fotos here in San Francisco, bonus text

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF. - We've been here for a couple weeks now. Three weeks really. Week one: designing. Weeks two and three: construction. We seem to go very slow. You know, talk everything through.

So some highlights, including Mother's Day visit from my Mum. We flew her out. She arrived, demanded that we let her pay us back. We love her. Eventually we gave in. Said yes. Took her out to dinner. Da Flora, in North Beach. Venetian place. Amazing. 

Our host in San Francisco, Sister Margaret. Note the hands clasped in an urban prayer: Light, Turn green, for me. 




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The beautiful Ramp restaurant. Bloody Marys as appetizers, fried fish for brunch. Into late afternoon soaking up industrial balm.








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The famous Zinnia, daughter of Angie, at the Ramp.




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Yellow Truck at Beronio Lumber, off Cesar Chavez, with several 16-foot 2x12s for the stringers strapped to the roof. I like adding "-onio" to any old word, so this lumber yard was perfect. People on Yelp don't like it however. Many have been embarrassed by the lack of coddling found here. I will have to add my two cents at some point. Note the watch house on the right. A friendly employee checks the contents of your vehicle against your sales slip as you leave. Nice touch.



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Yellow Truck in his SF parking spot, on Hampshire St. In three weeks here, doing errands and all that, going over to East Bay once, still have over half a tank. These are the salad days for Yellow Truck, post-long haul. Rarely out of third gear.




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Some of the impressive lag bolts for fastening the balcony to the house. The balcony then leads to the stair. 




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My mum has arrived from Maine for Mother's Day, with photos from when she and my dad first were married, back in 1961, living in Italy. He was doing his military time, as a young doctor. She came with. They were in Brindisi. Also on the table, articles from the Portland Press Herald, news from home, brought by mum, architectural for me, beach news and socialism for Margaret.



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Adrienne and Margaret getting Frittata No. 2 underway. I made coffee and am helping too. Mum is somewhere off camera.






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The four inhabitants eating toast. Mum's eyes closed, savoring our excellent company.





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Ocean Beach.






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Cliff House, Mother's Day. Sister Margaret is conjuring. Mum is also conjuring. Deep focus required. And results! Gray whales within five minutes. They were headed north, spouting from their blowholes, oily black beasts half-emerging from the sea, just beyond the rocks. Everyone rushed from their tables to the windows. No urbanity. A lot of shouting. Everyone thrilled.



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Sister Margaret is irresistible, and pleased with the feral whale count. 








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Just north of Cliff House, Sutro Baths, what is left of them. People used to take a nickel train from the downtown out here to the sea, to a carnivalesque beachside encampment. Sutro Baths was all cast-iron and glass, like a conservatory, echos and leisure, cold ocean water channeled through, people swimming, diving, standing and watching.



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Adrienne liked this one, so I put it in. Something funny and good about it.







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My dear Mum, Phyllis, looking out to sea.




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Ledger board, posts and joists. Plum tree in foreground. Stair to come.






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Triangulating toward square. Yellow tapes to get posts and stair square to brick path. Juxtaposed against the easy curve of the extension cord. Cord, by the way, is the hefty 10-gauge, hard to find, good for the tools. Super duty, like Yellow Truck.




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this is a surrogate foto. the light on the sign "House of Brakes" was amazing one early evening, around 7:30 pm. This one, however, was taken at about 7:45 pm, several days later, and the beauty light had departed. But anyway, I love the name, House of Brakes. There are Houses of Pancakes, Houses of Ill Repute. But House of Brakes? It seemed ominous, or to promise profundity, and instead maybe it is delivering a slightly humorous confusion. Anyway, this foto is a placeholder. Wait until I get another take, my big break. It will be amazing.


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Looking south from intersection of 24th and Folsom, outer Mission. I love the green hills of San Francisco. More than the green hills of the California country side. I always have. They are so far away, so peaceful, always awaiting you, if you could ever leave city life for a minute, on a weekend afternoon. They are not here by happenstance. Some urban plan has left them, allowed them. Adrienne has listened patiently to my rants about them. She summed it up perfectly after mulling it a day or two: prospect and refuge.  That's what they are. Prospect and Refuge.




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Night cycles. 24th Street again. This time just after sundown. Outside Pop's. Nighthawks at the diner. Edward Hopper. Only the mood is movement, imminence, rather than paralysis.






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soon to come, an installment on the toyotas of San Francisco County. 




hope all good.


soon we home to Seattle 
soon soon
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