high on a hill it calls to me
I guess if I'm going to talk about our epic California trip I should start at the beginning. But I'd rather start with San Francisco, where it ended. People say they leave their heart in San Francisco. Well, I just wanted my heart out of it when I arrived.
This was our view when we walked into our sea view suite at the Seal Rock Inn.
It's amazing, this view. That's the ocean. We don't have one of those in Kyle, Texas. It's just majestic, that's all.
The room, however, looked like the last people who stayed here were the Monkees. Most times I would have found that funny. But I was so very tired. We had dropped off the rental car after a long drive, and walked the 2 miles back to the hotel.
"I don't want to be here," I said, looking at the amazing view. "I want to be home. I want my dog."
For several minutes Steve tries to reason with a tired person. Our room comes with an accordion wall divider. I take a shower in the bath, lit up by a red heat lamp on a timer, then throw myself on our bed. The kids are watching Seinfeld while laying on their daybeds with naugahyde cushions. It all feels very Grey Gardens.
There is movement. The divider is closing.
"No!" I say. I go to try to open it. But strong hands on the other side won't allow it.
"You can't come in. This is the VIP lounge," says Ben. Syd is laughing hard; we are all so punchy. Time passes. Maybe all night. I dream of gargoyles on the Hearst castle. I know I am praying in my sleep. We have walked through a lot of hard sights to get to our amazing view, a long way from the Enterprise rental drop-off.
But first, we stop on the way to have Thai food, served to us by some very lovely people. We all watch the news on the TV screen together when the news about Otto Warmbier in North Korea appears on the screen. I just want to cry. I can't. A little girl in the small restaurant is asking her dad what it is about and as he speaks it sounds horrible, someone trying to explain this.
Maybe this is what has set me off on a path of despair. In the morning, I am okay. Steve brings me coffee he's made in our little pot and they have given us real coffee cups. We look at the amazing view over our tiny coffee cups. We go downstairs to the Seal Rock Inn restaurant - kind of like a Denny's with the best view ever. Joy is watching teenage boys devour sourdough French toast smothered in syrup and butter, with sides of eggs and bacon and hash browns. Then they eat my toast and hash browns.
I have been praying I would love this city. We leave it 48 hours later, after lots of Ubers and museums and coffee and Japanese food and Chinatown massages and winding, windy Golden Gate bridge walks. We are leaving behind some great times with some amazing family and friends.
The final morning we are waiting for an Uber, after we check out of the inn, perched on a steep corner with our suitcases. Syd has lost one of his gold sun-face earring studs that he bought on the trip. I decide to run back into the restaurant and ask the waitress if I can check the floor around the table for the earring. She looks, then asks another waiter about it, and then the people sitting at the table we were at are on their knees looking. I want to cry. We are all just the same, in some ways.
The evening before, we are dropped off by our family under the dark night sky at the hotel. "Look mom, look at that guy," says Syd with a big smile on his face. I turn to look down the hill. It's a streaker, running towards the water. As we go up in the wall-carpeted elevator to our room, Syd says, "I think that was a gift from God." What, I say. "The streaker."
Huh. All I know, really, is that I love San Francisco and I'm pretty sure it's for the same reason Francis Chan loves San Francisco. Because when you are distraught in your soul and ask for help, from God, you are going to get love. The dark illuminates the light. Like a firework!
So guess what? I really did leave part of my heart there. I think it's in the Swedish section of music at Amoeba records.
Or maybe I left my heart in the Mission district, just a stone's throw from my brother-in-law's place. In my defense, mom, I didn't notice the tiger had an all-seeing eye in it's forehead. I just saw the fangs and thought, not today, Satan.
This was our view when we walked into our sea view suite at the Seal Rock Inn.
The room, however, looked like the last people who stayed here were the Monkees. Most times I would have found that funny. But I was so very tired. We had dropped off the rental car after a long drive, and walked the 2 miles back to the hotel.
"I don't want to be here," I said, looking at the amazing view. "I want to be home. I want my dog."
For several minutes Steve tries to reason with a tired person. Our room comes with an accordion wall divider. I take a shower in the bath, lit up by a red heat lamp on a timer, then throw myself on our bed. The kids are watching Seinfeld while laying on their daybeds with naugahyde cushions. It all feels very Grey Gardens.
There is movement. The divider is closing.
"No!" I say. I go to try to open it. But strong hands on the other side won't allow it.
"You can't come in. This is the VIP lounge," says Ben. Syd is laughing hard; we are all so punchy. Time passes. Maybe all night. I dream of gargoyles on the Hearst castle. I know I am praying in my sleep. We have walked through a lot of hard sights to get to our amazing view, a long way from the Enterprise rental drop-off.
But first, we stop on the way to have Thai food, served to us by some very lovely people. We all watch the news on the TV screen together when the news about Otto Warmbier in North Korea appears on the screen. I just want to cry. I can't. A little girl in the small restaurant is asking her dad what it is about and as he speaks it sounds horrible, someone trying to explain this.
Maybe this is what has set me off on a path of despair. In the morning, I am okay. Steve brings me coffee he's made in our little pot and they have given us real coffee cups. We look at the amazing view over our tiny coffee cups. We go downstairs to the Seal Rock Inn restaurant - kind of like a Denny's with the best view ever. Joy is watching teenage boys devour sourdough French toast smothered in syrup and butter, with sides of eggs and bacon and hash browns. Then they eat my toast and hash browns.
I have been praying I would love this city. We leave it 48 hours later, after lots of Ubers and museums and coffee and Japanese food and Chinatown massages and winding, windy Golden Gate bridge walks. We are leaving behind some great times with some amazing family and friends.
The final morning we are waiting for an Uber, after we check out of the inn, perched on a steep corner with our suitcases. Syd has lost one of his gold sun-face earring studs that he bought on the trip. I decide to run back into the restaurant and ask the waitress if I can check the floor around the table for the earring. She looks, then asks another waiter about it, and then the people sitting at the table we were at are on their knees looking. I want to cry. We are all just the same, in some ways.
The evening before, we are dropped off by our family under the dark night sky at the hotel. "Look mom, look at that guy," says Syd with a big smile on his face. I turn to look down the hill. It's a streaker, running towards the water. As we go up in the wall-carpeted elevator to our room, Syd says, "I think that was a gift from God." What, I say. "The streaker."
Huh. All I know, really, is that I love San Francisco and I'm pretty sure it's for the same reason Francis Chan loves San Francisco. Because when you are distraught in your soul and ask for help, from God, you are going to get love. The dark illuminates the light. Like a firework!
So guess what? I really did leave part of my heart there. I think it's in the Swedish section of music at Amoeba records.
It may be time for Steve and I to form a Swedish band. Name?
