Clarities

With our temperatures dipping to freezing and below, our houses are uncomfortably cold, as we have no effective heating systems and the buildings are old and drafty. It is a time of sick kids. The rapid weather shift catches them at their most vulnerable. At least one of mine has been sick every day for weeks now.

Yesterday, however, was the first day in a long, long time (months) that I was alone and had absolutely no obligations until evening. So I walked, covering a mile or so of the Mission District. It's been sunny, which makes it feel even colder than it is. The planet is tilted at its most radical angle toward the sun. The sun's rays slant toward us from such a low arc that the days are short and the nights are long.

The earth never has a chance to warm up. People walked about, some bundled up against the chill; others seemingly oblivious. Every tree and building stood out in magnificent detail. With my new camera in tow, I was tempted to shoot houses and buildings, but for the most part I stuck to my normal Sidewalk Images .



The Buddhist monks were out in their robes by their magnificent temple on 22nd Street. The evangelistas were grouped in clusters of nicely dressed men and women on 20th Street, including cute little boys in dark suits with ties, and girls in white dresses. I imagine they were promoting the big Evento Cristiano that I see advertized around the neighborhood.

But most people around here don't really seem all that interested in being proselytized to. I waver from hating the sight of these groups to yesterday's mood, which was more tolerant. I caught one Mexican woman's eye and she smiled at me. I smiled back, nodding toward two boys, maybe ten years old, with buckteeth, neatly combed hair, and pinstriped suits.

I encountered neighborhood people I know, the carpenter next door, the student two doors down, the sweet little Arab man with Down's, the guy from further down Hampshire who used to live next door, one of the guys pushing an ice cream wagon noisily through town. A little further I saw another cluster of evangelistas circled around a wizened old Salvadoran man, with his ice cream truck. They weren't buying Pushups or Creamsicles, I noticed, as I lingered for a moment. They were listening as he recounted how he had already been "saved" back home.

I wonder how many evangelists it takes to convert one heathen?

I didn't photograph any of the litter, but the sidewalks were replete with evidence of the local addiction to lottery tickets. So many are in Spanish! All are brightly colored and shiny. (Note to self: I should collect them and make a gallery of lottery tickets.)

In San Francisco, every corner market sells not only wine and beer but also hard liquor. They sell cigarettes, sometimes via illegal channels that get around the high state taxes. Periodically, the authorities crack down on this practice and shutter the stores for a while -- a warning to every Mom and Pop in the city.

After a while, the cigarette brokers slither back into the alleys and deliver their merchandise. It's a cash crop. The Franchise Tax Board is left out of the exchange. You can sense a black market transaction intuitively when you walk into a store. The cigarettes come in plain boxes, and the storeowners unload them quickly. The cardboard boxes are then broken down and bundled for recycling. But rather than leave them in front of the store, as is the usual practice, the shopkeeper takes them down the block, to a neutral drop place.

This neighborhood suits me. When my mail came, late in the day, it was all junk, so I tossed it straight into the blue recycling container -- it never even made it inside my door. The football games on TV involved the usual subjects; but the pleasantly surprising UCLA upset of USC raised the possibility anew of a rematch between Michigan and Ohio State for the national championship game on January 8, four days after I return from Japan.

Last night and this morning consist of "special time" with my daughter, who is coughing and has a sore throat. Twenty minutes after swallowing kid's Motrin, that tasty orange drink, she is perking up, drawing monkeys and puppies and coloring them for me. Soon, we will shop.

It's the quiet stuff, the little stuff of daily life, nothing at all exotic or overly stimulating, but it suits me just fine just now. With no conflicts about how to spend my time, I live easily and peacefully. My trusty car rests, knowing as I do that soon enough, we both will have to spring back into action.

But not just yet...

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