Four minutes spent watching the resident flies dance in spirals outside the cafe door. Two minutes staring out of the window at three young Mexican’s attempt to back their little truck into a parking space, complete with air traffic controller arm waving. Too many minutes spent looking at Stephen Fry’s Tweet rolling down the screen and Googling today’s question in my mind as to the origin of the phrase ‘in the kitty’ for collecting money…no sure fire answer was found…hmm, ok, yes that is an interesting black poodle outside but FOCUS India-leigh!
I’ve more emotions going on right now than smalls in a tumble dryer. Sad…I’m leaving San Francisco in 2 days. Fretful, I wont get ‘everything’, (whatever that is)..done. A tad pissed that I can’t just stay, get an apartment, fall into a rhythm. I had ‘dance class envy’ earlier. Post Nia dance with Zack of the ‘impossibly tight buns’ fame. Waving my arms around (silently tuting at my body for not doing what I am telling it), doing little hip wiggles left and then right and prancing around the room trying to get my arms to be graceful, seems to make me want to pee..My fellow dancer, encountered after class in the loo, said she had been coming for ten years, every Saturday. I WANT TO SAY THAT. I don’t want to keep leaving. I’m kinda partial to the place.
San Francisco seems to morph into whatever I want/need it to be. Like those wild foxes in Russia, part of a study to the domestication of animals (so interesting..check it out..http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domesticated_silver_fox) and how over 50 years foxes/dogs features have evolved to be more appealing; bigger eyes, shorter snouts etc. So, yeah, SF is FULL of LIFE and all that amuses me.
Along with the usual wanderings, having tea with friends new (went to a potluck..check out my new recipe here… http://www.aveganobsession.blogspot.com/ ) and established, going to a potluck dinner, I returned to the volunteer tutoring I was crazy excited about on the last visit. In school writing projects in inspiring rooms designated for delicious imaginations and after school tutoring, helping with reading/writing & math (I ducked out of the math..they might of hit me with a question about fractions!). The kids are funny, innovative…coming up with great poems about pies containing spies or tacos and love (see..we are ALL universally obsessed with food)…some need gentle persuasion to read out loud, so I can ‘encourage..guide a little’. I’m charmed by all of them. It felt good to return. A random email calling for help, from an organization I’d contacted last time I was in town, found me standing in front of a trestle table in another part of town, spending a happy few hours slathering rows of bread with peanut butter, alongside two Italian immigrants wealding the jam, a Californian with vapish, blonde chin tuft, and a cheery girl from the west of Ireland, who packed and wrapped. Chad, the charity founder; a dude in a herringbone Trilby, with a kindly heart, then drives around the city passing out this American staple to the homeless and hungry. Something he continues to do despite being a newbie Dad. Awesome guy. Applause.
Last night I managed to stuff a sock into the mouth of Miss Sensible, who was banging on in my brain about not going out because of another bloody chest cold I’d picked up..’the area is a bit seedy’…’it finishes after 10pm’ (shock horror)….’money is for saving’. Miss Go Get ‘Um wanted to go to a dance theatre production about food and then late night people watch along the Mission on her way home. She argued ‘life was for living’, forcefully took over the motor skills to put on my walking shoes and headed out the door…quieting Miss Sensible and leaving her to steam in a huff.
Procrastination and general shilly-shallying meant I’d not gotten a ticket…I was so lucky though, they wrote my name on the wait list, whilst I prayed to get a seat, and two minutes after the start time, they squeezed me into a spot on the steps at the small theatre at Counterpulse, http://counterpulse.org/mara-our-daily-bread-april/ , on Mission & 9th. I got the ticket half price too..stick that in your pipe and smoke it Miss Sensible pants! The cosy theatre was filled with the smell of cooking reaching out from the kitchen (part of the set), pervading the air. Onions, garlic and rich spices. Two beautiful black women, resplendant in headscarves of bright citrus greens and yellows, gently washed our hands in bowls of soapy water before we took our seats. The production was bawdy, fascinating, fun and, at times, harrowing. African-American women danced out their frustrations about the loss of soul in the typical diet of the West, the wiping away of hand-me-down, years old recipes. The makeshift kitchen had on the stove a huge pot of bubbling, fragrant jambalaya. At one point the dancers came among the audience and handed out yellow cubes of vegan (well it is SF) cornbread to feed to each other. I was fed by, and fed a handsome Indian guy with a mop of extremely shiny black hair. It might have been erotic had I not been so concentrated on the taste of the luscious, moist cornbread! Later on, as their skins glistened from powerful performances, they showed video of woman speaking of the need for the world to connect with the earth and each other again through food. They sang and we danced too. It was fun, frantic, filling and had the effect of opening up our awareness. Made me yearn to make community cooking, teaching..part of the plan. my LIFE plan…. Heh, can’t think about that now. I went happily to bed.
I’ve more to do today…a comedy thing and lots more eating and wandering…Sunday…last day (for this trip. Perhaps if I cross my fingers really tight I’ll find work, a visa…to help me return…..) I plan to do something a flyer I collected in a cafe suggested..