With all due respect to Tony Bennett, I’m having a hard time embracing the line:
“The morning fog, may chill the air, I don’t care…”
Turns out I DO care—and it sucks! My heart is indeed in San Francisco (though sorely hurt by that damn Sales Force too-tall Tower that makes me mad every time I see it—and one can’t help but see it everywhere), but my reunion was not helped by a freezing day and night and not a blink of sunlight in sight. Summer fog looks romantic when you’re out of it, but inside it’s just damn cold and annoying and bleak and grey.
I went through the paces of all my errands on my local Irving Street—the bank, the post office, the drug store, the bookstore, the supermarket, the library—and treated myself to a return trip through Golden Gate Park, but none of it was particularly heartwarming bundled in sweater and heavy jacket through the dull, grey and too-littered-for-my-taste streets.
But tomorrow it’s off to Portland (Oregon), where there’s the promise of real summer and sun and swimming pools to take the grandkids to. Maybe I’ll get a beautiful view of the fog from the plane.
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