display when you have thugs?

I like it here. But sometimes I'm jealous.

Our apartment is amazing. It has granite countertops, lots of space, is virtually soundproof, and has a panoramic view of the SF bay. And we finally have some real furniture, plus--plus!--a digitial piano for TCH to play (in his past life, he played competitively). We've taken a good 2 or 3 steps up on the apartment living scale.

The only problem is that our fantabulous apartment is in the middle of what is referred to as "San Francisco's largest-ever mixed-use redevelopment project, Mission Bay." Until two years ago, there was nothing here but rail yards. In fact, if you google earth my address you will see an old satellite image that shows, well, nothing. All around us there is undeveloped land, construction happening, etc..

This means that there are a lot of places to shop and eat that are within walking distance during the day, but at night they're off-walking-limits. Fortunately there's good public transportation. But for someone like me, who's used to living in neighborhoody places like Coolidge Corner and Harvard Square, it's a bit of an adjustment. No big deal, just an adjustment - but I admit to feeling jealous of people who are living the classic San Francisco life, in a cute little hilly neighborhood where they can go around the corner for dinner or coffee in the middle of the night if they want without having to tiptoe through a half mile of sketch.

I don't think I'll have to wait long for things to improve-- there's a cafe opening up downstairs in my building, and in true (as it turns out) San Francisco fashion, the "cafe" turns into a bar in the afternoon. Love it! Yes, it's true: in San Francisco, cafes also serve beer and wine. Places called "java joint" are usually plastered with neon-light booze signs that turn on in the afternoon. This probably has something to do with my proximity to AT&T Park, where the SF Giants play baseball (we can hear the crowd cheering during games), but it's still funny. We also have a pub on campus that I haven't gone to yet but am retaining in my arsenal for a future desperate day, and some place called "Peasant Pies...the hand-held meal" that sounds kind of California-strange but is apparently quite good. So mostly I am feeling sorry for myself and need to get over it.

The other really cool thing is that I'll be across the bay in Berkeley at least three days a week for school starting in the fall, and it's really neat over there. Neighborhoody with a beautiful campus and TONS of really good food for less than here. And we all know that I mostly live for food. And also chocolate, which is technically food but I think deserves an elevated status.

Now it's real

It's been a busy couple of weeks. My mom and I got here almost two weeks ago and spent the first 1.5 weeks getting things set up, furniture delivered, unpacking, etc.. My dad got here at the end of our first week, and TCH touched down in San Francisco on Saturday around noon.

Since the guys arrived, we've done more sightseeing - walked across the Golden Gate Bridge with my dad, and then yesterday we went to see ancient redwood trees at Muir Woods, then to the windiest point on the Pacific coast at Point Reyes National Seashore (see pic). Both were fantastic, and within a 45-60 minute drive from San Francisco. Having such huge and awesome nature experiences so close at hand is pretty different from being in Boston. Very exciting!

However, the hard part of moving out here just started: my parents left last night to go home to Vermont. It was really nice having them here for the startup phase, though in some ways it kind of just postponed the inevitable. Now it's just TCH and me here in San Francisco, starting our Big Adventure Together. This means that as of today, there is exactly one person in San Francisco who understands who I am and why I am that way! My local-friendless state is temporary, sure, but it's a little weird.

In a fit of desperation last night, I logged on to Facebook and searched to see if any of my college classmates are here in SF. I recognized one person. Hmm...next idea?

In truth, I do have some plans to get in touch with, or stay in touch with, people I know who are here in the Bay Area. A high school classmate is in SF, and a recent coworker is also moving here this summer. She and I already have plans to get together, and I'm sure I'll be able to scare up some people to get dinner or drinks with, or go for a hike, or whatever. Also, most of the people who move into my apartment complex each year do so within the next couple of weeks, so there are lots of newbies to meet. There's even a summer kick-off party on Thursday for people to get to know each other.

I expect I'll get to know some people soon - and I'm enjoying my time settling in - but right now, I still feel a little unmoored.

Life on the edge

I've heard before that there are a lot of homeless people in the bay area, and I've seen it a little during previous visits here. But now that I'm actually living here and have spent a bit of time wandering around town, I'm starting to get a sense of just how pervasive the problem is.

An article in the San Francisco Chronicle mentioned yesterday that the city spends $200 million a year to help support the homeless, but the problem keeps getting worse. There's enough support available to draw people here (and the fairly constant weather helps, since people can--temperature-wise--sleep outdoors safely), but not enough support to actually get people out of this awful situation. What that means is that if you spend a full day out wandering around the city, your sightseeing will be peppered with vignettes of lives spent in constant desperation. There are a lot of dirty, hungry people around this city, on a level that I haven't really seen in all my years in Boston.

It gives you some perspective on your own minor struggles, like yesterday when I saw a man with shoes that had the toes worn off, dirty legs and diseased feet, sitting on the ground shoveling food into his mouth from a trash bag. My God. And I think it's an issue if I have to pay a bunch for rent per month? At least I can manage to pay rent at all, and I never worry about whether I'll be able to eat.

I'd like to say I want to help, but really I have no idea what I could do, personally, to make anything better.

I ate a fresh fig!

I heard the other day that 90% of the food we consume in the U.S. comes from California. I'm not sure if that means 90% of the varieties of food we eat, or what (doesn't all the grain come from the midwest?), but the number is high. And I've been making the most of it!

In between furniture deliveries (hel-looo, cream leather couches from the discount store in the Mission District!) and watching the progress of the construction outside my front window, I've been exploring the food and drink options that the bay area has to offer.

Last Saturday, my mom and I went to the farmer's market to end all farmer's markets. Prices were higher than, say, Haymarket in Boston -- and the produce was better, the people nicer. Even better, the sellers all give out free samples (cheese, bread, olive oil, preserves, a huge variety of fresh fruits and veggies, even including fresh figs (!)). The fresh fig--which I didn't know came any way other than dried--was a big sign that I'm not in Massachusetts anymore. No offense to New England, but the fruits there never taste like the ones I've had every day out here.

I'm starting to think that the reason California kids are always so laid back is that they can just assume a constant supply of phenomenally fresh and tasty fruits and vegetables year round. On the other hand - maybe I'm assuming things about other people. Not everyone gets all excited about fruits and veggies the way I do.

On Sunday, we went on a wine tasting tour in Napa Valley, which was beautiful! Here's a picture:

That picture is of the vineyard at Andretti Winery, which is (side note) owned by Mario Andretti, NASCAR dude. The countryside was gorgeous. Kind of like going to Italy, but without the language barrier. We went to 4 wineries on the tour, and had an ongoing picnic of olive bread, gruyere cheese, olives, and apricots.

If you come visit me in San Francisco, I'll send you on the same tour - it was a lot of fun.

I also had two more food/drink triumphs today: I figured out how to get to Trader Joe's (by using a city bus), and I also found a seriously good thai restaurant within walking distance from my apartment. My neighborhood (this is a euphemistic term - it's really a few buildings and then a lot of apartment buildings under construction) may be dreary right now, but as long as I can get my TJ's fix and my pad thai, everything will be okay.

Have to admit, though, I really miss knowing exactly how to get to everything I need. I could practically get around Boston in my sleep after nine years, and now I'm in the position of going places and thinking, "Oh, crap! I figured out how to get here, but never looked up how to get home again! Now what???" I'm hoping to get this phase over with by the time I head back east in August, so there'll be minimal angst when I have to add in the Berkeley commute this fall.

On an air mattress, 15 floors up

I'm in San Francisco!

On Tuesday morning, my mom and I got up at 3:30 in the morning, deflated and packed her air mattress, collected our pile of luggage, and headed to Logan. This is what we were up against:

Twelve hours, some sore muscles, and two very full taxis later, we looked out the living room window of my new apartment at this view:

My apartment is on the 15th floor of a building in what they call an "up-and-coming area," with a panoramic view of the San Francisco Bay, including (as you see) the Bay Bridge, marinas, and a working harbor. The up-and-coming aspect involves a lot of construction (note pile driver at left). It's kind of like the west coast's large-scale answer to Bar Harbor, but with a very messy front yard. It will be very interesting to see how the neighborhood evolves over the next few years. Several shops are going in downstairs in the next few months, and much of the immediate area will be biotech and research, plus a number of high-end condo buildings.

But more about the move: we opened the door to an almost-new (2 years old) apartment with chocolate carpet, off-white walls, granite countertops, and a really cool view. The dirt and construction next to the building took a little getting used to, but that will go away and the apartment (and its view) is gorgeous. I'll be interested to see how things change over the next few years.

No future in retail

My sale was a flop. I did manage to sell our dining chairs, desk, ottoman, and a few miscellaneous items, but after all that, I basically just met my going hourly rate in terms of the amount of time I put into setting it all up and waiting for people to come by.

I also discovered that an insane person (or at least an insanely angry) person lives in my apartment building. Here's the background:

I live in a building that has a really positive community feel to it. There's a table in the main lobby where people leave things they don't need for others to take for free. And when people move out, they often hold moving sales and post signs in the building. Usually they put a sign on each of the two elevators, since that will catch most people's eye as they come and go.

My sale was scheduled for Saturday, 1pm-5pm, so on Friday evening, I posted a few signs. I used tape to put up the signs, but tested it first to make sure it wouldn't damage the paint, and planned to leave them up only until the end of my sale. A few hours later, I found the sign from the elevator torn down and thrown, crumpled, on the floor. I posted a new one. Repeat 3 more times. After the 4th sign, since my printer is on its way to California and I had to print my signs at Kinkos, I was starting to run out! I posted one more sign, and added a small note asking the person to please stop removing my signs.

The next time I went to the elevator, someone had taken the sign down, crumpled it thoroughly, written on it, and reposted it. The general idea is that I am treating the building like a dorm by posting a sign using small pieces of carefully-tested tape, along with a request to "Stop WRECKING our home, you SELFISH NITWIT!!!" The sale was almost over by that point, so I took down the sign and moved on--or so I thought.

TCH San Fran went out to remove a couple other signs from nearby buildings, and during the 5 or so minutes he was gone, my anonymous critic went to his/her apartment, typed up an angry missive in bold font, printed it, tiptoed to my apartment, and TAPED the sign to my apartment door. The irony and possible humor around the use of tape didn't escape me...except that when something like this happens, you kind of wonder if the person is crazed and murderous, and the fact that they are anonymous, but know where you live, is a little creepy. At least the sign wasn't posted with a bloody knife the way it would be in a movie.

So how did we deal with it? We wanted it to just be over. We wrote a note that said, "We are very sorry. We hadn't considered your point of view, and it makes a lot of sense. Please know that we have learned something for the future. Thank you for taking the time to explain."

I guess those years of diffusing customer service tension really do come in handy sometimes. After reading that note, how could anyone--even someone seriously unhinged, with an inability to make sure the hate mail they tape on people's doors is hung straight--feel they need to pursue the issue further? In some way, this strange and angry person has won the battle that only they were fighting. I'm leaving (though I was anyway), and having had a glimpse inside someone's creepy mind, I am sufficiently subdued and am looking forward to getting out of here. I suppose they felt my sign hanging on the elevator door to be an invasion of their space, and so they decided to invade my space in return. The sheer passive-aggressiveness of the whole thing has left me feeling a little bemused, but it's time to move on.

Meanwhile, while we were dealing with all of that, I was also trying to sell stuff in my apartment. As I said, some items sold - but we are still left with a bunch of things, including 2 big items - the couch and my dresser. I hope we won't end up setting them out for free, as they're in good shape and worth a little money. At a certain point, though (like tomorrow), we're going to have to dispo them and move on from this city.