It's nice to have the luxury of rolling out of bed at 9:30, having a coffee, chatting with the neighbors, and going to my neighborhood grocery market. I have lots of memories there -- of shopping with my girlfriends and my kids. I know most of the checkers and swap small talk with them.
It's a Sunday and I don't have to be in any kind of hurry.
Yesterday at brunch the boys were remembering their trips to Mexico, where they ate lots of Bimbo donuts. Today I bought them four glazed donuts from Safeway.
Plus many healthier things -- raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, bananas, apples, green grapes, onions, potatoes, ground turkey, bubbly water, lemonade, orange juice, milk, on and on.
I also found myself -- somewhat surprisingly -- indulging some of my own tastes -- dried bananas, liverwurst, granola, roasted peanuts...
I say that because when I go shopping I am usually focused on the kids first and foremost. But I now realize that pretty soon it will only be Dylan here (for the fall) and my trips can be short, sweet and cheap, because he is a fairly picky eater.
But maybe in that vacuum I will begin to indulge myself a bit more than usual. Actually, one thing I regret today is that I did not pick up a great big carton of caramel and vanilla ice cream!
Anyone my age or thereabouts knows that we have good days and bad days. Days when everything in our bodies hurts and when we wonder how we are going to survive the day.
Other days, far more rare, we wake up and feel decades younger, excited at the prospect of doing things we used to do, or at least fantasizing about doing so.
One of my youngest staffers, she's 26 I think, told me this week that I look "full of life." That was such a nice complement.
When I think back to the origins of this blog, so many years and experiences ago, I find it remarkable that I am still writing. Then again, this is my only outlet. I no longer blog at work -- I supervise the bloggers.
And I have always needed some place to express what I am thinking and feeling. Life would be immeasurably more lonely than it already is without that outlet. I kept journals for years, but stopped doing that around when this blog launched.
In recent years this blog has revolved around stories of my kids and grandkids, which is good. But at some point I will have to begin again to write about me.
I imagine that Dylan will continue to come here on Sunday, Tuesday and Friday nights, as has been the custom since I moved here in the summer of 2003. That is 12 years. As I am under rent control, I do not think even my evil landlady could evict me without paying me a substantial amount of money, but if anyone could pull that off, I am sure it would be her.
My life is like a Bob Dylan song, "Dear Landlord."
I worry a lot about scenarios leaving me homeless, but maybe I should allow myself to be more free. More fearless.
Maybe I should indulge myself more often.
Shopping with the two girlfriends who liked to cook was such fun. One was Chinese, one was Japanese. They selected different foods from those I would have selected. They sliced and diced the vegetables, they sauteed them.
They used little pieces of meats or fish. They added herbs and seasonings.
Everything was fresh and colorful and exotic. Shopping and cooking was fun. I would put music on here (my CD player is long since broken) and we would dance around my apartment.
I guess the one good thing about divorce, if you are open to it, is the opportunity to connect with new people.
But for years now I have lived alone and I suppose that will be the case until I am no longer able to take care of myself.
Speaking of fantasies, I used to love to go to the beach. The boys were talking about going with friends to Fort Funston, their favorite place in San Francisco, today or tomorrow. Maybe our fantasies live on through our kids.
I recall some years back, after my last breakup, I went out to baker Beach one day. I walked around a bit, sat on a towel a bit, and gazed at the gentle ocean waves.
The whole experience made me feel so lonely that I have never gone back. I realized in that instant what was missing -- a partner.
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