of this finely restored ’41 – ’47 Chevy, way nice compared to those ubiquitous fat-assed Muskvagens [he really had to uglify them before they found their True Market] on a sunny

downtown Saturday enlivened

firstly by a visit from Enrico from overseas who regaled us with tales of Europeans holding

their breaths as MAGAmerka circles the drain, hoping when push finally comes to flush that the whole mess will disappear at once [not likely given the crew we currently have ruining – er, running – the country*] followed by a trip through peak grasses down along the water and,

after an all too eventful afternoon [for L., mainly], a glimpse of life north of the border.

Sunday was fun day, off to San Rafael for Jeanne Finley’s film which, screening midday, presented a certain logistical problem of nourishment, nicely solved by Linda’s purchase of

two blandwiches from One House beforehand to tide us over though boy did they turn out

to be tasteless, deliberately probably…excellent textures and ingredients but Utah style bland.  Oh well…that was the upside compared to the days of Dread Bread Bowel Syndrome

which followed, as hard to foresee as Linda’s earlier egg-sufferings.  On the plus side we made it to the screening with plenty of time to be blown away by the short “Good Enough Ancestor”

which preceded Jeanne’s engaging feature “A Radical Thread” about the history, tapestry and

culture of San Juan Ridge…Monday came with further immersion into Slides of Paintings Past while Linda met with more curators, these from SF State boxing up maquettes for a show

in early fall while I ranged about – down to the water and up the back of the Capitol –

surveying our neighborhood and the motor pool from above.  Or below…

The days continued, the next bringing Deb O’Grady for a sculpture repair and lunch

with her chowhound [German shorthair actually] Amos then Tuesday

after a trip to the market and Bookshop Benicia

David Dodd was back for quesadillas and another consult on the archives and the next –

oooh never a dull [or spare] moment – we were off on a rare visit to The City, delayed into the noon rush while awaiting Cindy the cleaning lady who neither came nor called.  Abandoning

all hope away we went to 219 Carl Street, my long [long] ago home and currently home to son Bryan, the upstairs still full of his late mom’s stuff…collections of fountain pens, essential

oils, art, clothing and much much more [not shown]. A strange experience to contrast the austerely organized life of Bryan on the first floor with the Remnants of Jeanne upstairs…including but not limited to a kitchen stove very like ours at Wall Spring [the latter having come, twenty five years ago, from a flat owned by D. Rumsey three blocks east]. All that seen and savored we adjourned to Cole Valley for a pleasant but surreally spendy

lunch of $31.00 hamburgers and $39.00 Eggs Benedict at Zazie,

then at 2:20 took the two bridges home through the continuing hours of rushing

through the park

across the Golden Gate, right at Larkspur then

on to the Richmond,

back to 80…

and eventual Benicia, hopefully the last California Driving [except to get across the valley

next week] we’ll be doing for the next six months…

Except of course for driving to V-town where the check engine light lit enroute so after

Greg [Flood, of Paul Thiebaud Gallery], who spent most of the day visiting with us tho mainly L,

left I dropped the Tun off at el Ojo Grande to see what the what…

and so to dinner outside on a summery evening, to summarize.

*But The Donald will Abide, aided and abetted by Trumplets cutting Deals for Dad hither and yon with amazing vigor…and without the trademark Sour Scowls so emblematic of Dad, Pete Thiel’s pathetic little puppet and all those Fox news rejects n the Cabinet whose sole qualifications seem to be Unquestioning Loyalty, histories of sexual predation and Utter Incompetence.

[…Flusssh…]