Yesterday, was the day that I did the Dance of Unfettered Joy all the way up the street, eight-count triple-stepping past the guards at the Federal Mint, and moved my car on up. Yes, after 4 years of living in the city, having a car off and on again and never once coming at all close to have a garage or parking space...*rolls the drum*....I finally got my residential parking permit! The dieties behind the double-paned bullet proof glass at the Department of Parking & Transit have finally deigned to grant me the chance of finding viable parking near my home. It's been a long wait. So, when the shiny blue sticker came in the mail, I ripped it open and shamelessly tore out of the house to move my car into the open space right outside my front door! Yes, I practically skipped the last few steps to my car singing, "Home at last, thank god almighty, Home at last."
That was Wednesday, and you'll note in the photo that street sweeping won't happen again until NEXT WEDNESDAY at 8:00am. Which means that I can fly away to Boise and come back Tuesday evening with plenty of time to move my car. And if I can't find a space, no sweat--literally. I can roll out of bed at 7:50 on Wednesday morning throw on some shoes and slouch down stairs to clear out before the sweepers come by. That's my apartment, just to the right of the tree. So, no jogging frantically up several blocks only to find that they came a little early and I owe another $50.00 to The Man.
Oh, how I have seriously paid my dues during my time here! Not only have I spent hundreds of dollars on parking tickets, for everything from the classics--street sweeping and over-extending the time limit--to the occasional emergency indiscretions--expired meter, parking in a loading zone, parking in a tow-away zone. In my defense, the last one was only a tow-away zone during certain rush hour times of the day and I got there to move only 5 minutes late. That ticket was seriously $60.00 and it was on Halloween (a holiday for which most San Franciscans get in a festive mood), but the woman was writing the ticket as I ran up and absolutely refused to stop. Anyway, I've done quite a bit of community service to pay down some of the debts that I haven't had the cash to cover.
So, why didn't I just get a permit right away? This is a simple question with a very complicated answer that has changed depending on whatever situation I have found myself in during my time here. What it comes down to is that, even though San Francisco is the place in which I have felt the most comfortable and found the most kindred spirits, it hasn't been until just this year that I have finally found myself truly at home.
In February of this year, I moved into my girlfriend's two bedroom apartment right in the middle of the city--not in the downtown part, but right in the geographical center of San Francisco. I really did not want to move into this neighborhood after living in a quieter one for the last year. Also, I had serious doubts about moving in with a Significant Other after past experiences that ended in metaphorical flames. But before agreeing on the move, we worked really hard to establish the ground rules and workshop the fears and possible icky scenarios, so that when I came, we shook up the space really well and served the re-furnished, re-painted, re-vitalized rooms up with a dash of her taste and twist of mine. It worked really well. In fact, people who have known her during her entire 5 year stint in this apartment have commented on the fact that they not only like what I've brought to the place, but that they feel for the first time that this HER space, too. Her past series of roommates all had a temporary or utilitarian way of living in the apartment, but she and I have managed to build a little nest that is comfortable and welcoming and just the right amount of wacky.
It's been a great few months. Not completely conflict-free, but the way that we've worked through the few confrontations that we've had has been reassuring. As with all matters of the heart, there is a possibility that flames will end this, too; but, if so, I think that they will be the cleansing kind that remove all the impurities and leave the true core of you shining solidly among the ashes.
So, now that my home-life has been registered and validated by the parking gods, one of the complications was that I was asked to go work in Idaho for several weeks straight. I found myself unable to accept the full teaching run, despite the intense need to get away from the painfully paradoxical job situation. Since last October, I have been spending 40 hours a week in a somewhat isolated office at odd times in the day doing mostly solitary work. And the business that has cloistered me: TOURISM! Yes, it's a perfect example of the doctor's sick wife or the cobbler's barefoot son. Anyway, I had started craving the dynamic social atmosphere of the classroom almost immediately after signing on with the company a year ago and, after watching almost every other co-worker go off on long extended backpacking trips to other continents, I've just needed to get out of there. Nevertheless, my heart is now in San Francisco, so I instead took the option of commuting via air once a week until the middle of December. It's the best of both worlds: I'm traveling, teaching, seeing a new place, and on Tuesdays I get to come back home to my books, my kitchen, my couch, my collection of tacky knick-knacks, and my insightful, passionate, solidly grounded sweetheart.
