More petals have fallen since the previous shot was taken.
I’ll find another flower to take its place. I enjoyed having something floral on the rain drum as I headed up to the next level.
More petals have fallen since the previous shot was taken.
I’ll find another flower to take its place. I enjoyed having something floral on the rain drum as I headed up to the next level.
Last night as we were eating dinner (grilled lamb chops, stir-fried Chinese beans, and small red potatoes, cut and sautéed in olive oil with garlic and rosemary), I’d get up and walk to the windows occasionally. I was waiting for the full moon over the Bay Bridge – a photo op that comes once every twenty-eight days. If that.
At 8:50P there was still no sign of the moon. How can that be? Where is the moon? We finished dinner and moved to our chairs where we sat, finishing our glasses of wine.
A little after nine the moon finally appeared, rising orange behind the bridge. Then yellow. Then white, as it rose in the sky.
All Rayleigh, his nibs said.
When the younger guys were much younger, the loss of a helium balloon wasn’t an occasion for tears.
When your balloon slips your grasp, don’t cry. Make a wish.
Make a wish and watch the balloon as it slips up into the sky carrying your wish with it until (keep watching!) it is (keep watching!) so high it disappears from view.
The next time something slips from my grasp, I’ll try to remember to make a wish.
His nibs was at the Academy of Sciences annual meeting for docents and other such yesterday and brought home some flowers: a gathering of small daisy-ish flowers and a gaggle of alstroemeria as well as a twosome of yellow ranunculus (?). I put the Peruvian lilies and daisy-ish flowers in a vase downstairs and brought the yellow flowers up to the landing on the second floor. Cheery as I go back and forth during the day.
The sky turns blue (Thank you, Rayleigh!) as the sun goes down behind us.
A pilot boat cruises in.
The bay, the hills, the shadows take on a blue-ish tinge as the sun sets and the City wraps itself in twilight.
At the get-together on Sunday we were trying to describe the Crinan Hotel and why it was a place we’d stay again in a flash if we had the time and the wherewithal and the time and the time and the time.
Why? Well, because walking along the canal and up into the hills is a dream and because the beds are soft and breakfast and dinner are included. The food is delish. The staff is invisible. The days are glorious whether they’re sunny or not.
And then there’s the view out your window across Loch Crinan:
A picture’s worth a thousand words.
Joseph Schmidt, a local purveyor of fine chocolates, now a subsidiary of Hershey’s, will close as of June 30. Their chocolates are now on sale (3489 16th St.) as they skid toward the end of the month, although you wouldn’t be able to tell from their Web site.
Old friends brought a “spring” box collection as a hostess gift when they came for dinner a few weeks back. The box is beautiful. The chocolates ymmm.
Adieu, JS. Another San Francisco tradition signs off.
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