As Far West as I can Go

11/7/09

How quickly the sound of waves can heal. I'm at the Marina, way out by the yacht club. The bay is inexplicably rough today--- blue sky, no fog-- light steady breeze. The Golden Gate Bridge- firm and strong.
I woke up comparably early this Saturday- as the 4 Brits I let crash at my place slept off their hangovers. Not my favorite couch surfers so far.
I couldn't study in the library. It felt too empty, even when people started streaming in.-- I couldn't sleep there either. -- So I left, to wander, 49 bus down Van Ness to Union.
I couldn't enjoy the boutiques & cafes- empty with vanity. Another day I might have thought it quaint or hip or local and classy. Today- even organic dog treats and upscale fair trade kids clothes seemed predictable and tired--- rather than laughably absurd.
I just want to swim with the sea lions, pop up and bark and honk and be found endearing, and then cloak myself in the dense damp deafness of the bay.
The waves just got bigger. The timing synced to maximize the power, revving up and charging the steep beach- colliding with the sea wall, foaming at my feet, naked in their Chacos.
On the way here, in front of an apparently forgettable, but no doubt cleverly named boutique, a well made-up middle aged Asian woman was trying to wash off the dog poop smeared across the the sidewalk.... by spraying Windex on it. She stood a few feet away, half bent, spraying vigorously. Her immigrant forbearers should be proud. Their progeny is truly a San Franciscan... in the most stereotypical way.
There is a boy, maybe 6 years old, only 20 feet down the cobble stone wall from me. He is cleanly kept- missing two teeth- and squirming excitedly- watching the waves. His sister keeps talking to him, trying to get him to play, but he cannot be bothered. Each wave is some kind of adventure. If my Spanish were better and the waves not so loud, I could tell you what he is saying, but it doesn't really matter. He is enthusiastic about the waves and their power.. and the more he watches, the more he is learning... In 40 years, he will use a hose to wash down his sidewalk.. or a bucket of soapy water- a wave of cleaning power. He too is a San Franciscan... although possibly most overlooked.
The sun is starting to set over the Presidio. Autumn shadows stretching into an early night. I miss the desert, but I can make this home. This is a beautiful place to call home.

-Pete