Monks on the run and other dreamlike moments

Sometimes living in San Francisco is like living in a dream—an actual dream, as in those surreal, confusing, beautiful, scary movies that play in your head at night while you sleep. I live in a residential part of the city close to Golden Gate Park and UCSF, which isn't too noisy and isn't too quiet, and the other day as I left my flat to walk to the grocery store a few blocks away, I stopped in my tracks right outside my gate: seven monks—as in Buddhist monks—were running like mad to catch the downtown MUNI train, saffron-and-brown robes either hiked up and gripped in their hands or billowing around their ankles, sunlight bouncing off their bald heads. I stopped and stared, and for a moment seriously half-wondered if I was still asleep. To catch the train they had to run past a gorgeous old Catholic church, which is vivid pink and trimmed with detailed images of the saints, and for some reason this made the sight even more wondrous.

My route to the grocery store in fact takes me around the corner this church sits on (the monks made the train, by the way), and just as I rounded the corner I stopped when I saw an enormous, gleaming …horse. I stopped and blinked to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, and opened my eyes again and... Yep: a horse. A brown horse. As I’d never seen a horse standing there before in the decade or so I’ve lived in the neighborhood, this was a bit startling, and kind of wonderful, too. At first the horse appeared to be all alone, but then I saw standing next to it a very tall police officer wearing poofy pants tucked into long boots, and he, too, looked unbelievably shiny—his badge was practically shooting laser beams, it was so polished. I assumed it was his dress uniform, and maybe the horse was there for some kind of ceremony—a wedding? A funeral? I didn’t ask for specifics, but I smiled and nodded as I passed him, and he smiled and nodded back (the cop did, not the horse, as this was real life ), looking amused to have startled me.

I walk another half a block until I get to the slightly loopy guy who usually sits at the corner near the grocery store. He's very thin, he's missing a front tooth and he has a beard down to his clavicle. Every time he sees me he asks very earnestly: “Are you a movie star?” I think my sunglasses might prompt this question, as he asks it no matter whether I’m wearing jeans and my sweatshirt with the paint splotch on it or…jeans and something else. (With me, it’s pretty much always jeans and something.) And I suspect he asks all the girls who walk by this very same question, but I always tell him yes, because I hate to disappoint him, and I always keep some spare change handy for him. I figure it’s like paying toll to get into the store.

And when I finally get into the grocery store I can usually count on a brief, disorienting, faintly hilarious conversation with a particular bagger who’s worked there for many years, if he’s assigned to my line. This bagger...well, let’s just say he occupies a slightly different reality than the rest of us, and I usually end up a bit dizzy from the contact with him. On this day, we had a conversation about my leather jacket. Now, just for context, pretty much everyone in San Francisco has a leather jacket, because it’s light enough for the weather and heavy enough for the weather—just right, in other words. I got my latest jacket at the Burlington Coat Factory about three years ago for like, oh, $70? It’s a decent, sturdy, fairly unremarkable black jacket.

So I buy my groceries, and as he’s bagging them he says to me:

Bagger: That’s a nice jacket.

Me (pleased): Thanks!

Bagger: It must be very old.

Me (uncertain now): Um…

Bagger: It has a nice patina.

Me: A...a patina? [Note: my jacket has no patina.]

Bagger (in all seriousness): You must keep it in a temperature controlled environment.

Me (in a confiding hush, trying not to laugh): Oh, I do. I keep it in with my minks.

And we both laughed at this as I said thanks and went home.

I usually bring my own grocery bag to the store, and for the last year or so I've been using using the tote bag I got at the RWA conference in Dallas because it's big and closes with a zipper, which is great if it's raining. The bag says "Waldenbooks" on one side of it, and on another day, when this bagger was packing my groceries in the bag, he read out loud:

Bagger: Waldenbooks...Do you work there?

Me (very, very tentatively, as I never know where a conversation with this guy will go): No, but... Well, I'm a writer—

Bagger (in all seriousness): Are you J.K. Rowling?

See? He makes me dizzy. But no doubt J.K. Rowling brings her own shopping bag to the grocery store and lugs kitty litter home three blocks, too. (Heck, she might!)

I think life in this city on the whole always keeps my equilibrium just a little bit off, and I've come to appreciate being in a near constant state of bemusement, all of which is a pretty good training for a career in publishing. :) And now, it's bedtime now for me, and officially Monday. Welcome to a new week!!

Comments

[Haven Rich]

I would say I have dream-like moments as well but for the most part its people asking me to tell them what their dreams mean.

But in truth, I've had moments such as these, but not nearly as interesting. But I've made the comment to the hubby a few times how things seemed to be "different" on any uncertain day. And they would be altered in some way. A few times when we lived in San Diego, we'd go to the store late at night and for some reason the lamplights would be brighter than normal (living in cali you know what I mean when I say they are always dim). But it was so neat.

It's also how cars look after a fresh rain on a cloudy day. There colors seem different (to me anyhow).

As for the bagger, well all I can say is he keeps your life interesting doesn't he?

I also know what you mean with paying your toll. At the hospital I use to go to(er), there would always be a person sitting there, with clothing very weathered and we would take whatever change we had and give it to them. As we are often broke too, we would sometimes bring food with us, to give. This would normally gain us the smile of someone who is thankful. Either that or they think we are on crack for handing them food or change lol.

Not to be mean to others but I think it takes a special type of person to see days like this..and no I don't mean riding the short bus (hubby's expression). I mean it takes a person who isn't afraid to stop and smell the roses. My father-in-law would never see a day like this because he is too wrapped up in his thoughts of money and work to see such things.

Anyhow, if nothing less, you could always write these people into your next story...or have you already?? "the" in Ways to be Wicked seems like the type hehe. And I can almost bet, Julie, you'll be the only one who gets that comment until after the book is released.

[Julie Anne Long]

I think you're right, Haven—I think some people go out into the world every day prepared to see the humor or wonder in things, just sort of reflexively taking in the details of life, the beauty AND the ugliness or difficulty (and we have plenty of both in San Francisco.) It certainly makes life more colorful and rich, no matter what you have on your mind. (I know what you mean about cars after rain!! I love the light right after it rains). I suspect writers, artists, etc., are more predisposed to this. I've had friends who say things to me, like, "why in God's name are you watching the pigeons?" LOL. I like to watch all the little worlds within worlds going on around us. Guess I'm lucky that I'm easily entertained or diverted. LOL. And sometimes work and concerns can distract you from sort of observing the world...but I think observing the world can help put everyday concerns in perspective, too. And yeah...I think pretty much everything I experience ends up in my books in some form or another. :) I'll blog about that some day!

[Haven Rich]

I like the way you put it much better. My husband always says I'm being overly emotional or sensitive. Either way I like to think that I see the world..not just view it. Which, as you said, is part of the reason I love painting. I'm not good at it but I love the colors. I love art, because of the emotion they put into each canvas.

I've always figured there are two types of people..cup half full/cup half empty. This seems to apply in all areas.

My cup is full hehe.