California I'm Coming Home

Last weekend I realized once again that connections are out there waiting to be made in the least likely of places.   It turns out that the father of a friend went to high school in a town neighboring mine in the middle of nowhere, NY.  We were both fairly stunned to discover this some 3,200 miles away in Berkeley, CA.  No less than three of my friends turned to me in unison to say, "I thought you were from New York City."  Well, no.  I used to live in NYC before moving here (and before moving to Los Angeles before that).  The straight truth is that I'm a hick.  Tire swing and broke down car in the front yard and all.

It took a long time for me to embrace my country mouse roots.  Only after living in Manhattan for a few years did I come to truly appreciate the beauty of the "country."  Having the opportunity to slow down and get down in the dirt became a wonderful respite when I started feeling the city's mania in my bones.  I always knew it was time for me to go upstate when I found myself wanting to push people down the subway stairs just so that I could get to work faster. A few days in the mountains was like hitting the reset button.

Now, although technically within the bounds of San Francisco, I find myself living a relatively small town life.  This truly is the littlest big city.   Ours is a particularly residential, family-friendly part of the City that suffocated me for at least the first year of my residency.  After living in the East Village, I couldn't understand where all the people went at sundown.  I was far more terrified to walk around my block with my dog at 9 pm than I was stumbling home drunk on Second Avenue at 3 am.  While I've come to enjoy and respect the quiet, I do still stare wistfully out the window in our living room, looking for "action," as my husband teases.  There is no action, other than the occasional fender bender or screaming child (often mine).  Thankfully, downtown and it's various sights, sounds and naked homeless people are just a short ride away.

As much as I fake complain about it to my husband (if anyone wants a lesson in fake complaining, I'm quite the master), I love that I see no less than three or four friends on any one of my many daily outings with my tiny boss.  We know our neighbors, our dry cleaners, our favorite farmer's marketers.  It's so cute, it's a little nauseating. Nearly five years later and I'm finally starting to see why people love San Francisco.  It's nice living.  Now, where do I find it on the East Coast?

A Mouse In The House!

Yes, a mouse in my house this morning.  A wee, wee one that my husband texted me a picture of from our bedroom while I was making our son breakfast in the kitchen.  At first he called me and the tone of his voice was so creepy that I thought he was having a stroke.  I...see...a...mouse.  Unfun.  At least the mouse has good timing-we had 30+ people (nearly half of which were under five) here for a BBQ yesterday.  Maybe buying all that cheese at Cowgirl Creamery wasn't such a great idea. Oh, but cheeeeese.  No doubt the mouse came in for that nibble of Gruyere that I found this morning wedged in our couch.  Or the smear of brownie under the chair?

My husband and I were so paranoid about what the little monkey would do if he saw the mouse.  Easy money was on chasing it everywhere with his hand karate chopping the air like he does with birds.  And would Tony try to eat it? Thankfully, we never had to find out.

When I came home this afternoon, Mr. Schneed showed me the evil looking traps he bought that promised to "kill mice dead."  Phew.  Who would want them killed alive?  I didn't want to kill it though, I just didn't want it crawling on my bed.  We decided not to put the traps out unless we saw the mouse again.  The cleaning women came today too-hence my aforementioned less than stellar cleaning job-so maybe they'd miraculously get rid of it.  Just as I was asking my husband if he told the ladies about our new friend, we heard a shriek.

The two women were standing near the stroller, pointing and giggling nervously.  Apparently, the mouse was gunning for all the cracker bits gathered at the bottom of the stroller basket.  Hmm, I guess I'm supposed to clean that out regularly?  Geniuses that we are, we wheeled the stroller outside and my husband gingerly plucked each thing from the basket, jumping about a foot each time.  I've never loved him more.  Finally, the mouse, which I swear could not have been more than two inches big, jumped out from inside a blanket and ran.  Ran right into our neighbor's garage!  We hightailed it the hell back inside.  What mouse?  I didn't see a mouse...

Ebb and flow

Dear Weekend,

Thank you for you tireless efforts to prove to me, once again, that motherhood is basically a journey of the highest highs and the lowest lows.

Friday night, I stayed home while my husband went out and got some bro time.  True to cheesy form, I somehow convinced myself to rent "The Vow."  Shut up.

Saturday, we woke up to a pile of vomit in the crib and it was all downhill from there.  Most of the day was spent hugging my sick son while tears streamed down his face.  The silent agony was far worse than his screaming, grunting and crying could ever be.  His fever was fairly high, due to a Dr. Mom-diagnosed combination of required monthly toddler sickness, teething and maybe a reaction to the live-virus in last week's MMR shot.  FYI, maybe don't go to the good Google when researching MMR reactions unless you're really prepared to open that door.  While I don't see any definite correlation between vaccinations and autism, it is rather frightening to read these posts as your kid is refusing to eat, move or even look at you because he's so miserable.

The whole day he just seemed confused and sad, like he was trying to work out why this was happening to him.  Thankfully, he fell asleep easily for the night and miraculously slept straight through me taking his temperature multiple times like a mad mama. 

Sunday, we had a new little man on our hands!  Ah sleep, is there anything you can't do?  Although our daredevil was back, we took it a little easy and abandoned our special hiking plans (sorry, Tony).  Mr. Schneed made breakfast though conveniently forgot about dish duty.  I did, however, get about 45 minutes of silence to read the NYT, which was pure Mother's Day bliss.  I also met some of my besties for ice cream during the wee one's nap. 18 months in and I'm finally beginning to realize that ice cream or wine make blessed nap time even more blessed.

We went for a family bike ride to a local park to round out the day.  Shorty managed to find every tweeked out, stoned or drunk couple to say hello to as he was roaming around.  In Dolores Park, you can really pick your poison.  Oh, and I let him run around without shoes as he conveniently lost one on the bike ride to the park.  Definitely not my proudest moment as I looked down and saw bottle caps (and worse) every six inches.  Hooray for socks! 

Eating a healthy meal of french fries and only french fries.

I'm feeling quite lucky to end this weekend laughing with my boys and all ten of their toes.

With (mostly) Love,
Elana 

P.S.-We found the missing sneaker on the street as we were biking home.  Miracles do happen.

Circle of life

I've been feeling alternately so happy and so sad for the past few days that I'm beginning to forget how to function on an even keel. After traveling for a week and a half, running around to a wedding, a baby naming, delicious dinners out and homemade, hospital visits, dropping an air conditioner out of a window, meeting new babies, numerous trips to whole foods, train/plane rides, oh and hosting a Thanksgiving dinner in a teensy NYC apartment, I think the baby is starting to think that one 45 minute nap per day is acceptable. Nope, not even close, buddy.

We are so fortunate to have the time and the mental capacity to tour along the east coast to see our dearest (not so nearest) people. Like clockwork, the day before we leave, I break down in tears and sob to my husband that I hate living across the country and I want to move baaaaaack. This time it happened yesterday, a little earlier than normal. We've been negotiating the return policy for about three and a half years now. Today is the four year anniversary of my move to San Francisco. And yet I love my life there and feel so lucky to be this torn.

I've actually been crying a lot this week.

My sister's friend passed away on Thanksgiving day. This strong, beautiful and courageous woman was only 25 but suffered for the past year from a rare form of cancer, small cell cervical cancer. Although I didn't know her very well, her sister is my sister's best friend so the family has been in our lives for decades. I thought of this brave girl nearly every day for the past few months. Her struggle put so many things into perspective and inspired me in countless ways.

There is something so incredibly disturbing about someone dying so young. When I was in my last year of law school a close friend of mine died. Losing him when he was at his most vibrant and on the precipice of greatness was shocking and raw. I can't stop thinking about the family of this young woman. I hope it is of some comfort to them to know how deep an impact she's had on the world. During her illness she raised awareness for this disease and encouraged others to donate money to fund further research. Her life had meaning beyond just those who knew her personally. She changed this world for the better. I can only hope to have someone say the same of me one day. If you're feeling generous and lucky, please consider even a small donation or just start talking about this awful disease so that more preventative measures are taken and, hopefully, a cure will be found.

I also found out about three new and wonderful pregnancies this week.

Ready to fall

My husband is coughing away on the couch, chicken soup is on the stove and I am looking up crock pot recipes. Partay! Although it's been in the 70's here lately, I feel like autumn has arrived at our front door, complete with pitch black darkness by 6:30 pm and a strong desire to drink hot chocolate. I bought a can of hot chocolate mix on Monday and the powder must be cannibalistic, as there was nothing left when I went to make some today.

While I am loving the Indian Summer that SF enjoys in September and October, there is a (not so) small part of me that is looking forward to coats, boots and tights. TIGHTS! Up until 9th grade, I went to Hebrew school and had to wear a skirt every day. This necessitated tights in every hue imaginable. I can still picture my purple benneton turtle neck, matching striped black, purple and chartreuse skirt, paired quite fetchingly with my purple tights. Benetton and Esprit were my go-to's. I spent all my babysitting money on clothes (some things never change).



I have some serious reading to do this weekend if I am going to finish Friday Night Lights by Tuesday's book club. I wonder if I could just spend the weekend watching the TV show as a Cliffs Notes version? Our big Halloween plans this weekend revolve around a playgroup baby's first birthday. We're going for a family-themed costume, assuming that the mister is able to kick his cough. If not, I'll have to rage it solo with the babe. I finally got around to trying on his costume yesterday and found that it's a wee bit too small. Mama fail. It still looks pretty rad, if a little skimpy.

Maybe if I get this tool and give Mr. Monk little spirals of apple, he'll stop leaving tiny teeth marks on all our apples. He seems to rethink the whole biting into an apple thing ten seconds into it when he realizes he's only got two workable teeth on the bottom. Ah, but there are four coming in on top right this minute, so very soon everything will be free game. Watching him bite into lemons and limes might just be the highlight of my week. Obviously, he hates the taste, but can't stop himself from going back in. A masochist, just like his mom.

Speaking of masochism, I need to go out and buy an absurd amount of candy for Monday night. Last year we had over $100 worth and still ran out by 9 pm! Madness, people. At least this year I can put le bebe to work helping me hand it out to the sugar-crazed kiddos.

Greener Grass

I spent the morning with an old friend who was visiting from NY and her two children. She recently had a second baby and was telling me about life in Brooklyn with two under three. It sounded hectic and hard yet very exciting. I felt relieved not to be dealing with subways and walk ups and still seriously jealous. When she left, I realized how much I miss NY and my family and friends. The dull ache has escalated to a searing pain. It must have something to do with the fact that it's been almost four months (!) since I've been there. That is a darn long time for someone who averages 6-8 trips per year. Why yes, I have considered looking into flight attendant work.

Of course, as I was waxing nostalgic on my time in NY, my friend looked wistful herself and noted how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful city. It is beautiful here. Over the past few months, I have really been enjoying our west coast life. Things are generally slower, calmer and overall easier here than they would be in Gotham. I appreciate that, although we live in a major city, our little neighborhood is as quaint as they come. I know the people at the park/grocery store/library hour and they know me. Notwithstanding the extremely high cost of living, San Francisco is a wonderful place to raise a child. A young child, that is. All hell starts to break loose when you consider the schools, but I can't even wrap my head around that now. In the meantime, I'll just appreciate our little impromptu beach trips at the end of October. Tony, our little water dog just needed a swim.






Present enjoyment aside, I still need my family, friends and frenetic NY energy fix. Immediately, if not sooner. Thanksgiving, I'm looking at you.

He's perfect(ish) to me

Now that my baby is a one-year old big boy, I suppose I should stop calling him "my baby." But, do they ever really stop being our babies? He still seems so tiny to call him a child and I am really not feeling "toddler" just yet. So, I guess he'll just have to stay a baby for a bit longer.

It's been really interesting to see how differently people treat Mr. Monk once he turned a year. Or, rather, I should say, how people treat me and my parenting. Invariably, the second question out of a person's mouth after age is, "Has he started walking yet?" I have heard that question no less than 30 times in the past week. Whoa, people, simmer down. I'm not sure why all of the sudden people expect him to be walking just because he's a week older than he was last week when no one asked if he was walking. This question is usually posed as he's crawling around the playground. If he were walking, you would see him walking, no? Every time, people then tell me about their son/daughter who didn't walk until he or she was 15-20 months. I don't really care about when he hits these milestones, as I know it doesn't really matter, but I'm not sure why anyone else does.

Speaking of other people caring and oversharing, some woman came up to me in the playground today as my mini was enjoying his few minutes of bliss in the spinning bucket seat. I was standing over him, pushing him round and round when an older lady ambled over and remarked, "Isn't he a little young for that kind of activity?" Aren't you a little old for this kind of activity is what I wanted to respond. Instead I just said that he really seems to love it. And, I'm right here watching my child, thank you very much, ma'am.

Later in the day, on one of our daily visits to Whole Foods (I wish I were kidding), Mr. Monk was again enjoying himself. This time, his revelry involved a bagel and a relatively loud rendition of his favorite song, "dadadada daddyyyyyy." As we were walking down the baby products aisle, an older woman got all up in his stroller and said, "Inside voice, please!" I had already been trying to tell him to be quiet in the store, but I wasn't exactly appreciative of this random busybody's reenforcement. He's 1, lady, give him a break! And, you have NO IDEA WHAT SCREAMING SOUNDS LIKE IF YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS BAD!

My beautiful, loud, manic crawling, bucket seat spinning enthusiast had himself a birthday party full of hootin' and hollerin' and we have the pictures to prove it!

Tony!

Sometimes my dog is just about the sweetest little beast. All he really wants in life is cheese and a belly rub. The same could be said of many of my friends. He is so gentle with Mr. Monk, who is not so gentle in return (we're working on the tail grabbing).

This is probably my favorite pic ever of our Tony pony, taken a couple of years back in Tahoe. That boy LOVES to snow dive. Just seeing it makes me excited for winter, though the 80 degree temps right now are pretty, pretty, pretty good. We're going swimming this afternoon! Hello, summer in SF.

Although our pup was not adopted (blame my husband and his insistence on a Portie), I am completely in awe of the work done by the ASPCA. I am hoping Mr. Monk wants to volunteer there with me someday. For the hell of it, just for the yell I get, I made a small donation this evening to the SFSPCA and learned that "[my] support will help save and protect the thousands of injured and homeless animals we care for every year." You can help too!

Enjoy the weekend, folks!

Think different

Thank you, Steve Jobs, for giving me the life that I know and love. About two months after I started dating my husband, he gave me a used macbook because it had a built-in camera. It turned out to be the most important present I ever received. So began our furious year+ of video dating. Without the ichat feature, I doubt our relationship would have continued to thrive despite the entire span of the US between us. We even thanked Mr. Jobs in our wedding vows!

Living in San Francisco and being married to a tech geek/Apple zealot who works in the industry, it's hard to miss the amazing impact that this company has had in our lives. I was on the street when I got a text from my husband telling me about his passing and every person in sight was also looking down on his or her iphone and frowning. Today was a grave reminder to live each day as if it were your last. Your family, your friends, your health, these are the things that matter. All else is fleeting.

As I begin to think about what I can and should do with my life, these words leave an indelible mark:

"Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."

– Steve Jobs, Stanford commencement speech 2005

Off to the festy

This afternoon my little family and I are headed out to meet some friends at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park. This is my fourth year attending the three-day music festival featuring bluegrass musicians and many, many others (hence the name). Years ago, I spent some time as the girlfriend of bluegrass-obsessed guitarist. When he formed an amateur band, I became the number one groupie (of two), so I'll always have a fondness for the twangy sounds of the banjo and mandolin.

2011 marks the 10th year of the festival and it only seems to be getting bigger and better. People, it's FREE!! As in, no need to pay anything at all to see amazingly talented musicians play outside in a spectacular venue all for the sake of pure fun. I can honestly think of no better way to enjoy the day. I'm most looking forward to seeing Gomez and Emylou Harris-too bad they are playing at the same time on stages across the park. Alas.

The festival was started by an investment banking billionaire as a "gift to the city." There's today's good! I wonder how I can get on the guy's Christmas list.

Getting ready for his audition with Mumford & Sons

Do something

This afternoon I did a little furniture browsing in downtown San Francisco (pinterest only goes so far, people). While walking through the Union Square area I passed no less than three homeless/panhandling people per block. One such individual was particularly affecting. He was older, likely in his 60's and in a wheelchair, shaking from Parkinsons and breathing with the aid of an oxygen tube and tank. For a few seconds, I couldn't stop staring and started welling up thinking about how this situation came to be for him. I told myself that I would go back and give him some money when I felt more composed, but I got caught up in my silly exploits and forgot.

I need to remember to stop forgetting about others. I've always fantasized about going up to someone asking for change and handing over $100 (or $20 or even $10). One day. But, that's still just one person, one time. The best thing I have to give is my time, especially since that's pretty valuable these days. Volunteering has always been a priority for me since I donned my first candy striper uniform at age 12. I worked in the geriatric ward of the hospital and learned to call my grandmother as often as I could. For the past few years, I have been volunteering as an escort for Planned Parenthood, though I stopped late in my pregnancy as the protesters outside were particularly ugly to me then. Once Mr. Monk arrived, I began to think of my rearing a kind and good man as all the community service I could handle.

Recently, I signed up to start volunteering again, this time with group of children living in a homeless shelter. I worked at this shelter a couple of years ago, organizing play/educational events for the children. As difficult as their situations may be, a kid is a kid. They all just want to make you smile, laugh and buy them candy. I imagine this will be an even more powerful experience now that I am a mother.

Time to spread the happy. And some misguided toy purchases.

Call your grandma.

The Real World

When two people go from living across the country and seeing each other once every few weeks to living in a house together, they stop being polite and start getting real.

I moved to SF almost four years ago and have spent most of that time trying to convince my husband to move back to the East Coast. When I moved, we had been dating long-distance between NY and SF for over a year and one of us had to give. It made sense for me to go because I was the more portable party (didn't own my home; didn't have an established business) and, amazingly, my job agreed to let me work remotely. As hard as it was for me to leave NYC and my family/friends, I was excited for the new adventure. Mainly, I was excited because I thought of it as a short-term thing. I figured we would be here together for 2-3 years, then I would get pregnant and we'd head back to be closer to our families since neither of us have any out here. Never mind the fact that we weren't even engaged when I moved.

Fast forward past the puppy (Tony), the engagement (Big Sur), the wedding (New Orleans), the honeymoon (Paris-Kenya-Zanzibar), the baby (cute) and we're here. With no real plans to leave. We are so fortunate to have a great community of friends that almost makes up for the fact that we have no family here. Almost. If we weren't so close with our families I think the distance would be less of an issue. But, I hate to think of only seeing my baby nephew every couple of months and the same for Mr. Monk with the rest of our relatives. Yes, I realize that traveling across the country every couple of months is going to be untenable soon and basically already is. Given that we're spending a fortune on airfare, (hello $500 roundtrip flights. I hate you) I am not sure how long we can keep this up.

Our main issue, aside from the general loveliness of our life here and the whole not wanting to leave it, is that we don't know where to go. We can't seem to think of a city that is similar to San Francisco in terms of access to great food/culture/music/farmer's markets/progressive and mostly not aggressive mindset. While we don't yet feel ready for the 'burbs, we have also come to accept that my husband just can't deal with life in the NYC. After about four days, he starts getting twitchy, agitated and yell-y. Even in Brooklyn! For a man who is so laid back he makes Jack Johnson look uptight, this is not a good look. So, where does that leave us? With the suburbs and NY out, we can't seem to swallow moving to DC, Philly or any of the other smaller cities on the EC right now.

All of this to say, we're here. And this is where we will be. For now. I know that we will in all likelihood make our way back to the Atlantic at some point. I can't admit to myself what I sometimes think, which is maybe we should stay. In the meantime, I am going to retire my "why I want to move" speech and enjoy the scenery. I've spent far too much time obsessing over what's next and what will be that I'm not paying attention to what is. It's a pretty good life, when you're willing to live it.

So, I'm a Californian?

(School) Supplies

When I was a kid, I used to get so excited about fall. Fall meant a new school year, which meant new outfits for school. I would plan out the first week's wearings in my head and obsess over the slightest changes. Even though I am far (decades, eek!) beyond those days now and don't even have an office to go into anymore, I still crave some new fall classics. Mr. Monk has been pleading with me lately to update my look. Can't be cramping his style, yo.

Living as I do in a city where the temperature hardly ever leaves the 57-67 degree range, having a go to lightweight coat is KEY. Unfortunately, my black not too warm, but just warm enough coat up and died on me last "winter." So, I'm in the market for a new perfect coat that can carry me through the faux seasons that make up life in San Francisco. I *think* I may have just found it. Thanks to a tip off from A Cup of Joe, I discovered the beauty of EmersonMade. I'm in love, y'all!

Check out my new best friend...





Bring on the fog!

It's a new dawn, it's a new day

This weekend was a weekend of "firsts:"

First birthday as a mommy.
Verdict: both more and less awesome than as a non-mommy. More awesome--realizing that it's not all about me anymore. Less awesome--realizing that it's not all about me anymore.

First time trying formula.
Verdict: eh. He hated the first kind we tried (some eco brand from WF) but would reluctantly take the second kind (a totally conventional brand from Walgreens). He's still living high on the boob, but we just wanted to have a backup for our child-free mini-vacay in London.

First time sleeping through playgroup.
Verdict: playgroup is still fun even without the baby. Mr. Monk took a two and a half hour nap immediately after drinking a few ounces of formula, just as we were heading to our friend's house. Maybe its sedative properties are not overrated.

First joint party with Mr. Schneed.
Verdict: double your pleasure, double your fun. Not sure why we didn't think of this earlier, considering our birthdays are always three days apart. One of us got a wee bit drunker than the other. Guess which one?

First time feeding the baby pizza (first time at this yummy resto).
Verdict: let the sunshine in. He seriously could not have been more excited. Seems like he's ours after all.

First time feeding the baby gelatto (what? who has pizza without gelato?)
Verdict: even better than pizza! We only gave him a tiny bit, but he continued to lick the spoon for a good ten minutes after it was gone.

First time attending the SF Street Food Festival.
Verdict: would have been so much cooler if about 90% of the people there weren't. The lines were no less than 50 people deep. Our tummies made us leave and go here to have these. Our tummies were pleased with the decision.

First time using Pinterest.
Verdict: pinterrific! We are doing a little redecorating and this site is so perfect for stealing ideas from far more creative people.

First time pooping in the tub.
Verdict: hilarious but disgusting. He was very unhappy to leave the bath once he had gone and marked his territory. Definitely made me nervous for the glory days of potty training.

Feeling the love

Photos via

This weekend the mister and I took in a whole lotta music, food and fun at the Outside Lands festival in Golden Gate Park. Mr. Monk was not invited. We both were getting a little sick of each other and mutually decided that it would be best for him to spend some quality time with a babysitter. Later this afternoon we're going to sit down and discuss some highs and lows of our time apart.

Some of our friends brought their kids and that was exhausting just to watch. There was some downright amazing eye candy (this is SF after all). We didn't really get the chance to check out many new bands but managed to see a few favorites, including Phish (don't judge, I married a Phishhead), the Meters, the Decemberists and Arcade Fire. Thanks to some friends in the biz, we got these fancy little bracelets that gave us special parking, free drinks and access to private bathrooms..now that is livin'.

We had some friends in town for the festival who were staying at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley. This is where I will be moving. Please have all my calls and mail forwarded. Spending the afternoon at the pool, with Mr. Monk and his new friends (the kids of our friends!) and knowing that they clean the pee out of the kiddie pool during each of the regularly scheduled "10 minute breaks"...now that is livin'.



When I visited my home away from home, Whole Foods, this morning, I experienced the realization of my biggest nightmare/dream. The cashier recognized me! As I was checking out she said, "where's the baby today?" Gah! I started laughing and said I was wondering when I would be called out on my constant visits. She replied, "oh yeah, we know all the regulars." Being recognized for spending an inordinate amount of time per week at a grocery store...I don't know what that is.

Love the one you're with

Should I feel guilty that I always pretend to be on the phone when I pass the college students who are raring to ask me if I support gay rights/want to protect reproductive freedom/believe in preserving California's coasts? I do wholeheartedly on all counts but I kinda just want to walk down the block right now mmmkay.

Today I watched a homeless man try to sort the remnants of his meal between the garbage/recycle/compost bins. He was a lot better at it than most of the other yuppies trying to figure out what to do with the compostable (and yet still recyclable) salad containers.

On my way home on the BART yesterday, I turned around in my seat and accidentally locked eyes with a woman who was wearing a snake wrapped around her neck. I promptly walked (read: ran) into the next car. Snakes and I are not friends. This goes way back to the fourth grade when Alexander Jones expressed his love for me by putting his pet snake's shedded skin in my desk. I don't believe I've ever screamed louder. Amazing to think that same snake could possibly still be alive.

The other day I passed a man sitting on a bench in the middle of a city block with a baby goat by his side. Sometimes this wacky, beautiful city is pure awesome.

Home sweet home

When we got home from our east coast family tour, I found this lovely note on my car:

Your Car Has Been parked here for over a week - Park in front of your own House not here - There is a city ordinance that requires Vehicles to Be moved every 72 Hours more than 100 feet - Otherwise they are deemed abandoned - next time we'll call DPT and have you towed!

So much for community spirit! I live in an area with alternate side of the street parking, so this was the only block where I could park without getting a ticket based on the dates of my trip (and the holiday). I wasn't aware of this city ordinance probably because I never pissed off a neighbor when I've done this previously. You can tell how fired up she must have been based on the random upper/lower case transitions. Ruh roh.

My mailman told me today that the woman, who is perfectly able-bodied, at least physically, complained to him every day about the car. Thankfully, he recognized the car and told her that it belongs to someone in the hood so she didn't actually call the cops to have it removed (can you imagine coming home to that?).

I just keep thinking how unhappy and lazy must this person be that she is so upset to not get the parking spot right in front of her house (and driveway, and garage). The horror of having to walk those extra few feet. People regularly park their cars in front of my house for days on end moving them only for the street cleaning hours. I almost never get to park in the spot in front of my house. Woe is me! While I may mutter under my breath once in a while when carrying my baby and my groceries, it's never occurred to me to leave a note let alone call the po po. Of course, I am evil by SF standards because my husband and I dare to have more than one car. Is it bad that I want to start parking in front of this lady's house on a regular basis?