Vinyl and Glass

we stumble upon everything.
the best restaurants,
the sunday farmer's market...
and today,
the once a year flea market that wraps around the perimeter of alamo square.

i bought bobby pins with old buttons glued on the ends.
our visiting friend, heather, bought old pictures in even older frames
and then, we found something we've been searching for for months.

a portable/ all in one record player.
an old 70's audiotronics classroom model.
we played the kinks, and van morrison, and bob marley, and muddy waters.
it was the sound we were missing in our little haven.

the crackling, organic sound of music.
there is something so visceral about it.
I caught Brent and the pups resting for a moment
and grabbed the camera to capture it.
I think Brent has had it up to here with my "videoing"



Earlier this week we visited the Chihuly exhibit at the De Young museum.
It was one of the most beautiful collections I've ever had the pleasure
of experiencing.
Absolutely magical.
A literal interpretation of Fantasia.

Here are a few of our pictures:

Right on Baker, Left on Grove.

Last week as we walked home from the grocery store
with canvas bags full of groceries slung over our shoulders.
I realized that in a collection of only forty odd days
we have been reshaped into new beings.

In the morning we rise and throw back the lace curtain
to see if our eyes opened before the restaurant across the street flipped
the sign in the window to {Open| Abierto}.

We wait for the elderly lady with the gray poodle to walk by
and we always nod and smile as she tells us the same story every time
about how that little dogs helps her get exercise despite her arthritis.

we think of as many similes as our brains can concoct
to describe the way the fog rolls in off the ocean.
like a quilt over the city streets, like the thick froth of my morning coffee.

we read the paper. and carry cash in our pockets because
every little hole in the wall restaurant here requires it.
We buy fresh flowers every Sunday
and save glass bottles to use as vases.

We have become accustomed to the sounds of living.
To the slamming of truck doors and the whirl of the street sweepers.
The metal ching ching of the zero emission buses connected to the wires above
and when someone starts yelling on the sidewalk, at nothing and everyone,
just because they can,
we rarely look up anymore.

This change....
it is such a dynamic and curious transformation.
The things happening to us.
Bound by the knowledge that brought us this far
and at the same time,
Affected to the core by this new impetus and
ten fingers full of unfamiliar experiences.

I like the way it smells at the very top of the park.
I miss my best friend.
I've never eaten so many peaches in my life.
I don't miss driving a car at all.

~M