Coldest Day Ever: Summer in San Francisco

"The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco."
It turns out Mark Twain did NOT really write or say this. Nevertheless, I can vouch for the statement’s veracity. I spent the day shivering in The City (capital letters – very serious). Destination: The Palace of the Legion of Honor. Exhibit: Women Impressionists.

Driving up the coast from Santa Cruz provided many lovely vistas of the deep blue sea. Progressing north, it darkened, cooled, and darkened some more. By the time we three happy teacher-ladies emerged from the car at Lincoln Park, it was down right frigid.

There were no cold temperments in the images we viewed in the museum. Each of the lovely paintings by Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassat, Eva Gonzales, and Marie Bracquemond is gently warm, pink, and glowing. In these images, life is calm and quiet. Children are sleepy and chubby. Ladies are extremely well dressed, never stressed. I could almost hear the music of a pianoforte, and smell the tea wafting from the drawing room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that Jane Austen was just down the hall, writing with a quill pen. Of course Austen lived a hundred years earlier than these painters. Still, the world depicted by the impressionists seems to have changed not at all from the one in which my dear Ms. Austen lived.

You may ask: why these photos with the above blather about pink ladies? No photos were allowed of the impressionists' work, but I was free to snap away at Chihuly's giant blown glass masterpieces. They are stunning, beyond beautiful.

Am I Home or on Vacation?

Am I on vaction? Yes.

Am I home? Yes.

I had lunch today with teacher friends out on the Capitola Wharf. Looking from the water toward the village and beach - it is so darn cute. Hundreds of Junior Lifeguards kids were running about in their red or blue bathing suits. Absolutely precious.

Speaking of children.

The days of summer vacation are dwindling. Twelve days till the job officially begins again. I don't dread it, but I am not wishing for time to fly, either.

Mentally and physically I am on the job already. I have been in my classroom two days so far, applying elbow grease to the desks. Translation: I have been scrubbing (hard!) the seats of the 36 desks in my room. I can do about a dozen at a time before the sweat inside the rubble gloves grosses me out, my back aches, and I quit.

I have a challenge ahead of me. After six years of teaching 6th graders, I will face 8th graders instead. The change is my choice. The good news: I will have students I know. The bad news: I will have students I know.

During the last few days I've read S. E. Hinton's The Outsiders. It is the standard 8th grade novel at our school. But I'm thinking TWO novels are better than one. I'm half way through Huckleberry Finn. Wouldn't that just be a perfect fit for the part of the year when the kids learn about the US Civil War? Oh yeah. Maybe I had better brush up on that subject, too.

Summer Ritual Run

There has to be a good reason to set my alarm clock to blast off on a Sunday morning at 7:00 AM. The Wharf to Wharf race qualifies. It’s a tradition, a ritual. The course winds along the coast for six miles from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to Capitola village. It’s just me and 14,999 of my closest friends.

This year Ed dropped Connie and me off at the mouth of the San Lorenzo River. We walked across the railroad trestle to the Boardwalk, which itself is a fun thing to do. We joined all the other runners milling around, looking for their friends. Everyone starts out clean and fresh, jumping around and stretching to keep warm and dissipate the excitement. Unless you’re standing in a port-a-potty line, in which case you’re tapping your foot and squeezing your thighs together.

The gun fires! The race begins! You don’t move. Connie and I passed the starting line at two minutes after the gun. NOTE: I must remember to subtract those two minutes from my race time.

Amazingly, I found myself running along in the pack as if I were still a runner. By the time I passed The Hook and those other famous surfing spots along Pleasure Point, the aromas and energy had evolved from “fresh” and “energetic” to something more seasoned and plodding. The pace really grinds to a crawl after you cross the finish line and join the bottleneck in Capitola village. There is no way to avoid rubbing sweaty shoulders with your fellow runners. Yes, today I shared bodily fluids with strangers.

To commemorate her first Wharf to Wharf, I proudly presented my t-shirt to Connie, the bandit.

Changing the subject - - I'm posting my new red, black, and white cow and bull pictures. Seeing them at the San Telmo feria (a Buenos Aires street fair) I immediately extrapolated to Ed and me. I learned that it is impossible to line them up on the wall so that neither assumes the alpha bovine position. After many holes in the wall I gave up on the equality thing. You’ll see that I’ve allowed Mr. Ed a slightly superior place. For now.

Pedicure Cures

The photos are pure Buenos Aires, but my sights are now on domestic vistas. After being gone for a month, you can look at your own home, and its environs, with fresh eyes.

I imagine which images would stop me on the street. Click this one: the contrast of intense pink hydrangeas and rhododendrons against the foggy, gray beach-colored sky. Click again: dolphins romping just off shore, churning up white water. Can’t resist narcissistic click: freshly pedicured and painted, shiny purple toe nails.
Vacation = leisure time= girlfriends = just plain fun
I have whole days to fill (or not) with any old activity I want. This is why I am a school teacher. It’s all about summer vacation.
The secret is out! This teacher is not devoted to enriching the youth of America. This teacher does not devote herself to the higher good. It is true. I am not dedicated to changing the world by making sure 11 and 12 year olds know how to spell and punctuate. I don’t have time. I have a pedicure appointment, thank you very much.

Suzzie Story

She has been called:

Sweet,

Clever

Naughty.

We call her Suzzie. She is our dog.

Being a dog, she loves to eat rotting stuff found on the beach during her daily walks. Her favorite seems to be decomposing sea lion. There is a special aroma that beckons her, I suppose.

Last week, it was rotting fish. A stinky, gross hunk of seafood. No big deal, except this chunk included nylon fishing line and three fish hooks. Yep. Three hooks strung along the line. Ed discovered this as he charged up to her to demand she drop it. He wrestled her onto her back, pried her jaws open, and did his best to retrieve the fishing gear. Suzzie responded with gags, bites, and vigorous thrashing about. Two were yanked out. The third was just visible, down her throat. Damn!

Off to the doggie emergency room, and into surgery. Apparently, an X-ray of a dog’s stomach looks like clouds in shades of grey. Except when there is a fish hook in there. Fish hooks show up quite clearly.

Suzzie is recovering nicely now. Her tummy stitches are due for removal soon.

I took clever, sweet, naughty Suzzie on a short walk this evening, as per doctor’s orders. We headed for the beach, as usual. All was going just swell until we got to the little green park that leads down to the sand. Abruptly, Suzzie stopped, turned around, and pointed her face toward home. She refused to go on.

New name possibilities for Suzzie:

Stubborn

Smart

Happy Anniversary To SB & MC

Mamma's advice (stolen from someone older and wiser than myself) to couples who have been married "only" nine years:

Forgive quickly. Kiss slowly.

Congratulations to Sacha and Michael.

Beauty Babes

The beauty school has a snooty name - Academy for Salon Professionals. I would have chosen Salon Academy, Best Beauty School, or Beauty, Baby! But the point is, my friend Emily is a student there. Obviously she is a popular student, too. I can tell she’s a star by the vibes I got from the teachers. Not only that, a fellow student begged Emily to do her hair. And, from what I could see, that fellow student would benefit from Emily’s skills.

Note to the teacher with the short, white hair: When you are carefully examining a customer’s hair, discussing the current situation and providing suggestions for a new color recipe, don’t squint up your nose and wrinkle your forehead as if there is a putrid odor coming off the scalp. It’s not a flattering look.

I thoroughly enjoyed the Academy for Salon Professionals experience, despite the awkward name of the place. It is clean and bright. A sign out front says that teachers get free services. I guess they don’t get absolutely everything for free, because I had to pay for my highlights job. But what a bargain! The results are really, really good.

Thanks, Emily! I’ll be back.

You Won't See this in the USA

It occurs to me that my activities in Buenos Aires largely centered around cups of coffee and museums.

Coffee at McDonalds, by the way, is almost elegant. Real cups and saucers. Real espresso. And free WiFi, too.

One of the most unusual museums was completely a surprise. It just jumped out at me on a narrow, cobblestone street somewhere between the bike rental shop and the subway station. The museum focuses on the history of the city itself. Appropriately, it is housed in a carefully restored, elegant, three story house. The current exhibit is examines the evolution of the upper crust bathroom. The display features rooms full shiny, carefully displayed bidets, chamber pots, and early toilets. What a delight!

Good Air, Bad Air

Flying home from Buenos Aires takes a long, long time.

The first hour is your cab ride out of town. You have to chuckle as your cute yellow and black cab zips along the autopista toward the international airport. You’re chuckling because the freeway signs say EZE. Yep. Just say “easy.” That’s the airport code for the Buenos Aires International Airport.

Happily, the two of my flights departed on time, and arrived on time. Buenos Aires to Atlanta, and then Atlanta to Los Angeles. The snag came at LAX. Gosh, delays in San Francisco meant that we sat on the plane on the ground for a LONG LONG time. Smoke in the air. Fog in the air. Why take off if you know you can't land?

Sitting on the plane at LAX there was entertainment. We were encouraged to listen to XM radio using those little bity free headsets. We were also informed that we were free to play with our own “portable electronic devices.”

The young cute guy next to me had no fewer than THREE “portable electronic devices” going at the same time. He had his phone hanging up on the little hook on the tray table on the seat back in front of him. He had a tiny version of Finding Nemo playing on a tiny movie player. And, I am not kidding, he had a game console of some kind. A Sony Wii or something-or-other. As for me, I have my laptop.

The life of an international traveler is so darn entertaining!

The Grand Splendid

Question: Want does a city do with a grand, but crumbling theatre?

Answer: Restore it splendily and transform it into a book store.

This is one of the locations of Argentina's Ateneo book store chain. They call this one the Grand Splendid.

There is a wonderful cafe on the stage. You can sit and read in the luxury sky boxes. Every bookcase has its own lighting.

Splendid indeed.

Tradition

Ed and I have a tradition (sort of). We rent bicycles for a day whenever and where ever we travel. It's a great way to get another perspective on a place. Rain or shine, tooling around on a bike never fails to produce an adventure.

Despite the fact that Ed is not here, and in fact isn't coming to Buenos Aires at all, the tradition continues.

I rented a bright orange cruiser bike. I rode down cobblestone streets, across huge busy highways, and out of town into the "eco park" along the river. As I anticipated, it was awesome to see the city's skyline poking up above the marsh plants.

After the bike ride, I hopped the subway to the best ice cream shop in the universe - Volta. It was the cherry on top of a treat of a day.

Visual and Performing Arts

I am not trying to blend in. I a not trying to be cool. I am not pretending that I'm not a tourist. This attitude contributes greatly, I think, to the amount of fun I'm having.

There is nothing like seeing through innocent eyes. Seeing and hearing for the first time. I am sure the locals, the Portenos, are jaded by the wonders of the many weekend street fairs in Buenos Aires. Not me. I see it all, hear it all, smell it all for the first time. I am enchanted.

I purchased art and music last weekend. The creators seemed delighted with my requests for a photos. They were flattered. Really! So sweet.

Camera! Action!

On Sunday I went to yet another interesting barrio in Buenos Aires – San Telmo. By the way, “barrio” just means neighborhood. It has no negative connotation in Buenos Aires.

My intention was to scope out the street fair (which I did), but what did I run into first? Hollywood. Again.

Small men in zoot suits were supposed to be speeding around town in a tiny yellow car. Picture Tom Hanks and what’s-her-name in that bitty car racing around Paris in the DaVinci Code movie.

Actually, the tiny yellow car was on a flatbed trailer being pulled by a special pickup truck with a "Grips" sign on its door. The lighting was impressive. It messes up photos taken by gawking bystanders like myself. Nevertheless, I got photos and waves and smiles from the crew. This was fairly early Sunday morning, which in Buenos Aires is noon. Nobody else was on the streets at all.

Hours later, I saw them again. This time the actors were all on scooters on the flatbed, and the whole scene was surrounded by 50 or more passersby, cameras in hand. The little yellow car was parked a block away. Glamour! Excitement!

This second location area was protected by motorcycle cops and surrounded by giant trucks, gear of all types, scads of worker bees looking serious, and even a catering table complete with espresso machine right on the sidewalk. Cool!

I could see now that the guys on the scooters really were small, as in midgets. I’ll swear one of the actors is the man in the movie about the old train station.

I made a special point to photograph the special effects truck. MC: Do you do business with these folks?

Caca, Curero, Calles

The words in the title of this post mean: dog shit, leather, streets. In that order. I’ll start with the caca.

You can tell the honeymoon stage is over when dogs have been transformed into poop machines. A few weeks ago each was a funny, cuddly companion. Street “art” that charmed me 10 days ago is now clearly vandalism. How did this happen?

I think it was the fresh pile of doggie doo directly outside my apartment building’s door this morning. At the exact moment that I managed NOT to step in the doo, my senses were assaulted with an extremely loud, obnoxious motorcycle roar. My shoulders hiked up to my ears, my face twisted into a raison, and I said aloud, “Ah, big city life.” Only I actually said it in Spanish.

My dear, smart, sensible friend Vonnie gave me some very useful advice a while back: When you see shit in the road, step around it and move on. Done!

After dropping off my laundry my mood changed radically. The cheerful, gracious face and voice of the laundress put me right at ease. By now she knows me. She knows I am a little nervous and, metaphorically speaking, pats my hand and says reassuringly, “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t loose your socks. Everything will be clean and the same size at 18:00 hours today.” (By the way, it was.)

I must have some special sense for shopping, because once again I just happened to wander upon a street fair in progress. This one was quite hippie-trippie. The sidewalk cafes were all doing a booming business because the sun was out and it was warm today. I checked out my map. The neighborhood is called Palermo Hollywood. Really!

I made a purchase. Leather. Not a jacket. Not a belt, purse, or shoes. It’s a sculpture, actually. A piece of leather molded into the shape of a lovely female face. It will have a place in my house next to the masks. This will expand the collection. At this point there are pieces from South Africa, Costa Rica, Panama, Italy, and Mexico. Argentina now joins the others.

4th of July - Boom, Bang, Whiz

Happy Independence Day to all you Americanos.

Here is a bit about the photos. You see me, as well as classmate Jean, at Cematario Recoleto. In another, you see me standing on a wet, glistening helipad. I am reflected in the glass of the control room of the giant ferry that takes folks across the mouth of the Plata River to Uruguay. In the little golf cart, you see other classmates as they cruise around the old sector of Colonia, Uruguay.

It is the end of the 3rd week of my 4-week Spanish language course. The honeymoon is over. The peak has been summited. I'm on the downhill slide now.

If my listener is very, very patient, I can speak to her in Spanish using the simplest past, present, and future verb tenses. Golly, this is fun!

A List

Here are some things that I love about Buenos Aires. Here are some things that amuse me.

You can drink the water.

To order a cold draft beer, say “Chopp.”

Adults of all stripes greet each other with a very soft kiss, cheek to cheek. This is especially amusing when you see a cop in uniform smile and get a kiss from another fully grown, fully dressed adult male.

It is perfectly acceptable to loiter in a warm, comfortable, well lit café for an hour or more after you’ve finished your beverage.

Public school children wear a white lab coat to school. This is worn over their clothes so that their own stuff stays cleaner.

At night it feels safe to walk around and/or take public transportation.

In any sort of café, a simple bottle of water is served from a tray.

In the big, fancy mall, there seem to be more men’s clothing stores than women’s.

Everybody speaks Spanish with an accent that we Californians are not accustomed to. The language sounds like a mix of Italian and French. It is very sexy.

Everything in the stores is on sale! What I mean, of course, is that you get THREE Argentinean pesos for one dollar. There are bargains galore!

Any idiot can find their way around. Even me. Every street corner has a nice, big, easy-to-read sign that includes the name of the street, the direction the cars drive, and the addresses on that block. I kid you not!

There is only one Starbucks in all of Argentina. There is always a line out the door.

You can order a beautifully made espresso coffee at McDonalds. It is served in a stylish ceramic cup, on a saucer, with a real spoon.