The Neighborhood Whizzes By

Dogs are reigning in the neighborhood where I work. The weather has been so lovely this week I decided to take a walk. I met Leo, the magnificent British bulldog, Leslie, a four-month old Sheba Inu born in Japan, and Hildie, the Electus Parrot. She was breathtaking.

“Is she friendly?” I asked.

“Only with men,” her owner said.

So I kept my distance. She posed for me as a consolation prize. She never took her eye off of me.

People were out sunning themselves in the park, walking their dogs, chatting with friends, and of course drinking endless cups of trendy coffee at $3-$5 dollars a cup.

It was even warm enough for a ice cream cone from a pop-up, except they hadn’t opened up yet, but if they had, I would have ordered the brown sugar with cinnamon cookies, or maybe the cookie dough with pretzels and chocolate chips. Who thinks up these flavors?

I marvel at how quickly a neighborhood is gentrified. Ten years ago it was the homeless, the prostitutes, and the few people that lived here that dotted the landscape.

Today it’s brand new modern condos, trendy restaurants and fashion shops. More and more techies in packs roam the streets looking for food and coffee and are willing to pay top dollar for it. My favorite second-hand bookstore was forced out of business because the owner of the space was demanding double the rent. The Italian restaurant next door, a local hang-out with good food at reasonable prices, was kicked out, too.

The change-over has been at lightning speed. And ruthless.

I miss the old places because I knew the owners. Today I see strange faces behind a counter. And you know they’ll be gone tomorrow.

Calvin says, “Leo, huh? I’d have to weigh in on that one.”

You Can Have It

I hate 4 o’clock in the afternoon. No matter where I am, I still hate it. I hate it in New York, I hate it in Buenos Aires, and I hate it San Francisco.

4 p.m. is that time of day when the sun glares at you. If you happen to be driving it pierces you straight through to the back of your eyeballs like a laser.

If you’re at the beach the 4 o’clock sun bleaches the water, the sand, and your feet so you’re all one color – luminescent white. You look down at your legs and they come to abrupt halt at the ankles. You look up at the waves and they’ve disappeared. And when you look up at the sky expecting to see blue, you don’t, you see a blinding light, the kind that knocked the Apostle Paul to the ground on the Damascus road. While I’ve never had God speak to me like he did Paul, I’m sure it was 4 o’clock in the afternoon when he did it. The only epiphany I get at 4 p.m. is a migraine.

Four o’clock is the hottest part of the day for me. Not noon, but 4 o’clock. It’s when my upper lip perspires and my eyes leak. Pretty soon I see rivulets in my make-up. If I don’t dab right away, my make-up runs away leaving me completely exposed to my own skin. Of course I can grab my compact of powder and soak up the sweat with the small sponge, but then I don’t know what to do with it afterward. I’m certainly not going to toss it into my purse where it will stain the lining.

Four o’clock in the afternoon is the nastiest time of the day for another reason. My sugar level drops and I’m craving a peppermint hot fudge sundae. And of course I know I should fight the temptation and guzzle down a bottle of water instead. The tug of war intensifies between my low resolve and the temptation I know I should keep away from. That’s when I have a flash of insight, the same color as the 4 o’clock sun glare. I swap temptations.

I end up at the frozen yogurt shop. I tell myself it’s a healthier choice. Besides, it’s only 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll have the rest of the day to walk it off.

Calvin says, “Who are you kidding? It’s a double passion peach and mango with a touch of coconut swirl. How do I know that? Because I get the drips.”

The Perfect Halloween Dessert

There’s a new ice cream shop down the block from where I work.

It’s one of those pop-up stores, the kind that appear overnight out of nowhere.

The store used to be a shipping container. It’s been recycled to house a counter, some odd-looking machinery, a menu board, and a couple of servers.

Four unique flavors of ice cream are posted every day.

For example,  Apple-Quince Streusel,  Strawberry with White Balsamic, Earl Grey with Milk Chocolate Chips. 

Making a choice takes time because all the flavors beckon you and they all sound luscious.

However, you’re forced to choose at least one and stick with it because there’s no sampling of the other flavors. That’s because the ice cream is made on the spot in front of you in less than 60 seconds.

It a ghoulish affair with special effects. Perfect for Halloween.

The recipe of your flavor is poured into a metal receptacle, which is then attached to a mixer with fierce-looking handles.

Then the fun starts. The server puts a lid on the container, turns on the mixer, and in an instant it’s swallowed in swirling fog.

Very apt for San Francisco.

What it is is liquid nitrogen. It’s used to churn the mixture into ice cream.

Hmm.

That’s my ice cream in there.

Sixty seconds later, you’re presented with two scoops in a cup.

You’ve never tasted anything like it.

The flavors are a taste sensation in your mouth and an adventure your palate won’t soon forget.

And you’ll be back the next day for more.

Liquid nitrogen and all.

Calvin says, “What would churned kibble in liquid nitrogen taste like? Forget I asked. My taste buds don’t want to know.” 

Conversations on the Run10

“…if it’s your happy color, go for it…”

“If the human body is 60% water, why do we need to drink so much of it?”

“When I go camping I like to get pickled under the pine trees.”

“I used to travel back and forth to Alcatraz when I was murdering people.”

“He looked like a dachshund without enough feet.”

“Triple layer of cultures, that’s what we are. Sounds like a triple ice cream cone smooched together.”

“Everybody has a story to tell, but not every story has an everybody to tell it.”

Calvin says, “Who talks like this? My head hurts.”

Conversations on the Run6

He keeps going back to another conversation when he’s not winning one.

I never want to go to so many funerals in a row ever again.

Have you ever read a story out loud to your dog?

She scattered his ashes around the tree that he had planted last year which died.

Don’t lose your stomach lining over that.

Cut me in half and count the rings.

Every time someone in the family died, my mother scheduled a cruise.

Why does coffee have a table named after it and not tea?

Calvin says, “A coffee table by any other name is still a coffee table. Now a dog bowl by any other name is an ice cream dish.”