House (And Maybe Head) In The Clouds

At the end of a long day a few months ago I was just getting off the bus to make my connection to the J-Church line when it zipped by without me. Shoot. This was one of those things. It would probably be at least twenty minutes at this time of day – after 8:00 p.m. – for the next one to come along. Normally I would cheerfully put my feet in motion and get home in about the same amount of time and feel good doing it, but this night I felt done in. After hemming and hawing over my options as is customary for me, ask anyone, I decided to zip down a block or two to the excellent Bi-Rite and pick up a few things for dinner. I knew I had no vegetables at home and would regret it if I went home empty handed; the risk being, of course, that I might miss the next J train. A nourishing dinner vs. a timely ride home? Winner of this bout: food. Big surprise.

I browsed the store more swiftly than usual, snagged some Russian kale and a few other items now forgotten – although a sourdough baguette could very possibly have been involved – and zipped back up 18th Street. While zipping, I decided that my ride would come moments after my arrival at the stop and all would be well. And indeed, after a mere minute or so of waiting, along it came. But this was not the J-Church stopping in front of me, this was one of those classic old streetcars that the city brought in some while back, most of which travel up and down Market Street. Usually the ones I’ve seen on this route appear to be for training purposes, taking no passengers. So when it stopped immediately in front of me and opened its doors, I stayed where I was, peering in a bit idiotically. The two drivers looked down at me benignly. Can I get on, I asked? Yeah, they said. So up I went and sat on one of the long wooden benches. I was the only passenger. We clattered along and they chitchatted and I admired the woodwork and the metalwork and the signs written in Italian – apparently this car originated in Milan, which made me feel like I was on a grander journey than merely on my way home to stir fry kale. Well, there’s not much to this story really, no punchline; it's only that there wasn’t a single other soul at any of the stops between where I got on and where I got off, and I was left with the distinct impression that I had manifested this ride entirely for myself and myself alone. Never has a yellow streetcar from Milan picked me up on this route, never have I traveled the necessary distance solo, without anyone else getting on or off, never (well, seldom) has the timing been so divine. It seemed as though, when I stepped off and the streetcar moved on, first out of sight and then out of sound, it must just have vanished. In fact, I'm saying it did. Which makes me magic, and I’m fine with that.

I am reminded of this little interlude because at my current housesit near Dolores Park I hear the J-Church rumble by several times a day. I find it oddly pleasant, but then there’s just enough distance for it not to be intrusive. There is an interesting distance from just about everything in this house, save the wind, as it is one of those tall Victorians built high on a man-made hill so that it’s above most everything around it. There is, of course, a sweeping city view, but what makes even more of an impression on me is the abundant light that washes in since there are no buildings to block it. It makes me very happy. But views and light don’t come without effort, if you know what I mean: stairs are involved. Stairs to climb the hill, and stairs to reach this, the second of the two flats in the house. Sixty-five stairs, to be precise, because of course I counted. If you go out just twice in a day, you’re going down and up 260 stairs. Just an observation.

It doesn’t deter me from going out, though, the thought of climbing back up [see Sleep(less) Walking]; what does, sometimes, deter me from going out is the out part. As in the world out there. I have been out once today, to test-walk the dog at my next housesit (all well there, thanks) and had plans for further outness until.... until.... I don’t know. I was home for a while, watering the garden and having lunch and a phone call or two, and then all those reasons to go out just sort of drifted off with the clouds. It happens. Sometimes that’s a good thing, meaning I am perfectly content in my own company and desire nothing more. Often those times occur immediately following a couple of busy days filled with fun and people or just plain busyness. But the other option, the less-good option (if one were to impose judgment) is that I might be moody or anxious and the world is too full of sound and motion for me to bear. Which is it today? I'm not entirely sure myself – infer what you will.

So, by the way: magic and manifestation? So very adept with some applications, so very inept with others.

The Walk: 4.1 miles + stairs (twice: once to go walk the dog and once, just now, to double-check that I'd counted right the first time)

Recent Manifestations: Six housesits beginning late March and going through August – so far – with remarkably little in the way of gaps.