The Morning Crew

January 27, 2012

This makes me happy: a big group of retired people, hanging out together at Starbucks at the crack of dawn, drinking out of their travel mugs, while swapping stories about trips they’ve taken, their families, their interests, and what’s cooking in the world around them.

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I wonder what it means that the “you” is in quotation marks?

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A brief snippet from one of the few journals I have chosen to keep…

Waiting for the ticket agent so I can get my seat assignment. Oh! Nervousness!! There is a huge group of young people here, all traveling as a tour to Paris. They are dressed appropriately chic, wearing tall black boots and skirts, well done hair, and cat-eye glasses. One girl looks very art-student with bright pink skirt over jeans, with a bright green sweater, white shirt, and a matching green patch in her hair.

The BART ride over was simple and relatively fast. I got on at Lake Merritt Station, took the Daly City train, transferred at Balboa Park, and boarded the Milbrae train to SFO. All told, $5.95.

The international terminal at SFO is huge and intimidating with very high ceilings and an architectural style that makes me feel that things are moving, even when they’re not.

Definite sense of nervousness struck me at the airport. Will I be able to navigate an equally overwhelming French airport… in French? My language skills are a bit weak, but what the hell, right?

Got to show my passport for the first time. It’s amazing. Going overseas. The United ticketing agent said, “How do you go to Paris and not check bags?” At the security gate, there was a young Asian guy, obviously late for his flight, dancing around in impatient anxiety. Finally, he got through the x-ray area, put on his powder blue sneakers, belt and pocket items, and then took off running without his bag.

Ticket agents have shown up, but no seat assignments. Flight attendants have arrived, all wearing tall heels and stylish hair. I feel out of my element in ten different ways.

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Over the last few days, I’ve been sorting and clearing old boxes of stuff. The contents of these boxes: journals, photos, letters, trinkets, knick knacks, and an incredible volume and assortment of office supplies. The process of box-sorting, I now realize, is a deeply humbling and embarrassing endeavor.

But, thank god I am the one doing this, and not someone else. Particularly after I’m dead. It gives me the shivers, just thinking about it. My epitaph would say, “She was really redundant. But man, could she make a list.”

1. pretty journals, 2. June 26th – Journal Challenge, 3. Journals, 4. Two New Lamy Fountain Pens + New Journal, 5. 03/30: UK Journals 11 and 12, 6. 15 years of journals (mostly)

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I was sitting at Starbucks this morning, drinking coffee at an unnatural hour of the morning. Despite this, the place was quite lively. It was quite an enjoyable experience.

Sitting to my right was another early riser. She was intently and busily writing in her journal while smacking her gum loudly the entire while. “Are you chewing gum AND drinking coffee? And if so, what flavor gum?” I wanted to ask. Instead, I went back to reading my book, and staring at the artfully arranged cold food refrigerator.

The crew at Starbucks was especially chipper and friendly this morning, including the young man who poured me my venti decaf. I watched him work his way around the store, cleaning things, tidying up, and being deliberate and conscientious and proactive. I later realized it was because his anal retentive boss was standing behind the counter.

At some point, he and his young co-worker broke into some every day chit chat. He relayed an exchange he had had that had caused him some distress.

“So I was talking to him about Lance Bass, and he was like, who’s Lance Bass?” His co-worker listened to the story, agog. My young Starbucks counter worker continued on, “Who’s Lance Bass?! Are you kidding me?!! This is what it feels like to be old.”

Ahhhh, yes. Old. Indeed.

PS. In a related but unrelated aside, it appears that age and music preference are not necessarily correlated. I talked to my 64-year-old mother last night who just got a brand new iPod. Apparently she’s loading up on new music, including Lady Gaga and Pink. My dad went to the store to get her the newest Katy Perry album. “Is this a good album?” my dad asked the kid behind the counter. “Oh yeah,” said the kid. “All the little girls love that.” My dad did not tell the kid it was a gift for my mom.

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I’ve spent the morning cleaning out old boxes of letters and photos. I wish I could remember Jenni’s last name. I would look her up on Facebook and make her the charter member of my fan club once I reinvent myself as a raunchy, middle-aged lady comedienne.

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Time is Relative

January 23, 2012

Most days, I get up at 4:00 or 4:30 AM to go to work. Today, I rolled out of bed at decadent, leisurely 7:00 AM. Ahhhhhh.

By 11:00 AM, I have already done more than I do on most days at home. I’ve purged, sorted, and created clear space by delighted moving old stuff out.

And, here’s the best part: I still have time for three naps, a book, a movie or two, and a stroll in the rain. My god is a wide open day amazing.

1. Bird Clock, 2. Vintage Clock, 3. Vintage clock…, 4. Vintage Clocks, 5. Vintage clock ring, 6. another vintage clock

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Today has been a perfect day: rainy and blustery, with howling, chilly winds and a full gray sky.

It’s the week before my birthday, and the fourth day of my vacation. This is my favorite way to spend time.

This past week has been full. Of everything. First, it was full of work. And then, it was full of emotion. But it was also full in lots of other ways. I went to yoga class, and sweated profusely. I wore my down parka, and ended up a bit squishy from rain, but still warm and cozy. I sat in coffee shops in Oakland, Orinda, Lafayette and San Francisco. I bought a beautiful package of 50 Crayola markers. I listened to Pandora, and the rain, for long, long stretches of time. I did not do any work. I hardly responded to emails. This weekend, I got up early, put on a whole array of sweaters, sat contentedly at Starbucks, stopped at the store for some of my favorite foods, took pictures on the way home, curled up in bed with a pile of library books, and took a three-hour nap. I cannot think of a better way to pass time.

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1. Rain, 2. 365×3.104 • they say rain, 3. Rain, 4. Rain Bokeh, 5. Rain., 6. rainy night

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Morning Coffee in Lafayette

January 22, 2012

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1. Bird Houses on a Red Barn, 2. Tamar Mogendorff, 3. Bird, 4. Myrtle Avenue Bird Town, 5. moving to the new house, 6. Japanese Paper Crafting, 7. Egg Bird House, 8. Bill Bird House, 9. bird house line up, 10. J.R., 11. Bird Houses on Roof, Avalon, 12. Bird house, 13. Bird House Sale, Neah Bay, WA , July 2, 2007, 14. Modular Bird House, 15. Vintage Bird House, 16. Bird @ Home

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