Day 5

The following morning, we slept in a bit, but it wasn't long before we were in the car and headed back to the city.




We parked on Sansome St. and walked down to where it meets Filbert.




It is there that you will find the quietly celebrated "Filbert Steps". There are 600 in all and they lead to the top of Telegraph Hill.

These are only the beginning:
































































(Thanks to some unknown person on Flickr for the above photo.)

It was quite beautiful, walking up a steep hillside, flanked by gorgeous, historic homes and well tended gardens. Apparently, a flock of wild parrots haunts the area, but we neither heard nor saw them.

It didn't take us too long to scale the hill and emerge from the foliage to behold Coit Tower.

However, what I found most intriguing about the entire attraction was this restroom:

That section with the triangle on it is a door that slides open automatically. Once that happens, you are welcomed into a roomy cubicle where you can relieve yourself in peace.

(Okay, I wasn't really as excited about it as I appear in this photo, although I was glad to see it after ascending all those steps.)

But wait! There's more!

This restroom comes equipped with...




...a fun mirror, apparently so you can entertain yourself if your business is slow in transacting.

If, once inside, you are confused as to how to proceed with your endeavor, you can press a button for instructions on how to use such an unusual restroom and a soothing female voice will begin to talk to you. Unfortunately, her speech was very muffled, so soothing or not, it wasn't particularly informative.


There is no flushing handle because this is a restroom of the future. 

You see, it's self cleaning, so every time someone leaves, the door slides shut and the entire inside gets a wash down--even the floor.

As nice as this all might sound, the whole process was very slow. Each time someone came out, it was likely to be another three minutes before the cleaning was done and another person could enter. In fact, there was a line shortly after we got there, but the people in it quickly grew impatient and decided that they could wait because none of them stuck around long.



Meanwhile, Tobias was entertaining some young, pretty girls. He struck a pose as a gargoyle (that's what he wants to be when he grows up, by the way) as they were walking past. One began to giggle and took multiple photos of him with her high-end camera.


The boy just hates attention.











Next we were off to Lombard Street--the renowned most crooked street in the world.

 (My pics didn't turn out very well, so I got the above shot from Wikipedia.)

A couple of years ago, Tobias went on a youth mission to care for the homeless. They spent some time in San Francisco where they discovered a restaurant in Chinatown that Tobias has been talking about ever since. He raved about their flounder. If someone can cook fish in such a manner that Tobias wants to eat it, then I've got to go there. Thus, our next stop was at the...

Say it with me: the New Woey Loy Goey. (Great name, eh?)

PF Chang's, this is not. In fact, it's sort of like the Mel's Diner of the Far East.

There were several of these placards on the wall above the counter:

I figured they were menus because of the prices under each column. Wouldn't it be a great dare-game to commit to eating whatever you pointed at? That could get ugly.

We ordered several dishes, which were very nicely priced, by the way.

I only saw one flounder dish, so I asked Tobias if he was sure the fish he'd liked was flounder and he assured me that it was. Thus, we ordered the "pan fried flounder".



When it arrived, Tobias reluctantly declared, "Oooohhh...ummm...

"...that's not it."

Yeah, I certainly wouldn't expect a whole, headed, finned fish to be my son's idea of tastiness. Or my idea of tastiness.

Yes, we ate it, though there were several innards which we passed on. Here's proof:

Here's our bill.




Well, there's no arguing with that!















Soon we were off in search of the MOMA.

--a short time later--

What's wrong with these two people?

They're suffering from a major case of driving-in-San-Francisco. (Okay, so Jeff is the only one who actually drove, but I was his faithful navigator with map in hand, barking out, "Turn left here!" only to be told, "I can't turn left here!" over and over and over again.)

If you've ever suffered from this malady, you know exactly what I'm talking about. All of the traffic, all of the clueless pedestrians, all of the one-way streets, all of the hills. (Did I mention our car has a stick shift?!?!?)

 It's madness, I'm telling you. Madness!

 One consolation is seeing all of the old restored houses:

We finally reached the MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) and were faced with a different kind of madness--it's called...

...modern art.





This was one of my favorites:

 Here's Delaney in front of yet another example of prime aesthetics:

 All sarcasm aside, there were some pretty cool pieces, too. Check out this one which incorporated its viewers into itself:



Yep, that's Jeff and Delaney.

Or how do you like this one?

 

 
It looked like a crumpled piece of paper until you got up close to it. Clever...


Right around 5:30, we were all arted out and ready to leave the bay city altogether, so we did.


*a dumb side note* When I was in college, I fulfilled my earth science requirement by taking a class called "Earthquake Country" (no, seriously and yes, I did graduate from a reputable university.) The only things I remember from the class were 1-There are four types of seismic waves, one of which is referred to as a love wave and 2-We watched a movie entitled "San Francisco--the City that Waits to Die". No joke. Great for tourism.)

Day 6

Today, we drove home.

 The End

My Lenten Epiphany

It's only in the past few years that I've become aware of Lent. Not having grown up in a religious household, I knew nothing of it as a child. Though I became a Christian at age 12, I have been involved in a denomination which never references the season, at least not that I can recall.

I enjoy hearing what people partaking in Lent decide to give up and why. However, though I've considered it many times, I've never taken part in it myself.

My reason?

Pride.

This is in no way a pronouncement on others who do observe Lent, but I've just known for myself that if I succeeded in the 40 days of abstinence from *fill in the blank* that I would feel... 

...quite proud of myself.

Um, who does that sound like?

Hmmmm...could it be... 

...Satan?

Where's the spiritual value in feeling like Lucifer right before he was cast out of God's presence?

Happily, today I had a Lenten epiphany that has given me a new and valuable perspective. It was spawned by the words of a pastor. He said something to the effect of: "It is good to exercise the 'say-no-to-self' muscle because sometimes it is very important to say no to yourself."

Hmmm...yeah. Lives are regularly ruined when people don't choose to say no to themselves.

Several times a week, I jog, but not because I enjoy it. In fact, I can honestly say (in a very whiny voice) that I don't enjoy it. Sure, there is a small sense of pride when I'm finished with the three miles of bad attitude, but that's not my motivation. Rather, I know it's important to exercise all the muscles involved in the somewhat distasteful process so that they continue to function well. I want to be healthy physically. So, too, do I want to be healthy spiritually.

Remember this guy?

He was the captain of the spaceship in the movie, WALL-E. He was piloting an entire city-sized-craft of people who thought they never had to say no to themselves.

Maybe it's a bit silly of me to reference a fictional work to prove a realistic point, but I thought the movie-makers did an excellent job of showing us in an amusing manner where people who have no sense of self-denial can end up: planet-less, weighing 500 pounds and having lost the ability to walk across a room.


I do believe that I could now observe the season of prohibition for a right reason (and not feel like the Father of Lies afterward).

Will I? And if so, in what manner will I deny myself?

I'll get back to you on that...

;)

Jeet Yet?

I'm up to my earlobes in planning this year's surprise family vacation.

However, don't get too excited (I love how so many people eagerly question us about our trips because they all want in on the big reveal). It's going to be a lesser affair this time around. Additionally, Jeff knows where we'll be staying for one night of the 6 day venture, so he's not completely in the dark like he usually is. The kids, however, are completely clueless.

(By the way, Jeff likes being surprised about the details--everything from where we're going, how we'll get there, who we'll see and what we'll eat. It was his initial casual remark of "surprise me" years ago when I was planning our first official family vacation that started this whole clandestine tradition. What I'm trying to say is that I don't do this because I'm some control freak. My control issues are completely separate from this annual occurrence. ;) )

As I was saying...we're doing a scaled-down version this time around, so when you come here to read about it later on, don't cue your internal drum roll as you click on my blog. Your internal kazoo might be more appropriate.

One of the reasons for a diminished venture is because we think it's time to tour some colleges with the kids. Tobias is a junior this year and Delaney's right behind him in 8th grade. It won't be long at all before they consider where they'll go to school and they can't do that very effectively without being familiar with some universities.

Another reason is that Jeff couldn't get any time off of work in the summer and most of the places we like to go are frozen over until mid-June. (We're a woodsy-lakey-mountainy-kind-of-family.)

Anyway, several people have asked me questions about trip planning and I thought I'd share a few tips. That brings me back to my original question...

Jeet yet?

If yes, were you pleased? If not, is that because you weren't sure where to go to do so? Well, let Trip Advisor help you!

When planning a trip, Trip Advisor is probably my favorite website.

Let's say I know we're going to be rolling through Port Angeles, Washington right around lunch time on day 3 of our trip. I know we're likely to be very hungry because we will have had a cheapo continental breakfast four hours earlier and will have spent the morning hiking around Hurricane Ridge up in the Olympic National Forrest (I wish!). So, I cruise over to TripAdvisor and type "Port Angeles, WA" in the search bar at the top right.

Next, I choose 'restaurants' from the column on the left.

I know that we'll have a long drive to Portland ahead of us after lunch and we probably won't want anything too heavy sitting in our guts the entire way, so I'm thinking Thai food. (Hmmm...when am I not thinking Thai food?) Therefore, I scroll down in the 'cuisine' box until I see 'Thai' and check the box next to it. If you're going to be in a big city, you'll get a list of several Thai restaurants in order of best reviewed to worst reviewed (or not yet reviewed). In the case of Port Angeles, there's apparently only one Thai place.

Click on the restaurant's name and scroll down to read the reviews of customers. Wow, apparently, Sabai Thai is really good. Yay for Port Angelesians.

I like to read several reviews to get a feel for the place. Sometimes people will mention a specific dish that's especially good or they'll warn you that it's a cash only place (which I've learned is important to know!).

If I'm sold on the place, then I'll Google-map from Hurricane Ridge to Sabai Thai so we can easily find it. 

Obviously, you may suddenly feel like eating pizza instead of the Thai food you planned a month prior. Then change things up! I do find it helps things run more smoothly if I plan things out but we don't always stick to it.

Ruing the Day

A couple of years ago, I happened upon a very entertaining blog by a woman who lives somewhere out there in Cyberville. Her posts were witty and full of great photos which she had taken herself. It was good stuff. Additionally, I was impressed by her honesty and straightforwardness. I became a regular reader.


After a while, I began to wonder if she was sharing too much. What she had to say about other people often painted them in a bad light. Of course, I didn't know these people (though I saw what they looked like from her prodigious supply of pics), but lots of people who read her blog did know these people. Her life wasn't a sit-com or a drama where we could all watch and feel fine about our intense feelings for the different "characters". These were real people who didn't have an effective way of answering for themselves if they felt misrepresented.


Anyway, one day I was greatly saddened to read a post in which she referred to her teenage son as an ***hole and a ****head. Now, I don't for one instant doubt that those were the words that popped into her mind when he committed whatever nefarious act upset her so much and I'm not saying there's never a time for her to share that sentiment with a couple of close friends, but to declare it on her public blog?!?!

I am a huge believer in acknowledging reality. I find it vital to think about and discuss many issues even if they are uncomfortable or distasteful.

Not, however, in any situation nor in any manner.

There are times when the recognition of subjects is inappropriate. For example, if doing so will result in an unnecessary burden for the hearer, then what is the point? Also, we need to consider who ought to hear the things we say since it can be very destructive to involve others needlessly.

This notion greatly influences what I write about here. I realize that readers who don't know me well may come here and get the idea that I live a nearly perfect life without trial nor tribulation. That is not at all the perception that I want to give. However, due to the completely public nature of this blog (anyone with internet access can come here, though not many actually do!) I don't lay out all my issues for others to see.

Why?

It's primarily because most of my problems have to do with people and I don't deem it appropriate to fill your computer screen with my own one-sided dirt.

Take my children, for instance. They are wonderful and I love them more than life itself. However, my relationships with them are regularly upsetting. I'm not denying that reality by not including details of these trials here for you all to see. In fact, I often would like to type up some situation because I think it could be helpful to other parents to read about my experiences. Yet, I am very cautious in doing so.

The reason: I value my relationships with my kids and I don't want to jeopardize them. Whenever I include something about my kids (or my husband) here and I wonder if it will embarrass or offend them, I ask them to read it over before I hit the 'publish' button. I ask them, "Do you mind if I share this? Do you feel I represented you fairly?"

Then, according to their answer, I may or may not alter the post.

Again, the issue isn't: "Is what I'm sharing true?" but rather: "Is my sharing of this appropriate?"

Once my kids are grown and off enjoying their own adventures in parenting, I may very well write a book about our previous years together full of lots of amusing and/or distressing illustrations. Now, however, we are still in the midst of it and I don't deem it proper to do so.

Once you have declared something, you can't undeclare it. You can deny it. You can apologize for it. You can even claim temporary insanity...

...but it'll still be stuck in the minds of everyone who heard or read your original proclamation.

A few years back, someone I love very much appeared to be making (what I considered to be) a huge mistake. In my intense desire to keep "Pat" (do you like how I'm using a unisex name to help maintain this person's anonymity?) from making this beyond-a-minor-blunder, I decided to be honest...ferociously honest.

I explained what I saw as a likely outcome on the road Pat was treading. To add credence to the reasonableness of my opinion, I included references to some of Pat's past blunders and present foibles.

It was not a pleasant conversation. It was not a conversation that I wanted to have. I looked and sounded like a first class witch and I knew it.

The only reason why I was willing to say what I said was because I sincerely love Pat and thought that my ruthless onslaught of reality could save him/her from an even more intense heartache than what I was presently inflicting.

Well, my friends, I regret a lot about that situation. Sadly, I believe that I will until my dying day.

Yes, what I said to Pat was true and my intentions were excellent, but those aren't inherently good reasons for saying just anything.

Thank God it was a private conversation. Publicity would have exponentially compounded the problems resulting from my savage dose of honesty.

Now, with all this said, I acknowledge that there is most definitely a time and a place for us to go to war verbally in both private and public settings. We just need to make sure it's the correct time before doing so...

...or there will be regrets.

How to Throw a "Miraculous" Party

Step 1: Have a baby.

Step 2: Wait many years until the baby morphs into a hairy teen with his own unique sense of style.

(This particular former-baby has declared Wednesday "suit day", so each week he dons his top hat, attaches his authentic pocket watch (no, seriously) to one of his thrift-store-purchased jackets and carries his brief case off to school with him.)

Step 3: When the (in our case) Abe Lincoln lookalike is about to turn 17, go here and get a hold of some of these:





(In case you aren't familiar with these, they are comprised of two ingredients: miracle berries and corn starch. Indigenous to West Africa, miracle berries, once eaten, have a surprising ability to affect one's taste buds in such a way that sour things suddenly taste sweet.)

Step 4: Invite your former-baby's friends over to celebrate his beginning of another year and to bewilder their taste buds.

Step 5: Prepare a tray of consumables.

WARNING: The following step is absolutely VITAL.

Step 6: To avoid confusion (and a possible police investigation), as party goers arrive, pull their parents aside. Explain to them what miracle berries are so that they'll understand when their child later tells them that you handed out pills with the promise of a really far out time.

Step7: Gather around the table and pass out the tablets.

Step 7: Pop them pills. Let them dissolve slowly, trying to contact as many of your taste buds as possible.























Some people won't like the taste of the tablets.

           And others will.















Step 8: Once the tablets have dissolved, dig in.

Enjoy some lemon, rind and all, now as sweet as candy.



Taste the sweetest blueberries you've ever had burst in your mouth.


















Sample the dill pickle slivers, but ONLY if you're a sweet pickle appreciator (which I am not).



Step 9: Once the bounty of the sample tray is spent, fling open your fridge and kitchen cupboards, searching for other edibles that might prove interesting.

Drink mouthfuls of apple cider vinegar like it's punch. Try a little dot of honey, sweet enough to make a whole hive of bees jealous. Sip hot sauce (but not straight from the bottle).

Step 10: Assess the party and decide how you'd do things differently next time.

If I did this again, I would provide more sour things to sample like rhubarb, limes, raw cranberries (not craisins), kumquats, etc. I wouldn't bother with non-sour offerings like cheddar cheese, bell peppers and mustard because there wasn't much difference in the taste of those.

This was fun. However, we all agreed that although there was a definite effect, none of us would describe the experience as anything close to miraculous. Admittedly though, it's unlikely that many tablets would be sold if they were called "Pretty Cool Berry Tablets".

*Note: Steps 1 and 2 are not mandatory in order to throw a "Pretty Cool" Party, but we're glad they were a part of the preparation for ours.

The Unintentional Liposuction Procedure

There is a spectrum of mortification on which all of our shameful experiences fall.

Some instances are embarrassing but you can laugh about them almost immediately (like when you're putting groceries away from your reusable market bags and you find a pair of underwear clinging to the inside of one as if it was desperately trying to survive the laundering process and thought itself safe there and you wonder if the box boy was blushing whilst bagging up your bread and mushrooms).

Other occurrences are so embarrassing that you internally (or even externally) shudder every time you recall them (which you try very hard not to do). In fact, the word "embarrassed" isn't adequate. Extremely "distressed" or even "emotionally damaged" are more apt.

And then there are the things right in the middle which are genuinely embarrassing and you really hope they never happen again, but you can sorta kinda laugh about them...eventually.

One of those latter experiences is that with which I shall now regale you.

A few years ago, I was on a team of women from my church fellowship who were going to Romania on an outreach. We were going to work with disadvantaged Roma (that's the PC term for "gypsy") children and put on a one day women's conference. In order to raise funds needed for said-trip, we offered to clean houses in exchange for a donation toward our cause.

Let's just say that on this team of house cleaners, I was not the MVP. Nor, at the end of the season, was I likely to be awarded the "most improved" trophy.

You see...I hate cleaning.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not a sick slob. My home is fairly tidy and devoid of clutter and any mess which is sticky, stinky, crunchy or slippery is cleaned up immediately. However, if the mess is of a dusty, linty or even somewhat grimy nature, it will probably be there for a while. Sometimes a long while.

And when I do clean, I have a sort of good enough attitude.

*swipe* *wipe* *primp* *fluff*       Uhhh...yeah, that's good enough.

So, as you can imagine, I was a bit nervous about cleaning houses in the name of Jesus, so to speak. Can't I just edit some term papers in the name of Jesus or even bake some homemade rolls? Those are endeavors I can excel in but cleaning?

It's not that I think I'm too good to clean. Rather, I know that I'm no good at cleaning. I don't try to do a crappy job--it just comes naturally.

Anyway, I warned the other ladies that I don't have a good cleaning eye and that if they saw something I should scrub a little harder or sweep a bit more thoroughly then they should feel free to tell me.

We arrived at one particular house and I was given the job of vacuuming for which I was very grateful because it's kind of hard to screw that up.

Or so I thought.

There I was, vacuuming away in one of the two living rooms, trying to suck every last misplaced particle off of the carpet when I felt the roaring appliance bump into the base of the coffee table.

Now this wasn't just any old dinged up wooden coffee table. By the looks of it, I think the homeowners purchased it at a garage sale in Vatican City. In fact, the pope himself may have propped his feet up on that very table.

You see, it was similar to these:























When the vacuum bumped into the coffee table's base, it wasn't just a wooden leg it hit. It was a cherubic leg and horror of horrors...

...there was a big chunk missing from the thigh!

Little flakes of white plaster littered the floor. My stomach lurched.

What should I do!?!?!

First, I sucked up all the little white bits of carnage, careful not to inflict more damage in this accidental case of liposuction.

Mental mayhem ensued:

I wasn't being careless or rough! How could I have busted that thing so easily? People shouldn't own furniture that can't withstand a little bump from a vacuum. What do I say? Do I say anything? I have to say something! But this is ridiculous! I wasn't being careless or rough! How could I have busted...

If I was already uneasy at the idea of doing a crummy cleaning job, I was now thoroughly distressed.

By the end of our cleaning time, I had determined to admit to what I had done, so I pulled one of my friends aside and confided in her. She practically held my hand as we approached the man who had hired us to clean his home.

Standing before him, I looked up into his face (he was very tall, his eyes at least an entire foot above mine so I felt like a naughty second grader confessing to the principal) and said:

"I'm so very sorry but I damaged your coffee table while vacuuming."

Well, that's what I intended to say. Unfortunately, I only got about four words in before I began to blubber like a baby, rendering my speech nearly unintelligable.



(I don't cry very often, buy when the urge strikes, it is nearly uncontainable. In books, you read about the hero or heroine expertly controlling their facial muscles and tear ducts in spite of their entire family just being dragged off by wolves or some equivalent trauma. Not me. I knock a chunk off a plaster thigh and fat tears start slipping down my trembling cheeks while my voice squeaks out in barely decipherable Morse code.)








 


 Somehow, the words "broke", "vacuum" and "table" must have been discernible.

The man looked down at me with such care and concern in his eyes that I lifted my arms and said,

"Hold me, Papa."

Okay, not really, but he was really cool about it as he calmly suggested that we go look at the damage.

All of my cleaning friends, the man and myself made our way into the living room where I shamefully pointed out the afflicted heavenly limb, my eyes still dripping.

"Oh, that?" he said, waving his hand. "You didn't do that. My daughter did that months ago."

What?!?!


I'm innocent?!?!?

It actually made sense. The missing piece was a good inch long gouge and there hadn't been any chunks on the floor, just the little flakes which I must have bumped loose.

Although the moment had turned to one of immense relief, I was still horribly embarrassed and additionally now felt rather stupid.

Since that day, I haven't seen that guy once and (although he was very kind and I do wish him well in life)...

...that's fine by me.

Quite the Selection

So this is probably what we're going to have to choose from, huh?

             

Or

Seriously?

Phooey.