Fog and Presidio

I took Poppy on an early morning walk through the very foggy Presidio. The combination of light and fog created the opportunity for some nice images.

May 18, 2013

Saturday
We played tourists today in a different neighborhood of San Francisco - Bernal Heights. It feels more "neighborhoody" than any other neighborhood I have been to here. We made our way through the streets and shops and parks on a lovely, warm day. The park here is a huge, windswept hill covered in long grass with amazing views of the city. Almost every person has a dog with them. I could live here. What concerns me is the how brittle, baked and dry the hills are already. It is just mid-May but everything has already turned brown.

April 14, 2013

Sunday

Sunday is a work day, which I suppose to some, may be blasphemous, but to me it is the day to do housework, bookkeeping, grocery shopping, cooking and other daily life tasks. But after all that work, because the job of walking Poppy never involves a day off unless I am out of town and paying someone else to do it, means that we make the most of it and have some fun. On this Sunday, we walked again in the Presidio, enjoying the spring flowers.

April 7, 2013

Sunday

Our little trio goes back to, guess where? The Presidio. But, determined to add some variety on this trip, Poppy and I take a different route for our walk while Paul hits golf balls. We walk along the now defunct road on the edge of the Presidio, wandering our way around diverging paths. I stop for many photographs most of which I deleted, except this image of wild strawberry blossoms. It makes me happy to know that strawberries are growing wild in such abundance. Poppy and I walked all the way to Baker Beach, a beach in San Francisco that I have never been to. Of course, the nice weather comes as soon as my Mom leaves. It continues to get nicer as the week goes on. I don't take photographs, I bury myself in my "work" which will end with something that I can show. But I lose myself in it and I wonder about that...

April 3, 2013

Wednesday

My mother is here with Beth for a few days before they fly to Hawaii where they meet up with my dad to spend two weeks with Christine. So, I try to dazzle them with what I can compete with here in Northern California. My mother and Beth both being gardeners, I take them on a wild food walk in the East Bay, which they are both looking forward to. We respectfully collect Miner's Lettuce, Mallow, Star Thistle, Chamomile and Sorrel. It is beautiful and warm. That morning it had been cold and foggy when we had done a city walk at the Japanese Tea Garden where the cherry blossoms there are in perfect bloom, a few petals just beginning to fall. To end our long day, we eat Cioppino at Sotto Marre and I can't wait to go to bed.

The Small Dog Beach Walk

Brought to you by Adventures with Poppy.

Ocean Beach, San Francisco

On Saturday we took Poppy to the Small Dog Beach Walk at Ocean Beach in San Francisco. Okay, now I have to post a warning/introduction, of sorts. This is an event that occurs every Saturday morning and is for responsible owners of dogs under 20 lbs. I am paraphrasing here from the their website, which they ask you not to post because they want the event to be spread by word of mouth. I guess they've had some problems with irresponsible dog owners or large dogs, I don't know, but I want to respect their wishes. If you are interested in more information, send me your email and I will pass along the information.

I had heard about the beach walk at the dog park (see, word of mouth works!). We arrived a little early and walked down to the meeting place and I began to wonder if I was really a responsible dog owner. Poppy is still a puppy and her recall could be better, especially in the midst of a ferocious play session. I also began to doubt if Poppy was small enough. She certainly is one of the smallest dogs at the dog park, but as the dogs on the beach began to arrive, she started to look like the big dog of the pack.

Poppy, one of the BIG dogs?

In true Poppy fashion, she immediately took off to mingle amongst the other dogs. That's when I realized how much of a puppy she still is, while she wanted to play, many of the other dogs just wanted to hang out. Oops! We began chasing her down and attempting to herd her away from the hangout dogs. Now, I was really feeling like an irresponsible dog owner. Poppy, on the other paw, looked like she was in dog heaven. Fortunately she did find some other playful pups, although just because they are small does not mean they are docile. Sheesh, some of them were really aggressive.

Aggressive?

The group walk began down the beach and we were always lagging behind trying to coerce the dogs to keep moving forward (rather than side to side, up and down and around in circles). It was fun to watch them play but there was a lot of maintenance to break it up when it was getting a bit rough, fortunately Poppy is not aggressive but she is used to having to play with bigger dogs, so she suddenly seemed almost rough with smaller dogs.

Get her away from me, she wants to PLAY!

I'll have NONE of this 'playing'!

Finally! Some dogs that want to play!

The walk down the beach.

Haha! I'm bigger than you!

Lets see you hurdle that!

We're friends, right?

I'll get you guys!

Get this crazy puppy away from me!

You have funny looking fur, what kind of dog are you?

Mmm, you look like lunch!

You are fun to play with!

I WILL dominate.

Play time!

I surrender!

Come and get me!

He said I'm in trouble!

Here are some other dogs we met on the beach walk:

I know it, I'm cute.

The dog with no eyes

I'm wet and I like it!

Oh, I guess you can take my picture.

You guys are boring me!

I don't know about you.

Sadly, it is time to turn around and go back:

What a fun time at the beach! Okay, it wasn't all fun and games for the humans, but the dogs sure seemed to like it!

From Bend to San Francisco

Again, I am in Bend, Oregon. With a smile, I remember walking with Rose, eating soup with Stephen, making baby Aiden giggle as I pretend to gobble his hand, hearing Abby's contagious laugh, seeing the fuzzy deer and rabbits from Dawn's window and getting warm hugs from my favorite people in Bend.

My favorite image in Bend was not one that I captured. At night, I walk the patchy path of crunchy snow and ice from one street to another. I look up and see the criss-crossing, thin branches of a young, bare tree with a few shriveled leaves clinging and glowing in the moonlight.

I eat by myself at a narrow counter by the window. Three of the staff members stop by to check on me and I can feel their kind and somewhat pitying expressions for the woman all alone. It makes me uncomfortable. I do not feel lonely as I write in my battered and worn, green journal. I appreciate their concern, but would feel better if they had a different conclusion of my solitude. But I get it and maybe they feel more about me than I do.

I appreciate my time walking with Abby. The calm morning turns blustery and you can see the wind from the flying, sandy dirt and debris. I wipe the film of sand from my lips caught there by my lip balm. We walk along the loveliest of all rivers, the Deschutes.

I exit the wind into the airport and breeze through security. We are buckled into our seats, ready for takeoff, unknowing that the plane will not move again, at least not on this day. In line to be re-ticketed, I call my sister to check the weather for the towns I would pass through if I happened to drive back to San Francisco. At 9 p.m. snow will fall in Dorris and the same for Weed, California but Redding looks clear. I want to be home. I could get past the snow before 9 p.m. but it is not my fate to drive this time.

Instead, I board a plane for Portland, in the tenth and final row of the small plane. I trade the aisle for the window seat with the young man next to me. Better than a movie, I watch the land of central Oregon stretch out below me and I salivate as I look north and east to the remote stretches of desert and I strongly desire to explore it. That is the kind of alone-ness that energizes me, in it I feel who I am.

We fly into the clouds and above them and the ground is gone again until we near Portland. Then the clouds break up and the rolling green hills and forests appear. I can see the farthest reaching western touches of snow, the trees are dusted in white and then finally, only green. I am grateful to see the Columbia River Gorge as we fly parallel to the huge river. We land smoothly.

I spend five hours at the Portland airport, sitting in the large open area at a table next to the tall windows. Businessmen are scattered about on their laptops. One man is engaged in a video call and by his looks and hand gestures he must be talking to his kids. A large crowd of people gather just beyond security with balloons and signs and they start clapping and cheering for someone who has finally arrived. What a nice welcome, I wonder if I would ever like that.

I sit next to two off-duty flight attendants by my gate for two hours waiting to board our delayed flight. I can tell they have lots of practice waiting. I finish the book I bought at the San Francisco airport before I left, never expecting to read a whole book on my short trip to Bend. I am not sure the book was good for me. Many times I wanted to stop reading, throw it out, even burn it. It wasn't all bad. It glared at me the addiction of doing, doing, doing things, lacking passion, and bloated with shallow activity. But it wasn't all bad.

I talk to another of my sisters on the phone. It is her birthday and I wish I could be with her. I miss her nearly every moment I am not with her, I don't feel that way about too many people, maybe only her. Why is that?

The air feels very rough and I tighten my seatbelt as much as I can. We are over the runway, but we have not touched down yet. I like flying but I don't always like landing. We bounce and swerve small amounts and then brake hard but we are safely on the ground. We wait for 15 minutes just short of the gate in San Francisco. I have finally run out of patience. I am at the back of the plane and it takes a long time to empty. Paul picks me up, curbside.

At nearly 1 a.m., I walk in the door of my house exactly 12 hours after I walked into the Redmond/Bend airport. Knowing that fact turns me into a complainer. But really, I want it as an excuse to take the morning off, to gather myself and clear my mind. I need that time. If I take the time without an excuse, I fear I am weak and lazy. I roll my eyes and shake my head at myself, "Give me a break!" I tell myself, literally. Okay fine, I just might try.