Summertime in San Francisco means alternating cold, foggy, depressing days and oppressively hot days in unpredictable sequences. That said, anywhere else on this continent, people could be forgiven for laughing at my description.
The truth is once you get acclimated to this Mediterranean climate, your tolerance for any weather that deviates a few degrees either way from, say, 65 F, is limited.
The kids are getting used to their new freedom from school and homework. Sometimes, a little too used to the freedom. The boys were supposed to come back here, hopefully by midnight or so; if later, as is our custom, I had taxi money waiting.
I go to sleep well before midnight every night.
But something nagged at me and I woke up at 2:30. They weren't here. That set off a long series of phone calls and texts until I determined they were safely elsewhere and simply had neglected at telling good old Dad of their change in plans.
Nevertheless, precious little sleep came after that and when it did, so did the nightmares.
Not to use that as an excuse but tonight after dropping two of them off at their Mom's, I was stopped by police for running a stop sign. The strange thing about this is for days now, maybe weeks, I have been purposely driving very, very carefully, observing every rule.
I think it is in reaction to knowing that my 18-year-old will soon be able to drive alone, and my 17-year-old will have his learner's permit. Somehow I figure if I do the best job possible, maybe they will too.
Actually, the situation tonight was ambiguous. I believe I did come to a full stop, but failed to yield to a car that had preceded me stopping at the intersection. Since he was to my right, he had the right of way.
Somehow I didn't notice him until I proceeded. Behind him was a police car, its view partially obscured. It pulled around the corner, sirens and lights flashing, and I pulled over.
One way or another, under their theory or mine, I broke a traffic law. I'm mad at myself, and wish I didn't have to drive so often. As the cop told me, "Even the best drivers make mistakes." He seemed almost apologetic ticketing me.
I also wish I wasn't so tired when this happened. He asked me how old I am and what my telephone number was. I don't recall that ever happening before on the half dozen or so occasions I've been pulled over in the past.
Is this what is now done to older drivers? Perhaps to see whether we still have enough of our marbles to drive?
I'm not
that old yet. Though on a day like this one, I confess to feeling well over the hill. :(
