Monday, May 19, 2003
It’s a ludicrously nice day
It’s a ludicrously nice day outside today; I’m having an “inside” day instead, very productive, kind of cranky. Sunday was the first Bay-to-Breakers I’ve missed in years - but we had other things to do, and some of them were a lot of fun anyway. This weekend we went to Phipp’s Ranch to pick up some exotic field peas and purple-striped lima beans, and to Bonnie Doon for some framboisified port, and then to Phil’s for the best seafood available anywhere and honestly people who don’t like seafood haven’t had it properly prepared… damn that’s good eating.... as we were setting out on our 200 mile road trip sunday Kel noticed a sign of good things to come: “Fresh Cherry”. Not “cherries,” mind you. This sign was out to party. But things rapidly got better. The next sign was for “fresh Local cherry.” Because they’re always sweetest closer to home.
With all this gallivanting and perigrinating, we didn’t watch the B-2-B runners in their papier-mache, grass-skirted, totally-naked beauty. But they all would have been overshadowed by the new neighbor who’s finally returned from reconstructive surgery - the Conservatory of Flowers is back and better than ever. A few weeks ago I was driving home late at night and JFK drive in front of the Conservatory was totally empty. I could see that they’d moved the big construction trailers away from the facade and main entry - I could finally see the whole thing for the first time since reconstruction began; I could see it all, unbroken, for the first time since that big storm in ‘95 busted out so much of it’s delicate glaizery and tracery. The interior lights were on and the place shone with the pure clarity of multicolored light - not like before, when the white paint on the old poorly-fitted panes made the whole place seem like a bleached carbuncle, a white elephant - now it’s sleek and exuberant and wonderful to see, with jewel glass shooting out beams of purple and green and red just when you least expect them… It’s not open to the public yet but that’s no never-mind to me. I can see it every time I go running in the park, or go to a friend’s house, or just when I have the urge to see something fragile and poetic and transparent and ethereal. It’s the biggest freaking diamond in the world and it’s in my backyard. I’m not the most active conservator of flowers in my neighborhood, but I’m glad to have it back.
Only downside: tourbusses. Hey, at least I get to run weekly through crowds of photo-snapping Germans and Koreans, a living, breathing, sweating piece of local culture. And if the one bad thing about living near such a treasure as the Conservatory is dealing with the myriad visitors who come to marvel at it, well I guess that’s the price I’ll pay for living in paradise. Needless to say, it’s worth it.