yobech505

“We can be friends.” The dreaded vocabulary stuffed into and imagined in a less meaningful “I don’t want to hang out with you anymore.” Could be. Or couldn’t be. We’re friends. I revel in that. The only discord in the whole gathered part is, I don’t want the interaction to extend into the realm of what you might desire. It just isn’t presently present for this specific person.

It won’t traverse that medium. It just isn’t there, waiting for what’s next. It gets arrested where it is. Why can’t that be an acceptable norm? I adore you. You have a place in my heart that ain’t about to exit the dramatic production. The caption on the next act just says, it won’t go farther.

We’re co-billed on the credits as participants in the various scenes, but off stage, it is just as well dormant as it is, not becoming an off screen Bogart and Bacall. If it is labeled as friendship, that’s what it plays out to be. And what is wrong with it?

I like your company. The conversations, actual and historical, hold a level of interest and the communication is fun. The playtime is limited. Emotion is the chaperone, not primed to go to the next level, and lacking the matches needed to strike a fiery potion to what you may want. So, why can’t it be content with where it levels its personal self. I enjoy the time spent. Laughing is fun. Gabbing is fun. Learning about your people, and sharing far out stories of mine is a nice way to spend time.

It just seems like it never follows that road, perceived as having too many potholes and cattle guards to sustain a smooth continuance. It always looks for more from one end of the magnetic pole and if it isn’t that pathway, the magnet is turned around, pushing away. It has to not be at all? Dumb.

We just can’t smoothly cope with what we are, or want to be, once those verbages are spoken. One has to give it all to naught, the other, explain that it just isn’t in the fifty two card deck to go beyond what the joker might call a limit. Hands played, and someone goes away sad, the other missing what was there.

Why does ‘just friends’ scare the crap out of one side of the supposed link? It’s that or nada? Ewwww. Seems like such a loss to how two people might interact and react to a life to live. It shorts the electrical system, making one side an undeserved villain and the other a whole bunch lonelier. Not a very pleasant turn of where things go. Is it okay to say ‘just friends’ and mean it? Is it accepted in the hallways of a relationship to be closely acquainted but not want to walk down the proverbial aisle or take up space in the opposite’s closet?

‘You’re my friend.’ If you really like someone, what in the hell is wrong with it? It could be relegated to a dream world, I suppose. The thought of not getting together for java, occasionally sharing overspiced burritos or just hanging out over a glass of wine comes with a level of melancholy that I don’t want to experience. I won’t carry it past ‘Go’ and collect my two hundred because there just isn’t connection in my chest for moving that token.

Sure, it doesn’t always work this way. But I like friends. Aug/2023

Examining the human frailties, I slither back into the why of what happens to the brain when too much emotion is slammed into it with a general lack of definable definition. We are not real good at it, often just blabbering as we try to make sense of what the most of it is. We end up even further lost in the fray, unable to look at any source of even the tiniest rationality, so much so that every time our nose is running, the kleenex is out of reach.

I am, if at all, the least prepared for this kind of gobbledegook. I take it in, try to process it and manage to make it even worse. And the caption underneath my cartoon is a simple, “What? You’re doing this AGAIN?” What in the love of Lucifer are you thinking? Dumbass is an appropriate term. Of course, it is unobtainable rationality that screws the whole thing up. Can’t do it. Never could. Won’t tomorrow either.

Fall, fall, fall!. That, I am very competent at. If it were an olympic event, I would win the gold. Or at least a bronze. Somewhere near the top of the platform, anyway. I obviously train for it, as is clearly shown by the numerous times I put myself in that obnoxiously acheful position. Not once has it, in its long term, let me get out of it. I have to deal with the whole routine, the kit and kaboodle, to use a childish scientific terminology. I get pulled in and never know what the bejabbers to do next, yet I’ve been through this rinse cycle so many times.

So where do I go next? Perhaps I will find a loophole to keep me from standing on the edge of this whole shebang and fall into it where I can never again be led. But, given my record, so far, that seems rather doubtful. I learn from my history but totally ignore the memories that keep trying to give me warning, telling me over and over, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

So, now we’ve evidenced that I am a basket case of emotional laundry, left to soak but never washed on the ‘clean pots and pans’ button, and my own devices are not well prepared in my feeble humanity to move on smoothly. This road has not been paved since the Model T was invented and the weather and road conditions are not helping. I am bounced around, left to my own lack of inventiveness and captured by what I thought, or hoped, was a more complete emotional connection. Somehow, I forgot to attach the ground wire and got shocked. It’s all hot, now, and touching any of the wires will certainly send volts of energy surging through my inner part of the heart.

I wouldn’t be so damned pushed if the human parts healed faster. But they take so damn long, and they leave such a stack of obstacles, each one depending on me overcoming the one before it. Yes, eventually we reach the end of the challenge course, but it is often so miserable getting to that elusive finish line.

I am certainly capable of being overrun by the human side of my existence. There is more, down deep, but most of that is way beyond my ability to grasp a working knowledge of it. Not that I don’t try, but it is plaguing to look into that when it comes from someone who lacks the experience and bravery to explore it in greater depth.

So, for now, I will attempt to nod off and take on the whole shebang, torpedoes be damned. I don’t suppose I get any hidden suggestions to help me along, but that is part of my folly. Yes, I’ve done it again.

Always liked to travel. I still do. Loved wearing out tires on the nation’s highways, touching our northern partners who inhabit the second largest sized country on Terra as well. Put the wear on some Michelins there for sure. Now, question me? Inquiries please? Why the hell do I do that kind of stuff.

There’s things out there. Lots of them. Beaucoup! Gotta check it out. Cool stuff. Chasms, canyons, rivers, lakes, mountains, shapes, designs, paraphernalia made by people, and some natural thingies constructed by nature that humble the homo sapien contributions.

There’s also a sense that draws me to some of these places, over and repetitively again. It isn’t definable in a human sense and I don’t get it as I probably should if there’s a spiritual connection. I don’t know enough to even profess knowledge there.

Now, to the part about sharing it. I recently had a bout of the travels with my partner. The voyage was to a natural wonder with stops along the way at natural wonders. To the end destination, I had explored before, numerous times and I wanted to show it off. It didn’t disappoint either of us. As we exited, my comment was about my return.

Why? You’ve already seen it.

Wrong response. But left to the wind as to my need for counter comment. My co-traveller would not understand. It’s in the DNA of wanderlust. Yes, I went this time because I wanted to share. But I don’t go to see these marvels of natural science, I go to experience. And wow, does the planet we are gravitationally bound to, provide.

I can’t paint, draw or photograph the reasoning behind what that is. I read, once, that it’s the magnetic pull. If so, then why doesn’t the rest of the overpopulated society feel it as well? Am I and the similars the positive side of the magnet? Or vice versa? I’m pulled into it because I’m sensitized to it. That must be how it is explained.. No, that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Or does it?

In all of this, I have to pensively consider, what did folks do before the advent of the automobile? Going back on a horse, pack mules following, along a trampled deer path must have had appeal because a few adventurers obviously did just that. A lot less than those swarming into traffic on the paved blue interstate highways of the map.

A sociological approach might be that it is burnished into us at a young age by those who trekked these trails before us, knowing their fledgling offspring would absorb it as much. We are conditioned to experience, not just see. No, don’t put much in that theory either, as some siblings do and others don’t.

Back to the co-driver. What do they miss? Hard to find a defining characteristic. Guess? Not much. If the experience of an experience is not what is sought, then it probably doesn’t require much inquiry. ‘Yeah, I saw it’ might be enough for some of the populace. They may only need that small level of satisfactory observation. I won’t find fault in that. I just know that, in a world full of see, I will always want that experience thing.

It Was a Day Like…

Like any other day, this day was, unlike any other day. Or we can make it not about a portion of measured time.  Would it direct itself  to a section of the continuum where measurable elements were a factor of no great perpetuity? 

This is as I am requesting, oh great connector.

Where did she originate?  Who was the postmaster who sent her to the same spot I was occupying in my wannabe wishes?  How did anything know I would be there at the same time she was, taking up physical space in closeness, but emotional space internally.  What witchy watch over determined that this was the location, much more than just a probability but a defining moment where one pole touches the other and the lights flicker before they illuminate completely?

It’s a lot more than just this untempted ‘me’ who occupied the indicated perimeter.  We were both there, at the same un-monumental moment that instantly changed to a level of majorly significant two into one.  And where do the clergyists come up with ‘let no man put asunder’?  If the great spirit joined us, ain’t no man has the power, ability or know how to split that back into pairs.  We’re one.  No three dot journalism here.

There is a complete lack of further want and the connectivity eliminates the possibility and desire for what is way past the developmental stage, morphing itself into a completed unit.  No need for anything more than continued exploration of togetherness and the clear path of one entity observing the beauty of the human world and the treasures of the ‘in depth’ part so many do not comprehend, which they show us by throwing the loco label into that which we internally develop into being unphased by.

So it is kept in silent mode, not as an ‘us’ sees or uses it but as the ‘they’ might perceive. That untelling is only for them, not us.  We revel in the whispers we share, the soft voices we interconnect with and the touch that  is more than anything a physical body can conjure.  

That day, the topic of this whole attempt at expressing my literature abilities, still appears as unreal as the grasping of a pin feather on an accelerating humming bird. 

This, as is naturally explained, is, in explanatory terms, the ‘why’ factor.  And that, is the whole reason for the unlikeness.  Aloof to the hypnotized populace, but explained only by those who experience it or with whom the carriers trust, it all connects.  She is never far from the insides of my undefinable self, able to touch the parts of our spirit that impacts who I am as it refers to our ‘us’.

We are pushed, shoved and jammed into a common unity, and despite the verbiage of these definitive words, we do this in an unfettered, willing manner, not unafraid but unprepared until we get to the feeling this is the right thing to experience.  From then, on, it is a growth purposed event,  set up by a source that far excels past the human ability to use or apply.  I know why she’s here.  So, why are we?   Temporarily hidden from the ease of surface senses, it all connects now.

Gotta love a daughter who has the canny ability to screen, and assumes the role her father had when she was younger.  Who I date has to pass muster.  And in her gentle way, she can be a heavier hand than I ever had any desire to be.

If you don’t cut it, you ain’t going out with my Dad.  Exclamation point taken!

I don’t know what criteria she uses to determine who is my latest social dating intent.  But if you were to ask me, as an honest inquiry, she’s pretty much poking her finger right on the dot.  She knows her dad.  Sometimes, she emphasizes a blessing. She might be polite in her critique, otherwise, it’s a flat out ‘No!’  The flaw in it all is getting me to listen to her, then follow up on what she is planting, often repetitively, in my sometimes silly brain.

Like the time I discontinued a brief relationship after I told the passing soon partner, “My daughter doesn’t think we’re right together’.  That went over like a turd in the clam chowder.   The soon to be distanced connection sounded more like a drunk sailor fighting a marine after that let down.  I was told I was rude, mean and self centered. Numerous profanity peppered the entire response.  And I’m pretty assuredly convinced she thought I was doing this on my own.  But it really was my daughter’s idea.  And the fledgling relationship had only existed for about three weeks.  Never led anyone on.  Honest.  

I spent the next fortnight trying to rethink how I might have ended the whole glob of a doomed relationship. There had to have been a more appealing way to let someone off the elevator.   But I was pretty sure my female offspring knew the two party system in this case wouldn’t work.  Still, she was initially helpless in instructing me how I could have concluded the breaking off a little more tactfully.  I told her what transpired.  She never apologized.  She never will.  

She has backed off a bit.  I took time to raise my sons and didn’t date much.  Saw old acquaintances and spent friendship time with the past memories who were different now.  Not interested in much more than that.  Giving her a break I suppose.  But she knows.  If I mention someone, she can analyze that potential prom date just by the way I say the name.  Then she asks the right questions, and poof!  Relegated to no more than friendship or “Dad, go for it

I don’t know if, in the cases she manages to see into, if she’s right or wrong, but if someone were to tell me to play the odds on it, I would always go with who she is and what she is.  Don’t make me take sides.  You’ll lose.  

Of course, it has to be an addendum, a couple of times she called it in a potential squeeze’s favor.  She was right. She still chastises me for one conked out ‘the two of you’ that she hoped would be.  Circumstances didn’t allow the relationship to bloom with flowers continuing to brighten the branches, but she wished it could have worked out.  “She’d be good for you, Dad.”  I was sad when it all turned away.  She felt my hurt.  

I know she wishes relationship nirvana on me.  Her mother will probably always be her deepest wish, to which I am only guessing.  It’s rarely said in words.  I just sense she wishes us both happiness, and if it’s together or in different channels of life, she knows which persons would work.  

I don’t look.  I wait.  If someone comes along who feels, creates and in conjunction with me, builds the connection, her heart will bless it.  If her daughterly instincts tell her to put the kibosh on it, I am of the positive inclination she will, once again, not apologize for my lack of tact  if I am considered rude in the termination of the relationship.

Figuring out why one bothers to find another place to live is simply, in definition, stress making pattern description.  It just ain’t easy and one always has a good excusable answer for why the move was implemented.  

I just done it.  Packed the house, the associated collectables and the dogs.  Hence the title.  

Not just next door either.  Across the continent, almost, from snowy winter to blazing hot summer.  With the dogs, both who love the snowy winter and have places to hang out where I existed and habitated (sic), it was a big ‘huh?’.  And with that criteria, I now have to deal with the acquiring of a location for the canines when I do my family visitations always where no furry poop bag fillers are permitted to stick around.

Ah, but the Great Cactus came to my rescue.  And this goes back to my eighth year on this oblique spheroid we inhabit.  

I got engaged.  With an honest to god ring I got from a gum machine. Really. ( I wasn’t about to keep a girlie ring!) Not that, at the time, either of us had any clue as to what being engaged was, or knew we were in that category of relationships.  The small town we lived in didn’t care or even know.  So, really, neither did we.

After a couple of years of hanging out, we both moved to different abodes in different communities.  Interestingly enough, we and our families also lived within a few kilometers of each other at least three times over the next few decades or more.  Probably a lot of ‘in passing’ over that set of partial centuries, in unknowing recognition. I really doubt we would have been familiar to the other anyway.  Married others, raised our families, then did what people do as they add years to their experiences..  

It’s that ‘online’ thing.  I observed a familiar name on a common site, and, in as casual a manner as possible, asked if that person was the person who I knew in person.  Alas and much to no one’s chagrin, I’m sure,  it was.  And she has moved only a couple of hours away from where I relocated my storage units of things I still don’t use. 

  Here’s the groovy part.  She likes my dogs.  And, as stingy with their tail wagging as they are, they like her.  So, after catching up, spending hours on electronic devices reminiscing and stopping by to say ‘bonjour’ in English of course, a few times, I have my dog sitter.  And the exchange is mutual as her dog, who doesn’t particularly like anyone, seems to be okay with my dogs as she travels back to the previous neighborhoods.  

So the dogs are happy and they have a new friend.  I am in communication with an old friend.  We chuckle when we tell stories, often embellished, about the small town we grew up in and how much it has altered its appearance and population over the decades since we moved away.  We both agree, it was better back then.

Never cancelled the engagement.  In sincere confidence, the ring disappeared due to natural causes. The emotional connection belongs to the dogs, however.  Hell, the last time I stopped to pick them up they didn’t want to go with me. They’d still be there if I hadn’t shoved the issue into my car with the promising aroma of tasty treats.  

Finding friends is a thankful result of the internet.  Finding friends who’ll dog sit my pooches while I galavant across the countryside is one of the great caveats of the computer age.  

Now, back to the dogs.  They just bark, sleep and do doggie things, whatever those are.  Not sure they care which place they use to leave their sculptured piles.

Can’t tattle on others.  Only vouch for who I am and who my friends really are.  This one involves my Junior High School and first year of high school ‘steady’, that term we used back in those days.  The conversation was adult and I thought to myself, I am much more mature now.  That was decades ago. Truth telling,  I’m probably only partly more mature.

We’ve been in touch, friends since, well, decades.  We’ve never really ‘dated’ since those olden days as every time she was single, I was married and vice versa.  Not that it would have melded into something, but who the hell knows. We’re still close, trade relationship gab with one another and talk pretty fearlessly.  

It was our most recent encounter, as we met at the wind brushed deck where the barista provided beverage at our favorite yuppie gathering place, allowing this inquisitive event to take the auspices of shape.

“So, you sound serious.”  It was more a question than a statement.  “At least that’s what I’m hearing from you.”  She settled a little in the chair.  Obviously, she was patient.

I took a breath. “You managed to figure that out?” I chuckled a short one. “Wow. I’m impressed. Like, Duh?”

“So if my hubby runs off with a 25 year old Ukranian woman and leaves me, you’re saying you won’t be available?” She delivered the question with her arms folded across her chest.

I was ready.  “For you or the Ukrainian woman?”

“Very funny.  What if she doesn’t speak any English?”  She waited for a response and, still crossing her arms, tapped a foot.  I didn’t say anything.  Continuing, “What is it about her?  More than you’ve already told me?”

“I could tell you but she’s top secret. I’d have to kill you.” I knew by her look she was aware I was pushing used humor. “I don’t know how to fully identify it, but it’s special. Like having your heart touched from the inside.”

“Oh.”  I’m pretty sure she didn’t quite know what to say so I gave her a moment. “Don’t know that I’ve ever experienced that.  May have alluded to it when we were in high school but, back then, it was all weird.”  She laughed as she shook her head.

This was my cue, but I didn’t want to say too much.  I wasn’t sure she would comprehend what I was getting at.  Not weird.  “Different.  That’s about all I can say.  And new, at least to me.  Around her, it’s like we’re ‘in touch’, we feel and understand each other.  Sort of.”  That last comment was to soften the explanation category without the risk of her practical and rational side triggering further conversation aimed at how crazy I was.

She sensed my tension.  “You know I love you.  My only concern is, does she fit?  Is she cool with you, and the opposite, are you in synch with her?” 

“It certainly feels like it.”  She dropped her arms, picked up her coffee, holding the cup to her lips while she waited for me to continue.  “I love you too.  But yes.  Add to that, we seem to really enjoy the same things.”  

“Okay.”  There was a touch of a math teacher in her voice.  “Here’s the question.”  She planted her eyes towards my face.  “Do  you love her?”

“I thought that was pretty obvious, given our many conversations.”  My tone was level, delivered to an equal. 

“Given.”  Her voice was smiling.  “Now, answer this.”  The pause was longer.  So was the stare.  “Are you IN love with her?”

“I don’t know.”  My voice softened.  “But I want to be.”

It’s all up in the air. Or, it was, once upon a short time ago. After a smooth landing, the runway grew short and the transpiration was somewhere, hidden in the transportation until it slid out, a revelation exposed to an upcoming possible ‘what’s next’ moment.

In the early stages of the ‘happening’, wondering what’s next is the inquiry. And the answer is, “how the hell do I know?” No, wait, that’s an answer but “how the hell do I know if it’s the appropriate answer?” Pressurized cabins shouldn’t play games on a normal mind, and that’s assuming mine is normal.

I won’t hop into absent minded conclusions. Not my place. But, nonetheless, or is it, in this instance, nevertheless, it can’t hurt to speculate. Just keeping the expectations within a certain form of reason. Keep the aforementioned speculation to a reasonable level and let the creek find its way to a next larger body of water. Scuba into that, explore and hope the fins stay on.

In preparation, where it all goes it is not my decision to make. It is definitely not supposed to be something for someone that would permit an upcoming move to be what isn’t best in the corazon of the person who has to make the choice. This, naturally, applies in a ‘tomorrow’ scenario. I would expect and accept whatever direction is chosen. I have to, as that is the sincerity of whatever wind vane the zephyr tends to point the arrow. Caring, feeling, adoring is all part of the true compass of passion, even when it is out of realms of emotional control. Yet, placing an ‘if you…’ or a ‘but I…” would only breed some hidden discontent, so the soluble formula is; what do you really want to do? Then, let you do it. It has to be that way.

Unhappy is such a miserable term. It should never apply to another’s decision. Sure, a level of sadness may follow, but, it’s an honest approach, the contentment of others has to carry a great deal of heaviness. Seeing things go a certain way is always the pinnacle of niceties. That doesn’t necessarily represent what actually transpires. Still, allowing it to happen is probably the correct direction indicator.

As a clarifier, it is never about permission. That’s not within the authority of another. To move to where the next section of one’s life is self controlled, self explained is no one else’s business. The one outside the decision has to accept, respect and approve. That’s the role assigned.

Where will it all find a conclusion, be it unidentified for the long term or somewhere along a year by year timeline? Dunno? It would be nice, extending it all for the ‘up to forever or wherever it falls’ future, but it’s okay being pleased with the short term outlook. That it could go longer is the envisions of the other potential participant.

“Whichever way the wind blows,” is overused. Don’t even know who the original author was, and, in truth, don’t really have any concerns about finding out. It has a large note of metaphoric truth to it, but I have to shorten and simplify the meaning to fit the situation. Go with the heart. Better still, go with the hearts. If it isn’t the path you desire, don’t be self centered. The air traffic controller gave us all access to wings for a reason. Departure clearance may be towards some distant island, or it may be held up due to inclement emotion. Yes, we all have preferences. But either way, it’s okay.

Occurrences occur.  Like, Duh.  I suppose what I mean is, things happen, and according to some esoteric sources, they do so for a purpose.  Karma is often expunged as a reason, the source of why good or bad which plagues or enhances our day to day explains us facing what we do.  Does it go further, or deeper, delving into our past and making our entire life a constant puzzling inquiry of;  why is this happening?  

I’m an expert in this field only as far as my own experiences allow me to be.

I was, often times, not a very good person in some of my actions.  In fact, today, some of the things I did, though not openly frowned on back then, would probably be grounds for dire consequences or even worse.  The late teens, early twenties saw a few of those occurrences occur.  I knew it then, but didn’t believe myself, and still,  in some of my shallow depth,I was aware.  They weren’t illegal.  They were just wrong.  

Is the karma just that my consciousness still haunts me and wishes I could undo the behavior in those events?  Is it any less than the wishful undoing of the impact I may have, for the long term, inflicted on another?

How far away is the balance that is supposed to be included in this chain of beliefs?  It was afterwards, yes, but my experiences in Vietnam were often horrible and definitely, at least twice, physically painful.  Again, that was after.  So was it meant to offset the me I hadn’t wanted to be but was? Sure didn’t appear to be the case.

I can blame PTSD for why my first marriage fell apart.  I tried covering it up, ever the jokester, the happy one, ready with a pat on the back and a friendly word to those who I felt needed it.  But my insides were smashed.  The eventual and occasional breakouts left jobs, relationships and three beautiful offsprings in a chaotic mess.  I never wanted any of it.  Then came Ft. Miley   And friends  Thanks.  I found a way out of that dilemma.  They led me past the karma of being a rifleman in a hostile place where the consequences to those who loved my opponent paid the painful price of memories, probably more than I did for the friends I lost.  No, the guilt never goes away, but the wounds are soothed.  I was trained on how to deal with it   

Yet, I still carry a sense of trauma for who I tried not to be up to that departure point.  And this is really about that karmic interlude.   It is all on me.  And for reasons well beyond what I am willing to admit, it lingers. 

 No longer able to blame it on the same pretense as the first time, the second attempt, which I expected would last through and well beyond the coming of Destiny’s Child and Beyonce’s incredible impact on R&B, turned out to be an abject attempt at karmic futility.  Yes, the begating of two remarkable better versions of me was and is an ongoing highlight, and I’ve taught them well, wisdom from what I have grown from and to.  But the disappointment and betrayal of my hopes for the long term kind of pushed into view my revenged upon karma, at least in my mind.  So, was this finally the balancing point?

If only memory chips didn’t linger and pop up again. I would hope she’s past it, and is stronger than I am in her recollections. I never seem to stop wishing I could undo the whole thing and the negativity of the memories that go with it. That, of course, is what is referred to as an impossibility.  I beg forgiveness, but I don’t expect it.  I’ve learned, and in those respects, have grown.  Fortunately, I was eventually drawn into a cauldron where I was able to see, then help others who faced some version, usually much more traumatic, of what she experienced. I could help them see a way out because, to a slightly comparative degree, I was a reformed nemesis.   I was able to help guide most of them to an exit, at least so far. Does that lead to a restful leveling point?

I’ll just have to wait and see what the continuing karma has in store next.  

I’ve always considered San Francisco ‘my’ city.  I was born across the Bay, but lived in ‘The City’ at almost the onset.  Went to high school (class of ‘68) and college there, worked at various locations, from Powell and O’Farrell to Golden Gate and Van Ness to 3rd and Hubbell for years.  Even survived the Loma Prieta of ‘89 at the latter.   My father was 2nd generation.  Herb Caen and Jack Rosenbaum were my heroes.

I almost resent changes.  They’re necessary, as times evolve.  Doesn’t mean I have to like them.  I’m aware they’re not icons to be battled with, but more evolutionary to be adjusted to.  Generalizing, it’s my city, don’t mess with it. Everybody does.

The father of a friend I grew up with owned Twin Peaks Tavern at Castro and Market before the area surrounding it was upgraded and modernly improved by an influx and participation of The City’s gay community.  His friend owned Club Unique across from the Nasser Brother’s Castro Theatre.  The area had a time period character,  There were ruffians, all manner of race, and the streets weren’t swept too often, but I never felt unsafe or otherwise, getting off the 37 Corbett at the intersection.

Going home again has its pitfalls.  A trip back did not bring the desired results.  

It was different.  Evolution had taken place.  The shops were updated, more modern content, and the little grocery stores were gone.  The names over the bars were changed.  The angled corner where Castro touched Market seemed institutional rather than neighborly.  Coffee and breakfast overtook a cold beer or a shot of Jack Daniels. The human clientele was different, not from memory.  It’s all because, once again, things evolve.

I got a sympathetic ear.  Sitting in a covered Muni stop, a young lady strolling past asked me if I was okay.  I was taken aback, as I didn’t think the look on my face was that forlorn. “Just missing what used to be.” I replied.  

She was about five foot three, dark shoulder length hair, brown eyes, a petite figure and was wearing a black dress with a matching blouse.  “What’s different?” She didn’t appear to be afraid or intimidated. I suppose I looked as harmless as I actually was.  She sensed it.

San Francisco has always been an adventurous variation of an unusual city.  The unique flair of difference has always permeated its existence.  Even today, nothing compares.  Its character changes, sometimes in the middle of a generation. Its reputation gets flawed responses from the rest of the country.  But San Francisco doesn’t follow paradigms and it never has, from the Sydney Ducks to Boss Reuf to Mayor Willie Brown.  That is its consistency.

Laurie from Houston talked to me for almost two hours.  We walked towards Duboce, stopping for coffee that wasn’t available in the times I reminisced.  I talked about a city I remembered and she asked questions.  We parted with smiles.

I never saw her again. Never was able to figure out why she stopped to talk to me.  She was adorable, yes, and at least while talking to me, unattached.  I didn’t get her phone number, her last name or where she was headed next.  It just didn’t seem appropriate or even necessary.  She did take my hand for a short block and I remember asking an 8 Market Muni driver for her if the route still went to the Ferry Building.  

Eventually, she went on her way, just like the San Francisco I used to know. Pleasant memories still pop up now and then. Even though The City is not what I remember, it is still in the process of evolving, creating new memories for the next reminiscer.