Wonder if I'll ever send postcards again?

They were marvelous things weren't they, postcards? You could sit on the deck of the Mauritania headed for London from New York, like my dad used to in the 50's, and scribble whatever was on your mind-which was probably elegant cocktails with pagan-headed swizzle sticks, while you puffed away on a cigarette from an azure tin of BOAC/VC10 promo specials and flicked silken ash to the deck (the wind always took care of it). They say travel used to be something of a glamorous adventure, you talked about it in glowing terms for years to come-Oh well...

SF from a rear view mirror

Sometimes it's a kick just to look back at the city from afar.

Or through a puddle.

With the Warming Hut behind me and Fort Point tucked under the bridge on its frigid outpost - it's easy to imagine when this was a breezy runway. Instead of now, with vendors dishing up organic hot dogs - there were dare-devil pilots, hand cranking gleaming props on amazing aircraft, made of wood and wire, then fearlessly flying off on a wing and a prayer. Look long enough and you might see a shadow of one in the puddle.

Quick fix for February

There's not a cloud in the sky. Rain? Are you Kidding!

Don't you love it - being a home owner in the midst of an unusually wet season?

So I'm lying back across my Pilates ball and staring at the ceiling as I stretch out my vertibs... when I catch wind of a hairline crack in the plaster. Crap. Now I'm focusing on a damp blob in the same vicinity too. This is definitely not good. Old plaster is not a forgiving friend. My immediate solution is not to look up anymore.

Amazing how much pain that small trick can save you.

More on the aftermath of rain in the Bay

Man. Do you know what blows me away? - It's how rain affects your pomegranates! They suck up a drink and literally bust a gut. Is that meant to happen - seed dispersal and all that stuff? OK I do suffer from having a non-commercial variety - you might even call it ...dwarf, if that's P.C.

Rainy Season over yet?

What is it about freeway on ramps that mushrooms love so much?
I've walked around woody areas all day and found nary a lousy couple of beaten up fungi - but sidle up to some freeway weed-retarded wood chips, scattered willy-nilly, you can barely take a step without treading on a whole nation of the things. Must be all those spores from discarded fast food cartons. My favorite spot is near Trader Joes on Bryant Street. A week of rain and sooner or later I'll be there, poking around the fungi dudes, arching their backs to the passing breeze of Chevy and Toyota.