"What's not to love with San Francisco?"
That was Janet's retort on my Facebook page when Swen continued to diss my new place of habitue.
So, on the last Monday of the month, I loaded up my car with my most basic belongings, the rest crammed into a closet at my Aunt's place, and drove to San Francisco, my sister driving her brand new car behind me. At my age, there is enormous trepidation. Yet, I soldier on. To a new life, a challenge, and the need to tie loose ends. I have a month to find lodging, Jeff's friends are putting me up for 30 days. I leave behind in the wake of a barely concluded going away party, goodbyes, a workplace where I rule (OK, that was an exaggeration), and mounds of accumulated material things that somehow do not matter anymore if you come to realize it.
If I had my way, I would have left town with all my crafts, my painting tools, and my culinary cache in tow. But that is not possible as I would have to confine myself in perhaps a 12 x 12 or even less square footage of space. So, I contented myself with my Penzey's spice collection, 2 cast iron pans and a Le Creuset Dutch oven. I had to leave my cookbooks, except for the book of sauces and dressings. Most of what I have accumulated in recipes have been placed online, accessible on my iPhone though I pretty much doubt that I will do some cooking - it is something I indulge in because I like feeding my family or people close to me, not myself. My triathlon worthy road bike is left in my old room, doubtfully waiting for action.
Mark Twain once famously said that his coldest winter was a summer spent in San Francisco. I cannot blame him - it is the dead of winter when I came, and I came packing. With an electric blanket. In a drafty Victorian house, it spells heaven under the sheets and gives me the luxury of opening the windows a little as is my usual habit in the South Bay in LA. I do not see the big deal about it - I've waited for negative 10 degrees in Copenhagen just so I can cash in on my work's winter clothing allowance and it dropped 20, shivered early mornings in the Ionian seas on some madcap sailing adventure and walked the streets of New Jersey and New York in LA clothes and shoes that slipped on the icy pavements. For someone who walked the floods of Manila for decades, the damp should be tolerable at the very least.
I was told that I probably did not have what it takes for city dwelling because I lived in LA's suburban beach city area, but deep inside that felt funny considering how many cities I have scaled and explored alone in another lifetime. One cannot judge a person by what one sees at the moment. A city that is approximately 7 x 7 miles makes small work just by walking, with no chances of being lost.
After all, Paris, New York and Rome only took less than 1 week to find places to love and appreciate. San Francisco should not be any different.
That was Janet's retort on my Facebook page when Swen continued to diss my new place of habitue.
So, on the last Monday of the month, I loaded up my car with my most basic belongings, the rest crammed into a closet at my Aunt's place, and drove to San Francisco, my sister driving her brand new car behind me. At my age, there is enormous trepidation. Yet, I soldier on. To a new life, a challenge, and the need to tie loose ends. I have a month to find lodging, Jeff's friends are putting me up for 30 days. I leave behind in the wake of a barely concluded going away party, goodbyes, a workplace where I rule (OK, that was an exaggeration), and mounds of accumulated material things that somehow do not matter anymore if you come to realize it.
If I had my way, I would have left town with all my crafts, my painting tools, and my culinary cache in tow. But that is not possible as I would have to confine myself in perhaps a 12 x 12 or even less square footage of space. So, I contented myself with my Penzey's spice collection, 2 cast iron pans and a Le Creuset Dutch oven. I had to leave my cookbooks, except for the book of sauces and dressings. Most of what I have accumulated in recipes have been placed online, accessible on my iPhone though I pretty much doubt that I will do some cooking - it is something I indulge in because I like feeding my family or people close to me, not myself. My triathlon worthy road bike is left in my old room, doubtfully waiting for action.
Mark Twain once famously said that his coldest winter was a summer spent in San Francisco. I cannot blame him - it is the dead of winter when I came, and I came packing. With an electric blanket. In a drafty Victorian house, it spells heaven under the sheets and gives me the luxury of opening the windows a little as is my usual habit in the South Bay in LA. I do not see the big deal about it - I've waited for negative 10 degrees in Copenhagen just so I can cash in on my work's winter clothing allowance and it dropped 20, shivered early mornings in the Ionian seas on some madcap sailing adventure and walked the streets of New Jersey and New York in LA clothes and shoes that slipped on the icy pavements. For someone who walked the floods of Manila for decades, the damp should be tolerable at the very least.
I was told that I probably did not have what it takes for city dwelling because I lived in LA's suburban beach city area, but deep inside that felt funny considering how many cities I have scaled and explored alone in another lifetime. One cannot judge a person by what one sees at the moment. A city that is approximately 7 x 7 miles makes small work just by walking, with no chances of being lost.
After all, Paris, New York and Rome only took less than 1 week to find places to love and appreciate. San Francisco should not be any different.
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