What an adventure we had yesterday!
First I convinced everyone that it would be in their best interest to meet me in Millbrae, while I left the car in the parking lot at Bart. Bart, of course, does not run all the way down the peninsula, because *shudder* that would allow POOR people to transport themselves, willy nilly. But anyway. The glorious BART station at Millbrae is huge, the snub end of the city, ready and willing.
We had dimsum at the huge, temple-like restaurant on the corner. Eliz was absolutely miserable. "YOU DIDN't LET ME HAVE BREAKFAST," she insisted, red-faced and crying. "AND NOW YOU BRING ME HERE?!" She carried on for some time and then said, "WHY ISN'T ANYONE PAYING ATTENTION TO ME?!" to which I had to reply honestly "Because if I talked to you right now, I'd start screaming..."
Anyway, it was a good send-off for our child-free day in the city, brought to us by Manny's visiting parents. I suppose my suffering daughter had to make sure we truly knew why we were going alone.
We met Ms Jane, who said "Wait where you are! I'll be there in two shakes!" and voila! There she was! "You and your big city ways!" I exclaimed. Because damn, she works right in the middle of skyscrapers, and takes the bus, and lives in Oakland. Our girl's all kinda urban and shit. We were given a tour of her new cube, as well as the old. I'll regale you with pictures soon.
Onward, to a small restaurant tucked away in an alley. All fancy and shit. Tablecloths, people with french accents, etc. I drank wine and immediately started feeling sorry for myself, inexplicably, and tried to describe my creative angst. Ms Jane, of course, has been reading about it and so did not find it interesting as news, and Manny, of course, is trying not to fix problems like the one I was describing, so it just ended up being a bad idea, the whole "wine and oversharing" thing.
But then the day turned better. We attempted to find galleries like the ones we like so much in Chicago, but alas the Union Square area is all upscale and hep, and all you can see are picassos and etc. There was one place with beautiful large landscapes all glowy and smacky with paint that was very beautiful. I tried to suck it in through my eyeballs to keep and examine later.
Onward to MOMa. Crowded with holiday gawkers. I was quite unimpressed with the tree pictures from the guy who went to Oregon and photographed clear-cutting. Was wishing the pictures were at least huge and all around, like you were in the forest, but instead they were discreet black and whites with excellent mats.
But then. One of my favorite objects of all time is the glittery box made by Joseph Cornell with the paper cut-out pink castle. It's a tiny world. I asked Manny to let me burn it into my eyes and then allow me to close them, while he led me out, down the stairs, home, so that I could have it all for myself behind my eyelids.
A moment on the big bridge over the fifth floor, where a chance glance down all the dizzying height caused me to actually stumble and feel the world closing in around me. My phobias are progressing nicely!
I am upset at my body for not working better. My knees are constantly sore. I was in pain all day, and walking slowly, while Manny and Ms Jane would whiz along in city fashion. I was afraid I would slip, and then there was the matter of pain. Fuck. Imagining myself in a wheelchair.
Ms Jane met us at the skeevy bus station and we loaded onto a cross-bridge bus, went to her house where we drank beer together and talked. Happy friendship. Dinner on her at the sushi bar, and she poured us into the BART in downtown Oakland with the meth-head babbling woman who worked us into her monologue.
I feel that calm quiet that comes of no children in the house. They should be back full of vim and argument at around noon. Meanwhile I can do whatever I want. Yeah man!