It was a rough week for blogging. Everything I thought I would write about turned out to be, well, nothing.
When my daughters and I and their yellow lab named Charlie set out for an evening of dining under the stars at Zazie Restaurant in San Francisco, I was certain I would write that up. Weather permitting, monday nights are open to dogs on the patio at Zazie, one of our favorite eating places in town. For her part, Charlie (Charlie is a girl) behaved with perfect aplomb (she’s done this before), sitting demurely by our table, waiting for someone to pass the treats. I looked around the patio and all of the dining dogs were on best behavior. Small dogs sat placidly on people’s laps. Nobody barked. No one had an accident. It was all so darn civil that I forgot all about mining material for my blog, as there was nothing to write. Dining with dogs was as normal as, well, dining at home.
San Francisco is like that. An alternate universe that actually functions better than the other.
Terminal 2 at SFO (San Francisco International Airport) offers a yoga room. Is this not a first? Now there’s my blog, I thought, and after clearing security, hastened to it. Free of charge and furnished with mats, mirrors, and a floating blue wall. Softly lit, calm, quiet, a mobile phone-free zone for meditation and stretching out–before having to fold one’s self up like an origami crane on the plane.
Everything surprisingly natural there too, in the yoga room. And no good for blogging.
Back in Seattle, I recalled writer Isabel Allende here on a book tour, telling the attending crowd that if she didn’t live in The Bay Area, Seattle is where she would like to live. For I feel the same way, the other way around.