The first time I met him was shortly after I moved into my room in my first apartment in San Francisco. He was my downstairs neighbour in the six unit building, and that afternoon he was standing on the rickety back deck, knocking on the kitchen door. He was dressed for running, and had come to see if my roomate wanted to come for a jog with him. She wasn't home, but I borrowed her running shoes (which seems like an odd thing to do, now, considering she and I were still virtual strangers, but at the time we didn't bat an eyelid.). He proceeded to crucify me on a very hilly run, though I was determined not to let it show.
So began my time with the people I consider my first San Francisco family. Like the inhabitants of Armistead Maupin's Barbary lane the residents of Walter St supported each other through crappy jobs and dubious relationships. We drank a lot of wine, and we laughed more than I ever have before.
Ten years later he was the first visitor geekygirl had in the hospital, and now he is a favourite uncle, dropping in for dinner or drinks, often providing the food and culinary skills too, and embracing the mayhem that is our home.
We are grown ups now. Well we were technically grown ups then, we were in our mid twenties, but we didn't feel or act particularly grown up. This month my old jogging partner turned 40. This weekend the whole gang is getting together to celebrate our dear friend.
Were ensconcing ourselves in a huge house in the wine country. Those who have kids are bringing them along. Our car is laboring under the weight of wine and food and anticipation. i cannot wait for us all to be together again.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone on the road