Defying Gravity

Yep, I know, DK likes the pics, so in homage here is another...

I have been able to take hour lunches at work for the last two weeks (this is the extents of my accomplishments at work, narrowing my workweek down to 40 hours), and much of that time has been spent at Saffron 685 on Townsend and 8th Street. (Wanna go? See my review in Yelp.) Lunch is usually a lamb schwerma or prawn wrap and either mint lemonade and pomegranate spritzer.

The picture above is the pom...what I loved was the fact that the ice cube on top is defying gravity and standing up! Amazing! How DID they do that?

:)

By the way, last week's work week was 42 hours. This past week, with vacation, was dead-on 40.

I'm getting better at life/work balance. But my boss resents me.

Eckhart would say that's HER ego problem, not mine. I like that thought process.

Settled On One Point

After searching for three years, two months, and twenty-nine days, I have a found a coffee on par with that of the Mudhouse in Springfield, Missouri: Philz' Coffee on Berry.

You must go.

You MUST go.

It ain't the ambiance...they decorate the place like a Santa Cruz coffee shop or a Pottery Barn. It's the coffee. You must taste the coffee.

For, I tell you, all God's little children, they make each cup fresh as you order. That, and they have about fifty flavors of coffee. And they add the cream and sugar if you want it. And a mint leaf on top. And I am babbling and I DON'T CARE...I haven't been this in love in a while.

That, and next door to the library and two doors down from the willow trees. So I am pretty much sold.

So smooth, so rich, so well-brewed...God loves me today.

Girl Clothes

There's a scene in the Steven Spielberg movie "Always" where Holly Hunter's character says to Richard Dreyfuss's character, "Oh, Pete, GIRL clothes...it's how you see me."

I thought of her yesterday at the deYoung.

Keep in mind that fashion has always been the LAST thing on my list of interests, if it's on there at all. I loathe fashion shows, clothing stores, etc, and have nothing to talk about with women concerning this issue, that is, until I saw the Nan Kempner: American Chic exhibition at the deYoung museum in Golden Gate park yesterday. The experience was made doubly, triply sweet by the fact that my sister-in-law was with me (she likes art like I do, with no pretention and with her heart) and that it was my first time at the deYoung.

The first thing we saw upon arrival was the observation deck, and it and its arial map of the City hit me between the eyes like a brick with the joy of how I used to feel getting off the train at 4th & King and walking the platform to the streets that would take me to explore. I learned that the museum is open late on Friday nights--new writing hangout, perhaps? The possibilities start letting light in where the soul is cracked and rotten to create the compost much needed. I stood there among what was touching my soul and hoped: will God be present for my intellectual growth, albeit small, as well as my growth of compassion? I take what I want from faiths and from museums and get frowned upon for it as a flake. But it's all my own, and I sail away from the shore like Patterson, feeling my own reality parallel itself in the dark.

Then we went downstairs and saw the fashion show, stopped stark in mannikin time. And I found that I would wear a great deal of these pieces. The jewelry still doesn't have me sold, but I loved the feminity of the clothing, hats and shoes. I am woman. Sometimes, the statement shocks my hardworking skin and muscles.

We browsed the rest of the venue, and my favorites were the Saxe collection of contemporary art in glassworks; put simply, I love glass and the art of glass-blowing, so that collection posed impact. I also liked the exhibit entitled "Guise: Recent Prints by Deborah Oropallo." Oropallo takes famous Victorian paintings and then "layers" them with colorful photo portraits of strippers and burlesque portraits that she has found online. This creates a cross-dressing look at times, a juxtaposition of history in others. Napoleon stands with navy hot pants. George Washington sports fishnet. I wouldn't want to the look at the pictures all day in my home (only the eyes match up, which gives the pictures a sense of if you walked to stage left or stage right it might change--but it doesn't), but they are intriguing in the gallery.

I don't want to give the impression that I am an art scholar or art expert, not by any means. But this visit opened up doors for me into discovering parts of myself that could accept more and not lecture the more I have accepted. There were many aspects of the museum that made me shrug or scratch my head. But there were others that I could have sat with all day, like a newborn kitten with needs for mother's milk or an aged friend of story-telling richness. I will go back. The stars point to me writing more on the subject.

All this, only 3 blocks away.

Sweet dreams and sleep well, dear reader.