Sometimes

Sometimes I think that the rest of the nation is just like San Francisco, and more times that not I would be wrong. I am reminded of my error every summer when I leave my fog laden surroundings and go inland where summer weather actually exists. It never fails to surprise me that the sun is really shining in all areas other than dear SF, that I don't need my jacket, sweater, and scarf.

I also found out that there are other differences besides the weather in places other than dear old home of mine. A couple of weekends ago, Emi and I were in Saratoga, that upper class burb just 5o+ miles South of San Francisco, and was stunned by the courteous nature of the drivers. Not only do they actually stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk unlike the driver here, they stopped for Emi and I before we entered the crosswalk, while we were still on the sidewalk. Even if I didn't want to cross (I could have changed my mind about crossing, you know?) their act of kindness compelled me to walk. Bizarre, huh?

Later on that same day we went to a Lucky's grocery store in San Jose. That visit illustrated in more dramatic terms the difference between SF and the rest of the world. The site was huge compared to the stores at home. The aisles were so wide that 4 carts could have fitted side by side. It was like the super freeway for shopping carts. Further, there must have been a plague or something. The store was deserted. The last discrepancy occurred at the checkout. Like the ecoaware people that we are, we had our own shopping bags; doesn't everyone? They didn't know what to make of it. It was as if we had said, "You don't have to pack them. We'll just have Scotty beam them up to the ship." And if you thought the checker and packer were unknowing, the customers in back of us were even more in the dark. Not only did they think we were weird, they were aggravated for the delay. I should have reminded myself that when in Rome do as the Romans.

And sometimes I make assumptions about people and I'm wrong. Case in point. Where I take my watercolor class, there are many seniors who have limited mental functions. One individual that I see every week is an 75+ man who has less hair than me, which makes him bald and me semi-bald which makes me feel old at times. Anyway, I usually see him sitting in a more or less comatose condition. He physically looks like Curly of the Three Stooges on drugs. I assumed his alphabet is missing many letters, but he's harmless, and that's what's important. So last week a young miss from Switzerland visited our class for research purposes. While engrossed in my painting I heard someone say, "How would you like to play pool later?" Somehow I concluded that someone was talking to the young thing, being flirtatious with her. Sounds like a reasonable assumption, doesn't it? "We have a pool table right here, you know?" the unknown voice said. I glanced up just to see who was making this overt pass, and to my amazement it was Curly, that dirty old man. Surprise, surprise. Well you know what they say. It only takes a pretty young thing to make an old man jump up and click his heels three times. Tomorrow, I'm going to throw away my vitamin pills and go look for a young thing just for me. Tired of feeling old.

And lastly, sometimes, like today, I find out that you can't go back in time. You can't go back to when you were a kid even if you play pool with a young miss. This morning after hitting on a ball machine from 5:30 to 7:00am I decided to have something to eat and coffee. I was in dire need of coffee. I am not used to getting up at 4:30 in the morning. For me, being retired and all that jazz, I usually get up when I want to and it's definitely later than 4:30. Life is so grand, but today was special. Hideous in many ways, but pleasant in others. It was nice to see the crescent moon in the early morning. It was nice to see the inky black sky slowly turn to blue, but I digress. I needed coffee and decided to go to Uncle's on Waverly Place in Chinatown. Uncle's was just one of the many hangouts in Chinatown where us kids could go to behave like the punky kids that we were, or I should say my friends were punky. I was a good kid and the cops never caught me. There were Fong Fong's, On On, and one other that I forgot the name. Anyway, most of them are closed, but Uncle's was still there, so I jammed over there on my hot scooter and parked in front. Yep, it was still there. I could almost taste the wonderful waffles that they make. That was my favorite, waffles with a side order of bacon. Yes indeedee. Walking in I was shocked to instantly see that the place was not the Uncle's that I knew. The counter with all the paraphernalia in back was gone; the booths were gone; all the people that I knew were gone replaced by old Chinese men who were talking Chinese (Imagine that?). The waffles were still there, number 4 on the menu, waffle with coffee for $3.50. So I ordered it and it was still good and as I was eating my waffle I heard a familiar voice, a voice out of the past and I wanted it to stay there. I instantly lowered my head into my Japanese language book and kept it there. He didn't see me, even when he walked past my table as he left some minutes later. Some things don't change, like him. He wasn't a very nice guy in the past, and I don't think that he changed the spots covering his body or his stripes. So even if I can't go back in time, I don't care. The present is so much better.