On resurrection

This from Jim Carty's "Paper Tiger No More" blog:

As I've written once before, probably the last significant conversation I had with my dad came when I was driving him to chemotherapy a few weeks before he would die of lung cancer. It was one of the very few times I helped out at all in the process of his dying - my mom and bro were both in New Jersey and carried all the serious weight. But we had this morning and afternoon together, and I'm very grateful for it. In the course of the conversation, I asked him if he was afraid of dying.

He said he was not. There was no bravado to it, he just said he was not, so I asked why.

Because, he said, he knew he was going to see his own mom and dad again.

He believed this as surely as you or I believe we will wake up tomorrow. Here was faith. Simple faith. Probably the most plain and fundamental exhibition of it that I've ever seen, or may ever see.

I do not have such faith. I struggle to believe, and with what I believe, including the resurrection story. This struggle has only gotten worse since my dad's death.

(Note as of July 2012 -- Oops, the link has been lost, and Jim Carty is no longer writing the blog. But trust me, it was a very nice piece of writing. :/)

Discovering The Wiggle

Just when I thought I -- and I alone -- had discovered a mostly hills-free way of getting from the Inner Sunset to downtown, I noticed the signs: "The Wiggle." At first I thought they were about my extra mid-body baggage; then I realized they were marking my flattish route.
Then, a few days later, the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition wrote about it in a column in the Chronicle. (Read it by clicking on the blog post title above.)
Oh, well -- so much for my "discovery."

At Land's End

Benny's on spring break this week, and Christine and I are splitting time between work (her day today) and home (my day today). So Benny and I headed over to the Legion of Honor, a fine art museum at Land's End, which is ... well ... at the end of the continent before it drops off into the waters of the Pacific.

We ended up not going to the museum today. Instead, the rain cleared and we walked along the nearby trail on the cliff above the ocean. The goal is to walk the full length of trails that stretch from Fort Funston at the southern edge of the city, along Ocean Beach, through Land's End, into the Presidio and to the Golden Gate Bridge. It's something like nine miles in all.

Land's End, as you can see in the photos (or they call them "images" now, don't they?), is simply beautiful. There are all sorts of urban encroachments nearby -- housing, a golf course, the Legion of Honor, etc. -- but the view is stunning. You look west across the ocean, north across the bay to the Marin Headlands or northeast to the Golden Gate Bridge (top photo). Or you pretend (like Benny is doing in the bottom photo) that you're scaring away the coyotes.

Get on the bus

One of the time-honored practices of Muni riders in San Francisco is the transfer transfer. (My own term.)
It involves either a) simply leaving your bus or train transfer on your seat for the next person or b) openly asking someone standing at the bus stop or on the bus/train if he/she wants your slender newspring proof of fare payment.
Although I buy a monthly bus pass for $45 -- well worth it, since I take at least two buses and two trains a day -- I like transfer transfers. They appeal to my sense of what makes a community -- helping out someone who may, if only today, had trouble coming up with the $1.50 they needed to catch the bus across town for work or school or whatever.
And, OK, maybe there's a sense of transfer transfers sticking it to The Man.
Now here comes Muni, faced with budget trouble on top of it's already bad service reputation, saying that it will eliminate some routes, severely cut back others and add revenue by, among other things, increasing fares and charging 50 cents for transfers. (When I get on a real computer, I'll add the link to Muni's triumpherate of budget-balancing options.)
This worries me. Will charging for transfers eliminate transfer transfers as we know them? Will this commercialize transfer transfers? Is "community" dead?
My stomach aches thinking of the guy who the other day offered me his transfer at the 9th/Judah stop now walking up to me saying, "Hey, buddy! Wanna transfer?" and opening up his trench coat to reveal a couple dozen thin-paper tickets.
"This one right here's a beaut! Runs out at 11 tonight --" He chuckles. "It's only 7 now. Who knows how far you could ride with it?
"I see you're a nice fella -- nice tie, by the way -- so for you, I'll let you have it for 40 cents. Almost the same as a donut over there at Donut World." He points to my white bakery bag, the chocoloate-and-sprinkles masterpiece practically calling out to me.
I wince. Maybe it's his price that causes me to cringe. Maybe it's the cruller I wolfed down a couple minutes ago.
He senses that he's losing a sale.
"Alright. So you're a man watching his dimes. I understand. 30 cents. You ain't gonna find a better deal, especially once you get past Forest Hill."
I shake my head, trying to be respectful. After all, he could be a Muni Cop, just waiting to bust some middle-aged punk looking for a bus joyride.
"That's alright. Maybe next time," he says. "I've seen you around here before."
And with that he takes off down 9th, into the fog that's moved in from the northwest, across Golden Gate Park and Judah.
My 6-Parnassus bus pulls up to the corner, waiting to make the left turn onto 9th. I fish my monthly pass out of my back pocket and hold it close to my chest. There but by the grace of Muni go I.

School daze

After a month of not spending all my non-work hours (and many of my work hours) visiting potential kindergartens for Benny, I returned to action today, starting with feeding and bathing the boy. Christine got him dressed, and he brushed his teeth. Then Benny and I headed toward a sort of kindergarten interview at a Catholic school:

9:30am
Wait for 6-bus ... wait ... check cell phone for next bus. One minute? It said 'one minute' five minutes ago! Argh!
9:40am
Board 6-bus.
9:45am
Reach the N-train line.
9:52am
N-train arrives.
9:56am
Arrive at church ... school ... Where do I go? Head around corner toward the school.
Benny: 'Can we go home?'
9:58am
Get to school, wonder if this is the place. Spot sign: 'Kindergarten Testing: Please be seated until your child's name is called.' Walk in the door and immediately get intimidated by a statue of the Virgin Mary (?) looking over the shoulder of a little girl, pointing out something on a roll of paper. I wonder what the role says -- VM doesn't necessarily look into it.
Benny wants to keep his coat on as well as the water bottle on a strap that he got for Christmas from Yoko.
10am
Benny spots kids going downstairs to playground; he wants to go.
10:01am
Daddy relents, though worried about missing the all-important 'be seated until your child's name is called' moment. Wonders if all the women hanging out in the hallway are nuns, ready to slap my hand with a ruler for not obeying a Commandment or the commandment to sit and wait.
10:03am
I call Benny back to the top of the stairs. He seems nonplussed by the playground. (Actually it's an asphalt parking lot with a few basketball hoops.)
10:04am
We look at all the trophies and ribbons in a case in the hallway. Hmmmm, no Piston Cup.
10:05am
Benny takes off the coat; maintains possession of the water bottle. We sit on two of the chairs lining the hallway. Benny wants to see momre of the school.
10:06am
A woman comes over to a family down the hall, takes a little girl by the hand and leads her through glass doors into the library. Ah-ha, I think -- The Interview. The Test. ... The Future!
I point out this scene to Benny, and just as he starts to ask something ...
10:07am
An older woman calls from down the hall, "Benjamin?" I jump up, Benny in tow. The woman tells Benny that I'll be right here, presumably to put him at ease. Whatever!
The woman leads him down the hall, and I return to my seat. I look back to see a silhouetted Benny hand-in-hand with the woman, walking into the library.
I feel like crying.
10:20am
The first little girl comes out. Benny can't be far behind.
'Give me back my son!' I start to yell inside my head.
10:22am
Benny emerges, and the woman tells me how wonderful he is. She says he needs to work on gripping a pen for writing and on his finger skills. Otherwise, she says he's wonderful. (I said that already, didn't I?)
10:24am
We walk out on the playground. We hopscotch and run up and down the asphalt. We walk down the street and find a store with an ice cream.
He eats 85.7 percent of it. I get the rest.
10:55am
We see one of Benny's friends from last year in the post office. I ask her what kindergarten she attends this year. She says it's the school we just visited. I ask how she likes it. She says the playground is 'ugly. There's bird poop all over the benches.'

Dem sum dim sum

This post originates from a conversation I heard between two guys on the subway platform the other day about the food column in the SF Chronicle. (Click above to access)

Man 1: I was reading this column today about dim sum.

Man 2: About dim sum?

Man 1: Yeah.

Man 2: There's a column in the Chronicle about dim sum?

Man 1: Yeah. It was really good — like she said it's bad form to take more than one thing at a time from the server's cart. It's like this American thing to take more than one. She said you're supposed to wait until you finish the first dish.

Man 2: So she's like the Ann Landers of dim sum.

Love it

My favorite part of the SF Chronicle ...
http://www.sfgate.com/columnists/asmussen/