Covetous Thoughts

My husband and I are the very early stages of buying a home.  And by very early, I mean we have not determined how much we can realistically put down, have not been to a mortgage broker, bank or realtor.  What I really mean is we look on craigslist for open houses.  And  sigh over the pretty pictures of houses we cannot afford.  

One thing we are realizing is we will likely have to leave our beloved San Francisco, for the, only mildly less astronomically priced, greener pastures of the East Bay.  No concrete decisions have been made (see above) but that is where we're leaning and it already makes me wistful for the city by the bay, even as I reside in it. 

And on that note, lately I've been looking at nearby dwellings with at least 2 of the 7 deadly sins (usually lust and envy.  Sometimes gluttony).  In truth, coveting my neighbor's house is nothing terribly new to me.  Whatever rental I've lived in, there has always been at least one house nearby--rarely the biggest, prettiest or most expensive; in fact it's usually somewhere between the most modest and the most grand on the block--that I've fantasized was mine.  There's just something about these houses (or flats).  Sometimes it's an inviting red dining room with crown mouldings that looks so cozy, yet opulent, when lit up at night.  Sometimes it's the tiniest sliver of a back deck, peeking around a corner unit--sun dappled at all times in my imagination.  

This time it's two things:  flowers and blue.  The color of this house and the eclectic, homey jumble of flowers in the front yard makes me just want to walk right in, pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down at the kitchen table to look at a cookbook.  

Maybe our future house, in a different town, will give me that same feeling. Here's hoping.

Was it good for you?

I've always found an odd similarity between dating and job hunting.  The highs, the lows, the overanalyzing.  The paranoia. You know when you go on a first date?  You get all dolled up.  You're nervous, the butterflies are a-fluttering.  If you're lucky, after a few awkward fits and starts you might have a nice time.   You have a few drinks, laugh a bit, and come away remembering you're kind of a hot cookie.  

The next day you ride the high--a spring in your step, a flip in your hair-do, a sly smile to yourself as you remember how his hand brushed your knee.  

The day after that you're still pretty chipper, but the bloom is off the rose a touch.  You begin to wonder when he'll call.

By day three post-date you start going over the date in your head.  By the afternoon, you're going over the date with  your friends.

Day four and you hate the guy.

Does this sound anything like job hunting?  A good interview can boost spirits like nobody's business. But then, a week later you're wondering what went wrong.  I am in this situation right now.  Three weeks, one email, one voicemail later (all sent, none received) and I am scanning my outbox for accidental forwards to the interviewer calling her a tool.  

And I thought I was leaving this behind when I got married.

Off the Hobby Horse

Some friends and I were just discussing hobbies.  I was lamenting that I have none.  I want to have hobbies. I think of myself as a hobby-type person.  Someone that is passionate about this or that activity.  However, when asked to list 'hobbies' on any kind of form I find myself reaching.  Can I really say 'skiing' when I haven't skied in three years? Is reading really a hobby?  

It depresses and deflates me, this lack of hobby.  I could claim to be too busy, what with the new mothering and all.  But that would be a lie.  I have interests that I alternately indulge and ignore.  But no hobbies.

So how does one cultivate a hobby?  Or hobbies?  Is it innate impulse that drives?  Or a spark of interest that leads to plodding dedication?  What keeps it fun and not a chore?  Must it be something creative and active, or can it be passive?

I'm sure some would say blogging is a hobby, but I'm not ready to go that far just yet. 

The Spirit of the Age

That's the definition of the word "zeitgeist."  Good word.  Trusty wikipedia says, "it describes the intellectual and cultural climate of an era."  That's a big load for a word.  Even a fancy German word.  

Here in San Francisco, Zeitgeist is probably better known as a bar than The Spirit of the Age.  And a great and mighty bar it is.  Let me set the scene for you:

Think German beer garden (I guess a tip of the hat to the word's etymology), but instead of hale and hearty Bavarians, it's full of bikers (cyclists and motorcyclists), hipsters, stoners, and just about every other brand of San Franciscan.  The inside is nothing to write home about. Small. Smelly.  You're average dive bar.  And the bartenders aren't winning any teddy bear of the year awards. But step outside onto the massive back patio and you're in al fresco drinking heaven.  Picnic tables abound.  If it's sunny (and there's no point going there if it isn't), it's packed.  And your neighbors are bound to be in good moods.  There's good burgers a fryin' on the outdoor grill and the sound of the grill man screaming 'order up!' to be heard over the music (punk, speed metal) from inside, mixed with the haze of all kinds of smoke (barbecue, cigarette, you name it), the tang of the salt from a margarita, and the sun beating down on your head is one great way to while away an afternoon.

We took Declan there for the first time today.  I wonder if he'll like it as much as his folks do?

Blog-Shy

I have a friend who calls herself The Reluctant Blogger.  Good name.  I wish I'd thought of it. I've always shied away from starting a blog, even though there are many I enjoy.  I've avoided creating one of my own for two reasons:

1) fear I have nothing to say

2) fear I have too much to say, and that it is all narcissistic, unfocused and boring

I think the concept of blogs scares me in the same way that polishing my resume does--it's in the same realm of 'look at me!  aren't I great?!'  

However, I have recently found myself craving a creative outlet like never before.  Taking a break from a career that I'm good at but don't love, and being a mother which I love, but am not yet sure I'm good at, has left me...um...looking for some balance.  I've never been good at balance, but it's always good to strive for, right?  Hence: Wobbly Balance.  

I've also held back from the world of weblogs because I hoped to hit upon a theme--something that would tie the blog together and keep it out of the realm of "today I had a ham sandwich for lunch" writing.  Well, I think I'm too scattered to be thematic.  So, no real theme here, at least not yet.  Isn't that more balanced anyway?

First Mothers Day

So I've never been a big fan of Mothers Day.  Luckily, I have a wonderful and very low-maintenance mother who has never made a big deal about this day.  We usually do something on the day, or sometimes the day before, to avoid the crowds.  At the very least I call her and wish her a happy day.  

This year I am a mother.  To this crazy character here.  And I must say, I must have become a sap because I like it a little bit better this year.  Thanks Declan, for making me a mother.