Commuters

I've walked past this scene thousands of times at my hometown train station, and all these bikes hung over the railing always make me smile.

Wherein I preach a little

In hindsight, it's clear to me that my dad had prostate cancer symptoms at least six months before the crisis that led to his diagnosis. I saw some of those symptoms, but when I asked about them, he told me they were related to his blood pressure medication, and he commented that getting old - and the pills that were associated with it - were lousy.

My dad was the first man in his family to live past age 60. We don't know how all of his ancestors died, but at least a few of them had cancer. Dad lived to 72.5. And he treasured every one of those last 12.5 years, because he knew how lucky he was to have them. My mom's family, on the other hand, was full of longevity. My great-grandmother was in her late 90s when she died at the kitchen table, after sitting down and asking for a cup of tea.  I have a great aunt in her mid-90s. My grandmother died days short of her 84th birthday.

And yet my mom died at 63, with no clear indication that she wasn't well until the moment of her death.

I spent the past week in NY taking care of some family stuff, and I spent a lot of my time there thinking hard about my family health history. I know about my grandfather's diabetes; my mom's pre-diabetic issues; the family history of cancer; the thyroid disease; and a newly emerging strain of high blood pressure shared by my parents and, I believe, my grandparents.

Anybody who knows me well already knows I'm a little fanatical about my health. I've always worked to stay healthy, and those efforts have increased since my mono bout. But over the past few months, my efforts have also been focused outward. Because I'd like my lifetime to exceed my parents. And I'd really like to have my family and friends along for the ride.

So if you feel an ache or a pain or just know that something isn't right, I'll be the one in your face about getting to the doctor. And if you tell me you don't have a doctor, I'm very happy to help you find one. Because now that I've experienced the very sudden loss of somebody I love, I don't ever want anybody else to have to go through that pain. Yes, getting a doctor's appointment and waiting on exam day are hassles, but trust me, they pale in comparison to wrapping up the estate of somebody who still had a long life ahead of her.

Sadly, the dolphins didn't pose for a photo

I often walk along this part of the Bay, but I've only ever twice - in 10 years - seen dolphins frolicking in the water. There were two this time, swimming in tandem just far enough from shore to be visible to the eye, but not the camera.

They picked a fabulous day to give the tourists a show.

Summer!

It takes awhile for summer to make it to these parts, but once it gets here, it's a miracle - all clear and sunny with warm little breezes. The whole city sparkles.

And the Golden Gate sheds its shroud of fog to give late season tourists - and those of us lucky enough to actually live here - some incredible photo opportunities.

A point of clarification

Over the past several weeks, I've been (or at least felt) inundated by questions from people wanting to know if I'll be leaving San Francisco. Most of them ask if I'll be moving home.

This is a tricky question. San Francisco is my home. I've lived here for 10.5 years. I'm definitely not going ANYWHERE. That's the easy part to answer. But do I bother to mention that "home" as I know it - the blue house I grew up in, will not be mine for much longer? Do I point out that, with my parents gone, "home" doesn't really exist in NY anymore? Do I remind these inquisitive friends that I've never wanted to return to the miserable East Coast winters before, so why would I want to now?

Snowmageddon 2010

Eh, usually that takes too much effort and doesn't provide any decent return for me, so I just list my hometown's strengths in comparison to the East Coast's weaknesses. Mexican Food is high on the list, along with mild winters and my devotion to walking uphill. I'll cop to not liking 30 days of rain (or unending months of summer fog), but I never have to shovel rain, and I know the fog clears eventually.

Yes, my family is on the East Coast. And I miss my brother and sister, but we've all got to build our own lives, and my life is here. Most of my friends are here, and all of my professional network.  I like that I often run into friends while walking through my neighborhood or downtown. I like that I'm growing some roots here.

I can see my favorite hiking trails from the hilltops in my neighborhood. I can be to the beach in less than half an hour. And when I get there, this is my view. Not so bad, right?

And it works for me. So yes, I'll travel, and I'll always be very proud of where I've come from. But I'm also really happy with where I am now. Especially when the sun shines.

A little bit of order in a sea of chaos

Every facet of my life is feeling a little out of control right now. As part of working through that, I'm trying to stay organized. My house is clean, I'm trying to keep the laundry piles to a minimum, and I'm closet cleaning.

And also doing a little closet renovation. My closet is small by studio apartment standards. In all my previous studios, the closets have been huge walk-ins with space for (in most cases) a double bed. Most studios built in the 1920s (the decade all of my previous - and current - buildings have been built) included Murphy beds, with large closets to accommodate the bed and lots of storage.

My current closet isn't nearly that large, but it worked. Until the lower shelf - the one that doubled as the closet rod - fell down a few months ago, taking all my clothes with it. It turns out that shelf was never properly bolted into the studs. And that left me with one closet shelf, about 8.5 feet in the air. It was too high up for me to hang clothes without a small ladder.

The hangers kept getting stuck together and six things would fall when I reached for a shirt and I couldn't reach my pants and it was really driving me crazy. Yes, this is a first world problem, but I'm already pretty crazed about a bunch of other things. I couldn't really deal with my closet catastrophe. I investigated shelving units and researched closet rod installation and decided I could afford a few shelves and the manpower to install them. And then I left my job and decided I'd just have to live with my closet chaos.

And then I found a HUGE sale on closet shelving and installation. So I took everything out of my closet and waited for the closet installer to show up.

He was early, and the installation was easy. And he even patched up the holes from previous tenants' shelves.

Randomly, my closet has a window. The installation happened quite easily, and now I have access to that window, should my winter clothes ever get too hot during a heat wave.

I spent most of Saturday re-hanging everything and filling the shelves - all 6 of them. I've been able to clear out most of the things stored under my bed, as well as a few things in my tiny coat/linen closet. And I've made two trips to Goodwill and donated some items to a local animal shelter. I've felt like this was a silly thing to be so excited about, but my clothes are no longer in a pile on my dresser, or sitting - clean and folded - in the laundry bag because they're easier to access that way. It's like I'm a real adult.

A day in pictures

I had some things to do around the city today, and while the Bay Area's rumored heatwave hasn't exactly sparked heat in San Francisco, the sun was shining and it was almost comfortable without a jacket today.

At the Hyde St. cable car turnaround, a small band was serenading tourists waiting for the cable car.

This is a wind direction indicator. Can you tell that each little propeller-thingie is pointing in a different direction? Yes, that's usually the case in this very windy city.

Ft. Mason is always a work in progress.

Serenity

The whole point of hitting the pause button on my career for a few months has been to get stuff done, and I hit the ground running this morning. While I would have preferred that the IRS - my first call of the day - said "Oh, your mom's dead? Never mind. Sorry for your loss," they didn't. So after getting the process started of tracking down some information they need from my mom's 2009 tax return, I ran a bunch of errands. On the way home, a little burned out and with some time to kill before I had to return the car, I stopped for a photo op.

The sun so rarely shines over Lake Merced that I needed to stop for a few minutes to enjoy the view.

And then, since it was on my way home, I stopped by my favorite beachside cafe and took my cup of tea to the beach. I sat on the sand dunes and watched the waves for awhile. Beach time almost balanced out the IRS hassles.

Thinking time

In the middle of my race last weekend, when I realized I was on track for a big PR, after the walkstars had surged ahead and before my friends from Team Tortuga caught up, I had some time to myself - or as much as you can be alone along a crowded race course. This was my first race of the year. My foot's still not completely healed, but it's much, much better. I just need to be careful. And I have been. I'm sticking to shorter distances and making my workouts about quality rather than quantity. And I'm cross training a lot.

The weather wasn't too pretty last Saturday, but the wind stayed calm and once we got started I didn't freeze. It was a nice day for a little walk. And it was terrific to be outside and upright. A PR was really just icing on the cake. I think about that a lot lately. My mom's been gone a little more than four months, and I have managed to stay mostly healthy. I haven't had a mono relapse, or gotten any other nasty and lingering stress-related illness. I am so incredibly thankful for this; probably even more than I'm thankful to be able to race again, though I think the two go hand in hand.

I've got a few more local races on my calendar this year, provided my foot stays in good shape. I'm mostly training on my own, and I'm really enjoying the quiet time to think on my feet. It's especially quiet in the fog.

I was out for a little over an hour yesterday. It was cold and wet and kind of muddy. It was my first walk on that trail in at least a year. I came home splattered with mud. It was terrific. I suppose some day I may take for granted a four mile walk at the beginning of my day. But that time hasn't come yet.

Breathing easier

I've mostly cleaned out my desk, and I returned my office keys and ID this afternoon. Yesterday, my boss told me my writing, though great, really isn't suited for my current job. So yeah, I'm OK with walking out the door tomorrow, and not returning on Tuesday morning.

The sense of relief I feel is incredible. I have a list of things to do next week that should be overwhelming (because everything's a little overwhelming these days) but I'm not phased by it at all. It will all get done, and I don't have to get up early or go to bed late to do it.

I've never really left a job without a plan before. Even last year's funemployment had a solid plan. It's liberating. I can do anything, or at least I can figure out what I really want to do. I made good progress on that last year, and I'm looking forward to getting back to it. But I've got a few months worth of other things to do first. The job search starts in January. Hopefully 2012 will be an easier year.