A LITTLE MORE TO LIFE SOMEWHERE ELSE?

 Cooder is comfortable enough here to think about going out.

Goodness. Yesterday, I had an eye exam at the clinic at UC Berkeley where I have been a patient for probably 30 years. They are busy enough to be open seven days a week. Being on campus is always full of various kinds of memories. I picture myself scurrying over for my eye exam in the morning, toting a big latte from Cafe Roma on the corner of College and Bancroft, upon which I would sip during the course of the exam.

But they dilated my eyes which pretty much blinded me for the rest of the day. Nothing like fully open irises in screaming California sunlight. Better now, though.

Not that it would surprise any of you, but I have been started to tears many times in the course of driving around. As I mentioned yesterday, just breathtakingly perfect weather. Berkeley and Oakland are so trippy, in the sense that everywhere I look I remember something that happened or that we did while misspending our youths (I didn't stop there). And of course these would be events or moments I hadn't thought of  in years, and might never again. Like when we were living on Fulton Street, Martha, Bill, Louise (back when Mart was a cat person), and Passenger (my beloved kitty of the era) and I. I had quite a collection of bathrobes. We were having a party or something, and we all decided we need to put on bathrobes as a mob (maybe there were 8 or 10 of us) and walk to the liquor store for reinforcement alcohol. We found this hilarious at the time.

What's that?

And then that reminds me that Mart and I introduced Bill to the concepts of pesto and quiche, which became quite different things. Bill used the quiche form as a catchall for whatever was in the kitchen and came up with some quite unusual combinations, the details of which I cannot, mercifully, recall.

Michael has a five CD-player in his car, but I have no idea where it is located nor how to change them, so I have been listening to the Greatest Hits of Tom Pettys and Elton John, Rubber Soul, a compliation of girl singers that I gave him and something else that is probably a soundtrack for days now. I don't think I can sing along to American Girl or I Need to Know or Philadelphia Freedom anymore. Lovely as those things are.

And then there was the possibility of a gig out here, which would have meant a lot of scrambing around, finding a sublet, a car, etc. That does not look at all likely, so I can relax a little bit. There are reasons to want to be here. It feels so comfortable and pleasant and it is such a joy to hang out with my some of my oldest (in life duration, not their personal years) friends. And there's lots of stuff to do and explore. And it is easier to get back to Seattle and visit my friends there, which I have yet to really write about.

Freeway encampment, San Francisco. You can't quite see how many people are living here.

California has different possibilities than New York. And even though I thought I "spoke tech" conversationally, if my meeting yesterday were any indication, I am not as fluent as I thought.

But, for now, I am headed home on Tuesday. Tomorrow, Deb and Manuel come up from Santa Cruz for a hang and a visit, a trip to the storage room for some more spelunking for yard sale candidates, Saturday yard sale and mass kibbitz with the gals. I imagine these plans will shift some.