After Sister Anne's funeral, I went to San Mateo to have dinner with a Rebuilding Alliance board member and his wife. I can't use those words anymore, because now they're my friends Khader and Danielle. Khader is a Lutheran minister from Beit Jala, near Bethlehem, and Danielle is from Chicago, half-Christian, half-Jewish. They met at a reconciliation meeting :) It was a hoot hearing their stories about their in-laws and grandmotherly suspicions. Basically, we talked non-stop for five hours and I love them. Danielle told me about how she used to teach karate in Ramallah on her roof, before her land-lady put her foot down. I talked to her about my on-line storytelling venture, and she's interested in contributing her stories from Palestine. sweeeeet.
Being a newbie in town, it was nice to accumulate such gems as they.
Yesterday (Sunday) was even better. I met my brother's friend Duffy in San Francisco for the first time, and we went with his friends to a beer festival in Marin. It involved a 45-minute hike. Thank goodness I didn't wear a dress and sandals like I was planning to. Spandex and sneakers were the thing.
It's like a Bavarian-style tourist club up in the hills. We did some German dancing, drank a plethora of pitchers, and ate weiners with kraut. The ladies sang Sound of Music all the way down the mountain...
When we got back into the city, I took off on my bike to meet my friend Christie from college. We played guitar and made pizza and had a great time.
But getting home wasn't as easy as I thought. I made it halfway to the Caltrain station, and realized the last mile was way too hilly and I wasn't going to make the last train. I was standing halfway up a steep hill with my bike, panting, looking down on the freeway, wondering, how on earth do I get home? Did I have to call Donna and get picked up 45 minutes away?
Bart station. I saw a Bart station. Try that.
So I made it underground, and found out I could probably get myself to Millbrae, which was half the battle. Did I have to call Donna and get picked up 20 minutes away?
There must be something post-Bart!
The nice folks on the platform couldn't help me, but totally eminated love, anyway. Most of them were from Spain, except for this one dude with fiery red hair who spoke like a brahh until he busted out this perfect Spanish. He kept high fiving me and saying how I looked like a happy person. True that. They seemed like Burners.
Apparently in the Bay Area many people say "t-real," like true-real. Haven't heard any evidence.
With the last of my phone battery, I found that SamTransit was still operating at this hour on a Sunday night. alhamdulillah! I found myself (and my bike) sitting in an empty Transit center outside the Bart Station. Cal, Bart, and Sam, I am impressed.
SamTransit was great. Meaning it was prompt, and had a bike rack, and took me all the way to Menlo Park, within biking distance of home. But lordy was it slow. I kept nodding off, and this dude near me kept asking, hey, hey, hey, you tired too? mmm-hmmmm.....
Bed was heaven. Needless to say, I didn't make it to swim practice. But two days plus a hike translated into something that resembles abdominal muscles.
I remembered this quote from Philadelphia Story the other day: "you have a disciplined body that does what you tell it to..." Today I am grateful for that.
Today I am 25.
Being a newbie in town, it was nice to accumulate such gems as they.
Yesterday (Sunday) was even better. I met my brother's friend Duffy in San Francisco for the first time, and we went with his friends to a beer festival in Marin. It involved a 45-minute hike. Thank goodness I didn't wear a dress and sandals like I was planning to. Spandex and sneakers were the thing.
When we got back into the city, I took off on my bike to meet my friend Christie from college. We played guitar and made pizza and had a great time.
But getting home wasn't as easy as I thought. I made it halfway to the Caltrain station, and realized the last mile was way too hilly and I wasn't going to make the last train. I was standing halfway up a steep hill with my bike, panting, looking down on the freeway, wondering, how on earth do I get home? Did I have to call Donna and get picked up 45 minutes away?
Bart station. I saw a Bart station. Try that.
So I made it underground, and found out I could probably get myself to Millbrae, which was half the battle. Did I have to call Donna and get picked up 20 minutes away?
There must be something post-Bart!
The nice folks on the platform couldn't help me, but totally eminated love, anyway. Most of them were from Spain, except for this one dude with fiery red hair who spoke like a brahh until he busted out this perfect Spanish. He kept high fiving me and saying how I looked like a happy person. True that. They seemed like Burners.
Apparently in the Bay Area many people say "t-real," like true-real. Haven't heard any evidence.
With the last of my phone battery, I found that SamTransit was still operating at this hour on a Sunday night. alhamdulillah! I found myself (and my bike) sitting in an empty Transit center outside the Bart Station. Cal, Bart, and Sam, I am impressed.
SamTransit was great. Meaning it was prompt, and had a bike rack, and took me all the way to Menlo Park, within biking distance of home. But lordy was it slow. I kept nodding off, and this dude near me kept asking, hey, hey, hey, you tired too? mmm-hmmmm.....
Bed was heaven. Needless to say, I didn't make it to swim practice. But two days plus a hike translated into something that resembles abdominal muscles.
I remembered this quote from Philadelphia Story the other day: "you have a disciplined body that does what you tell it to..." Today I am grateful for that.
Today I am 25.
