Bus Report #1105

Another Wednesday, another commute to work.

Clement street as always is mostly quiet in the morning, but you see Early Morning Eric at the donut shop and wave to him, and he waves back.

The Wednesday morning women's bike ride is about to start, a dozen or so women in full cyclist gear waiting near Ornot until it's time to begin. 

Near the bus stop, you exchange a silent nod and wave with one of the men who works at Rose Pizzeria. He must wake up even earlier than you do, to start the pizza dough and whatever else is part of his daily routine. You realize that now, after weeks of acknowledging each other, you are part of each other's routines, too.

The bus arrives on time. You're listening to an episode of the Kitchen Sisters that you remember listening to on another long ago work commute - this episode is from June 2010, about Eel Pie Island in London. All their episodes are good, but this one is a favorite. 

At Mission and 16th three ladies are selling breakfast items to a crowd of folks headed to or from work. You love watching the ladies pour coffee and atole, pass around steaming tamales. They're wearing frilly aprons that remind you of your time working in Nicaragua and El Salvador.

The aprons are wide and have rows and rows of frills and ribbon. You know they have pockets, too, at this time in the morning most likely laden with coins and dollar bills.

When you step out the bus at Potrero and 16th the air is muggy, warm, with a hint of mown grass (but from where?) and greasy food from McDonald's.

The sky is bright blue to your right but ominously dark grey almost charcoal to your left.

You cross Potrero at the light, grin at your friends at the garage through their still-closed front door, and walk the rest of the way to the office. 

Bus Report #1104

 Saturday morning, bright sunny sky and Muni on time - curious, but you won't complain.

After a stop at your garden plot (44 O'Shaughnessy to 7 Haight) you skip (and yes, you truly do skip, it's that kind of day) down to Hayes Valley to drop off your glasses for lens replacement.

Along the way, a man rolls down his car window and shouts, "You have beautiful hair!" 

The nicest thing anyone's shouted at you lately. You thank him, walk on.

Two blocks later you see him leaning out of his car window again to call out to a young couple, "You have a great day now!" 

Hayes Valley is busy. People lined up for a new coffee spot, tourists dragging suitcases en route to their accommodations. Outside Nabila's, huge bouquets of sunflowers. The blooms are the size of dinner plates, and the most beautiful orange yellow color.

The street between Gough and Octavia is blocked off for a carnival and there's a circus performance in the Proxy space. Circus Bella with their burgundy and gold stage set. You love to see it. Little kids try the carnival games while their parents take photos. 

Glasses dropped off, you wander back down the street and get on the 7 again, towards downtown.

Your seatmate is a woman with huge plastic eyeglasses and she's dressed like you used to, circa 1997. Five rows up, facing you, is another woman who looks identical to her, down to the glasses. Are they twins? You think they are, even though they probably are not. 

And that's when it happens - you feel an overwhelming sense of happiness and pure love for San Francisco today. So much so that you choke up a bit. Stare out the window at all the good and bad and confusing things that make Market Street what it is. 

People milling about outside the theater, kids on scooters and bikes, tourists near the Main Library and the Asian Art Museum, the sun glinting off of City Hall's gold dome. And the drug market near BART. Three people folded over, so still, like off-putting modern statuary. Someone passed out amid a pile of rags and trash. Market Street Ambassadors in bright T-shirts offering assistance to everyone.

Near the new IKEA, a band is setting up, part of the city's program to refresh and activate downtown.

You visit Liz at her art kiosk and hang out for a while, chatting and admiring her art, enticing others to come over, you don't bite, have a look at the art for sale.

Later, headed home, spot a new Vacant to Vibrant storefront activation. Cowrie Collective has beautiful wares for sale and you can't leave without a new candle and a bold pair of earrings. 

A regular Saturday. A beautiful Saturday. A reminder, really - of how to love your city. 

Bus Report #1103

This morning on the 33, early.

There's a man sitting in the back of the bus. Young. Short, shaggy brown hair. Fleece jacket zipped all the way up. Running shorts and sneakers.

His right leg is covered in beautiful, fine line tattoos - poppies and ferns and are those nasturtiums? Delicate flowers and plants climbing from his ankle to his upper thigh. Freckles and light brown hair interspersed. 

The tattoos are gorgeous. He naps against the window as the bus moves through the early morning dark. 

At Market and Clayton the sky is orange and pink. The man wakes up, checks to make sure he hasn't missed his stop, and then closes his eyes once again.  

Bus Report #1102

Stepped off the bus at Potrero this morning, a damp and oddly humid day, rain threatened for later.

J. and I said goodbye to fellow bus rider Gabby and we walked to the corner to cross the street. Jeff walked by - I've known him over a decade from Peet's - so we hugged and exchanged a few words before J. and I continued down the hill to our office building (she works upstairs).

At Rhode Island and 17th, an unusual sight greeted us. 

A lanky, thin coyote ambling down the bike lane near Whole Foods.

I couldn't stop watching him, though J. didn't want anything to do with the coyote, and kept her head down, and walked faster. 

We passed Smuin Ballet and I lost sight of the four-legged new neighbor. 
I hope he found his way back to his patch of green space, wherever it was.

The rest of the way to work we warned the dog walkers near the park, but none of them seemed too bothered.

Bus Report #1101

 This morning, a rainy start to the Lunar New Year.

This bus was strangely full for a Tuesday after a national holiday and for a day that is a public school holiday, but never mind. It was quiet and you had a podcast playing, Thermos of tea in hand.

At the front of the bus a girl got on wearing a beanie, a fleece jacket, and fleecy pink pajama pants - not the best outfit for the weather. She put on a mask and you thought - bizarrely- that it was not a mask at all but a beard from a costume shop. When she turned you saw that it was a mask but that her thick, long, brown hair was making it look like a beard.

At Haight, two rough-looking redfaced men got on. One laden with bags and coat layers, talking loudly to himself, and another a drowned rat who tucked himself into his seat, clutching a phone in his puffy red hands. He nodded off quickly, dropped the phone. Picked it up. Nodded off again.

You stepped off the bus at Potrero and hurried across the street and down the hill.

The rain started up again just as you passed the fire station.

Bus Report #1100

 This morning Clement Street smelled like rosemary and spices - someone preparing something savory and delicious. Sausage? Something Italian, maybe? Strangely, your first thought was matzah balls - fluffy ones spiked with rosemary, which is not a THING, unless maybe it is now? Maybe you just invented it?

At the donut shop, early morning Eric is sipping his coffee and eating a donut, and he sees you, and waves in a frantic and overly excited way. It's lovely, of course. You are two people of routine who move in opposite directions. You always say good morning when you see each other on the street, chat for a minute.

The weather, the holidays, your travels, his travels, his bad knee, coffee. You were acquaintances for almost a year before you exchanged names. You like it that way sometimes. Keeps an air of mystery.

Of course he is as much an Eric as your brother is, as your coworker - you can see the similarities in their collective mischievous smiles, their eyes that crinkle with laughter. So since he is your third or fourth Eric, he'll be early morning Eric from now on.

The street is so dark. You don't mind when it's quiet. Even the crossfit gym next to Schubert's is closed. The kids who open up Pixlcat café haven't arrived yet either.

There are some hot new Jang wheatpastes up on Dr. La's office and near Pasta Supply Co., you'll have to remember to tell E. about them later.

As you wait for the 33 you notice the moon today. A bright white horizontal crescent worthy of the Cheshire Cat. You try to snap a photo of it but it doesn't do it justice, so never mind.

Right on time the bus arrives and you step on, call a 'thank you' to the driver, and slide into your seat to sip your tea and listen to another crime podcast. 

Happy Friday, and have a good weekend!

Bus Report #1099

I love Muni, you know that. I love transit in general, but Muni is San Francisco to me, and it always will be.

I'm back in the office five days a week now, and it is strange how quickly you can get used to things again. Back to having regular drivers and regular passengers. Back to the rhythms of traffic.

The building that was under construction at Haight and Stanyan for so long is finally almost ready to welcome its tenants, and I think it is beautiful.

I greet J. at her bus stop each morning and instead of walking from the bus to my office alone, most days we walk together, as we work in the same building, on different floors.

For the first time in a long time, my mornings feel easy again. Mostly unstressed. As though I'm sliding into my day instead of barreling into it head on.

So, maybe I'm back here, to tell you more tales of my longest and most complicated relationship here in San Francisco. My on and off, love and hate but mostly love relationship with Muni.

And by extension with everyone on it, and with you, dear readers.

Are we good? We're good.