Blogetary (Weblog + Commentary = Blogetary)

Wednesday morning we got up early and were all ambitious for getting out the door and down the street on time to take the bus and save money and get my sister to work on time. But, we ended up taking a cab. I just had too much stuff to haul on a bus. So, we got to my sister’s place of employ where I was able to check my email for the first time in a few days (she doesn’t have internet at home). It was nice to not be connected for a while, but it was nice to check on stuff, too. Then my sister’s coworker arrived and I left my luggage at the office while I went off to explore the Ferry Building and call Dad to see about meeting him for the rest of my trip.

Some background. We are a family of loner cats. The fact that my sister and Dad and I lived in the same geographical vicinity for a few years is unusual for my family. Like most large cats, once we reach adulthood, we seem to find our own city to make our territory away from other adult members of our family.  And in case it seems like my sister and Dad break that rule, they don’t. She lives within the city limits of San Francisco, and he lives in a bedroom community outside of those city limits.  And they do not speak.  In fact, even my stepmom lives in another city away from where my sister and dad live.

I know. It’s weird. That’s just the way it is.

So, anyway, my dad was on call and on a job when I called, but it was going to be bringing him into the city, so he said he’s swing by when he was done in about half hour or hour and save me the BART trip. So, I decided to explore some of the business stalls in the Ferry Building. It was quite entertaining.

For one thing, I discovered Boccalone. They are purveyors of “tasty salted pig parts” or as I call it, “BACON!” Okay, it’s not all bacon. It’s prosciutto, salami, stuff. But you know what I mean. It’s where you can find tasty, savory cured meat! They even sell cold cuts in a cone. So like instead of getting a paper cone of nuts or popcorn or a sno-cone, you can get a cone of mixed salami, bologna, and prosciutto. Yummy!

I shoulda taken more pics!

There were also several chocolate and confectioner shops that specialized in Bay Area chocolates (Scharffenberger, Joseph Schmidt, etc).

I also went into the Imperial Tea Court.  I didn’t take pics, but decided I needed to come back some day and just hang out there.

Then I saw a shop that specialized in nothing but mushrooms. Mushrooms, mushrooms, and more mushrooms!  Oh, and some fiddleheaded ferns. Far West Fungi! I have an aunt who got her Masters in micology. I should send her the pics!

Above is the shop proper. Below is to the side. Those blocks under glass, you can buy and take home and grow your own crop of mushrooms!

Finally, they have this wonderful Italian shop that I forgot to take pictures of because I was so busy salivating over the different types of panforte they had. It’s called I Preferiti di Boriana or Boriana’s Favorites. They specialize in Tuscan food. And now that I have them bookmarked, no one is safe!  Muwahahahahahahahaha!

Dad finally called and my sister helped me trundle my bags down the stairs and out to the street, but didn’t stay out there too long and then I saw Dad’s wood-paneled station wagon and the second half of my trip had begun.

My dad lives south of San Francisco, where the “ticky tacky houses” sit all in a row. It’s normally foggy there as it’s the hilly part of the peninsula and in line for the marine layer as it’s going out and coming in. That’s why Dad likes it. It’s like England, but a few degrees warmer.

When I get to Dad’s house, he and I aren’t sure what to talk about at first, but then he sits down to check his email and something about his computer is bothering him and he has to go out on another job, so I set down to fix up his computer. Or do what I can anyway. Here’s my dad giving me the eye:

Yes, it’s an old PC. Vintage 90s! I’m not a computer afficianado, but I know how to defrag and run disk repair and check for unneeded programs. And while Dad is all about the inside of a car or pinball machine or jukebox or video game or clock, even (for him being on call means calling in and being ready to go to whatever bar or restaurant has called in to say their video game or pinball machine isn’t working), he doesn’t play on the computer every day like many do. In fact, he wonders sometimes whether check his email once a week is excessive. He’d much rather read a book, listen to his classical station or watch one of his PBS or tv shows.

His computer is in the den, or the front living room where I remember us having the Christmas tree and where he taught me how to play chess when I was little. He calls it the library. It has the spare bed, a lot of his books, and his computer.

Above are pictures on the mantel in the library. Below is the dining room and the square grand piano Dad found years ago and fixed up. Don’t blame the flocked wall paper on him, that was his third wife, the one after Mom.

In a lot of ways, Dad’s home, like many peoples’, is an archeological dig into the history of their lives. He’s got a photo album with pictures of his first wife, the English wife. And photos of me and my sister, the products of his second wife, the American. I remember the tile in the bathroom being laid down when I was a kid, too. And the cabinets in the kitchen being put up. But the wall paper, the dark red and black colors of some of the paint jobs, that’s his third wife, the German. And the common sense, homey touches that are most recent, are the product of my stepmom, the Swede, who never married Dad, but has taken care of him since I was oh, 17-18? And then the other things. The books, albums, the places where the window’s been fixed using plywood, the things that work, but don’t look “nice” is all Dad.

Then there are the other part of the family, the cats. Sadly, most are gone now. Only Missy is left.

Above are Misty, Susie, Krista and Ivan. Susie was Misty’s mom and lived with my stepmom. Misty was with Dad. Krista was with my stepmom and Ivan was Dad’s buddy. Below is Missy.

She’s 18-19 years old now. Likes to sleep near the heater or in her cave.

She’s frail and weighs nothing. Talked to Dad tonight and she’s not able to come up the stairs on her own anymore. So, she may be joining the others soon. I hope not. But she’s had a good, long life.

Anyway, that night we, Dad, my stepmom and I, all went to dinner and had a good chat, good food at Val’s. Heard gossip from the waitress that the large party at the restaurant were people from the San Francisco Chronicle and that it was probably going to go down in about a month. On the news the next night they said they laid off another 20. And then we came home, talked to Missy, who talked back, and told us in unmistakable terms that we had stayed up way past her bedtime.