Upon a rainy return...

Ah, so THIS is what a San Francisco winter is supposed to be. It's been raining/misting/spitting/generally being in a moist sort of way for the past three days. But it's a good thing - the ground is thirsty for it. It's actually the most rain I've seen in San Francisco since I arrived in October. I'd actually begun to believe this whole rain thing was a myth, especially when biking around in february in a t-shirt.

But as the rain comes, I am going back to Canada for a visit. I'm terrifically excited to see my friends and family. I got spoilt in Ottawa and Toronto - I've such deep, inspiring, emotional friendships that I got used to connecting easily. Here, I've really had to show the best of myself - I have to wait until I've hung out with someone at least three times before I get drunk and throw up on their shoes, lest I ruin an early friendship.

But I've still managed to connect to some of the amazing people here, including the awesome folks at swing dancing in Golden Gate Park, my former roommate Liah who quit her job as a computer programmer to make whimsical masks and earrings full time, and my friend Eric, who leads an incredible NGO called EMERGENCY USA, which helps build high-quality medical facilities in war-torn regions.

In fact, one of my new friends went with me to Lake Tahoe for skiiing. If you aren't familiar with Lake Tahoe, it's THE outdoor playground for pretty much everyone in San Francisco and area. And there's a good reason - it's astoundingly beautiful. Big ole snow-capped mountains that surround a rough blue lake, with a whole pile of ski resorts nearby. In the summer, people come to swim, sunbath (probably) hunt and (probably) get liquored up. Plus, lots of the small towns nearby easily and happily have started their own um, agricultural economies of a certain green plant. And if you get bored of all that, there's always the terrifically depressing gambling town of Reno to visit - what's not to like??

But back to the skiing. I hadn't been downhill skiing in about 12 years and imagined I'd look something like this. And, true to my prediction, I fell at least twice while getting off the ski lift before I was gently encouraged to lean forward when pushing off the seat. I did surprisingly well, having only one wipeout and even managed to go faster than some of the 5-year olds learning on the beginner hill beside me. I laughed heartily at them and then felt pretty good about myself.

I also did a gorgeous hike on Mount Tamalpais, about 45 minutes north of San Francisco. And this is the beauty of the coast - you can ski in one place, travel half a day south, and lie on the beach somewhere else.

I'll miss California while I'm gone, but I'm looking forward to giving hugs so big and fierce my arms threaten to fall off. Sayonara San Francisco - save me a piece of sourdough for when I get back.

Just a regular week in California....

This was my week:

I high-fived Jeff Bridges (aka "The Dude" from the Big Lebowski) and enjoyed an amazing cheese plate on Saturday night. I'm not sure what was better.

I stood within one foot (I use "feet" now that I'm in America, y'all) of the bike used in the movie "ET," saw the mechanical T-rex used in Jurassic Park (much smaller and cuter in real life than on the screen), and meditated at the sun-dappled Yoda fountain

I partied with drag queens, goths, bunnies and other creative types at a Burning Man pre-party.

And I started and finished the weekend in Golden Gate Park, whose ground was not covered in snow, but in new, tiny daisies.

Okay, this isn't really a regular week here, but it did give me great appreciation for what I'm able to experience here. Also, I really, really, really like being able to jog in a t-shirt and bike every single day without ski goggles, gloves, snow pants, coat, scarf, hat, ear muffs, boots, extra socks, balaclava....

But one of the best parts of the week? A friend from home is visiting today - hooray! And, call me crazy, but I'm going to Lake Tahoe on the weekend and I'm really excited to see my first snow of the winter! Hopefully my California sun-warmed skin will be able to handle it. I've grown to be SUCH a delicate flower.

The Great (Kosher) Outdoors

The past few weeks, my attention has been focused on the birds and the bees....and the water and the trees and the rocks and the desert and the forest. Yes, I've not forgotten that I'm an "environmentalist," out to "save the world" with the glow of organic produce in my cheeks and fashionable fair-trade hemp underwear covering my caboose.

These past few weeks I've been in touch with the natural world in a variety of ways. Last week, I enjoyed the company of some of the wonderful individuals at San Francisco Baykeeper, while we went out on the ocean checking for pollution, Danger Bay style. These guys do lots of excellent work in a watershed serving 10 million people and a whackload more aquatic, bird, plant and mammal life. And the sue the crap out of polluters - the american justice system at its finest.

It's funny - when you live the heart of the city, you almost forget that you are surrounded by water. And so yesterday, I took an easy bike ride through Golden Gate Park and ended up at Ocean Beach. Now I've not been at the ocean some time, and after struggling with my bike up a sandy embankment, I was faced with a breathtaking scene of white waves cresting long along a limitless, sandy shore. Shoes kicked off, I meandered down, lay my bike in the sand, and soaked my toes in the crisp surf of the ocean, letting myself wander back and forth according to the tide. Although I know this sounds like hippy-dippy silliness, you do get a sort of a primal pull to the water and to the earth when you step on the sand and into the ocean. It will knock you over if you aren't careful and will entice you deeper, only to surprise you with generous waves, one on top of the other, that confidently soak your pants (not that this happened to me. No, I was much too careful to come giggle and sopping wet out of the ocean).

I know I am one of many who recognizes the connection you get when facing the magnificence of nature. This week, I was introduced to an incredible organization based in Berkeley called Wilderness Torah. A little background: I'm one of those Jews who say I'm culturally Jewish (ie I'm kind of "meh" on the whole god thing but I love me a pile of steaming, golden crispy latkes and regularly kvetch about everything I can. Oy, the skirts girls wear these days!). Although I've been involved in Jewish organizations, and I do love that musty, old-person smell of the synagogue, I've never felt very connected to the spirituality of my religion. Wilderness Torah is working to connect Jews with the very present - but seemingly forgotten - connection to the natural world our religion has. It does this through educational programs with children and youth as well as providing pretty neat-o ways of celebrating holidays in places like the Red Wood forest or the Joshua Tree desert. I love this. I've always felt that the environmental aspect of Judaism has been largely ignored but is ever-present in the scriptures and I'm so pleased that this organization exists. I hope to volunteer with them, learn more, and who knows - maybe I'll find myself a nice vegan-socialist-fair-trade Jewish lawyer to marry.

Gaining and losing a home

Last week I celebrated American Thanksgiving (look closely - this turkey already has cooking utensils with it. How convenient!). This is a holiday that celebrates appreciation and thanks, and the historical trade in which indigenous people in what is now the U.S. showed settlers how to fish and hunt and in return were given the gift of whisky and syphilis.

But for most Americans, this holiday is about family (be it good friends, neighbours, family members) and home. I was fortunate enough to spend my thanksgiving with extended family near Sacramento.

I was worried a little bit because my expectation of this holiday was that I was going to eat until I could no longer move, and then pass out, pants undone and drooling in front of some American football (if the food didn't make me pass out, the football would). But then I was told that the people hosting tended to be "healthy" people, and I feared we would be given sprouted mung beans and a slice of apple for dessert. Not that these things aren't good, but really, I'm living in the fattest nation in the world, and I feel I should do my part to pack on as much poundage as possible while I'm here.

I needn't have worried. The overloaded table groaned with appetizers, rich bowls of potatoes, yams, gravy, beans, warm baskets of bread, a huge, tender turkey, cheesecake, fruit, pie, and fruit custard cake. It also happened that the host grew his own grapes and was an amateur wine maker. So, only to be polite, I threw back several glasses of very good wine. I recognized then and there that Thanksgiving could become one of my favorite holidays.

However, thanksgiving is also the day before the most horrific day in the United States - Black Friday, a massive consumer holiday where people push, shove, and pepper-spray each other to get the "best deals" so they can carp to their neighbours on how much money they saved. The irony of this being that in fact, they did not save money - they spent it. If you save $100 off a $400 his and hers matching chamber pots, you've still spent $300. On matching chamber pots.

This year especially, this massive consumeristic holiday is particularly disturbing. As a Canadian, I read about people losing their homes and their savings but it was never that tangible and being in San Francisco, I hadn't really thought too much about it. But over the few days I stayed with my relatives, they listed off five or six families who have had to move into apartments or friends' and families' homes because they lost their own in the recession. And the saddest part of this is that this group included a young family, a grandmother, and a couple in which one worked as a successful architect, and some of these folks had been in their homes for decades. It doesn't seem to matter who you are - one wrong turn and, because of a recession caused largely by corporate greed and irresponsible government, anyone could have ended up without a home, not just those who made poor financial decisions around new mortgages.

In an age in which people are not only losing their homes, but it is happening enough that almost everyone knows of several people who are desperately looking for a place to live, I find Black Friday not only troubling in of itself, but an affront to all the people who are now suffering through bankruptcy, homelessness, and shame.

But hey, at least we all have the God-given freedom to purchase as many Star Trek Pizza Cutters as we can get for 75% off at Wal Mart.

Tonight I had dinner with a Nobel Peace Prize laureate.

And she ate all the fried artichokes we ordered.

Last week, I chatted over tea with John Perkins, author of, among others, the best-selling Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. A few weeks ago, I shared a car ride with Vicki Robbin who, way ahead of her time, wrote Your Money or Your Life which questioned the assumption that one can actually choose a simpler life of almost complete happiness by rejecting the idea of insatiable wealth (what, you mean happiness doesn't come from having so much money that you can shower in Patron tequila every day, Festoon your pet ferret with diamonds and eat only endangered Siberian tigers because you can?).

In exchange for all of these experts sharing their well-conceived ideas andgroundbreaking concepts with me, I have, in return, and in their presence, babbled, rambled, got a bit drunk, possibly drooled, and giggled like a 13 year old girl in the presence of Justin Bieber. I think it was a fair exchange.

Holy eff - how did I end up here? In the past month, I've experienced several brain melts from incredible information and conversations with people eons more magnificently brilliant than me. My mind has blown more times than a mountaintop mine in West Virginia. I'd like to think that all the intelligence has in some form rubbed off on me, and I think it has. I feel thoughts are gelling in my head and ideas of what I want to do in the future are coming together (though it could be the pot. I've not even smoked it once you arrive in San Francisco, you become a pothead by default. Walking along the street you are automatically high. Even dogs get stoned when they go on a walk).

I've come to the conclusion that San Francisco is a magical place, more magical than unicorns and marshmallow trees and rainbow-laden three-tailed puppy dogs. Ergo, I expect all of you to come visit me and bask in the waves of progressive thought. Or at least eat Chinese food and smoke pot until you can no longer walk.

We the people

Okay, so I lied. I was going to tell you about my new apartment, how on my first night in my bright red room (complete with a peace sign tapestry and a Frida Kahlo beaded curtain), I was serenaded at 2 in the morning by my downstairs neighbours wailing the Credence Clearwater Revival Woodstock hippie classic song "Who'll stop the rain," and that I've got huge pair of fishnet-clad plastic legs kicking out of the window across from my room.

But something else happened - I went to Oakland for the General Strike, a part of the Occupy Oakland movement. Oakland is across the Bay from San Francisco, and in parts, is rather downtrodden and economically depressed. However, it is also an incredible intersection of all types of diversity. It has also become a central focus in the Occupy movement due to, among other things, the police assault on a peaceful protester who also happens to be an Iraq war vet. Last week, the organizers of the movement called for a general strike, encouraging everyone to stay home from work and school and join them at the site in solidarity.

Now I've been thinking a lot about the Occupy movements and am increasingly fascinated and excited by what is happening. People are self-organizing with relatively little hierarchy and direction, ensuring everyone is fed (mostly) ensuring everyone is safe (though I understand in Ottawa there have been very scary claims of sexual assault). The movements are finding creative ways around barriers set in their midst (such as at Wall Street, where they've developed an extremely clever human microphone system after a noise volume regulation was issued) and providing spaces where people can learn, discuss, meditate and share. When I found out about the General Strike, I felt it was an opportunity to finally get involved. And so I packed myself on to the Bay Area Rapid Transit system, "I'm joining a credit union" sign in hand, and headed east.

Chanting reached my ears as I got off the train, and I emerged into the sunlight amongst young folks, old folks, people of a vast diversity of race, religion, gender, sexuality and socio-economic status. The energy in the area swept me up immediately in an embrace of solidarity. Now I'm not really the kind to get sucked in emotionally but seeing so many people out to really change the status quo brought tears to my eyes more than once.

I wasn't able to stay the whole day but watched with wonder as the movement shut down the ports and with anger as they had to face an ugly clash with police (which the media singularly focused on, rather than the thousands of people who took to the streets). I was inspired by the folks who, facing foreclosure on their homes, went into the a bank branch with furniture and set up a living room in which they sat, refusing to leave and saying to the bank that since they had taken their homes, they had no where else to go.

There is such power in this movement, my friends, such overwhelming, positive energy. I am starting to think that we are at a turning point. People are frustrated that the lie of "work hard and you'll succeed" that they were sold is clearly not coming to fruition. People are ashamed that they can't provide for their families and tired of sitting back as their communities fall apart. These occupy movements, along with the Arab spring and the riots in Europe, are, I hope, heralding in a new paradigm that is more equitable and fosters cooperation and community decision-making.

They don't have all the answers bundled in neat little talking points, and they don't need to. If governments around the world can't figure out how the solve the problems, why the hell should the people have it all figured out. What they have figured out is that our society is failing and things have got to change.

I recognize that this posting is not really as humourous as the others, and I promise I'll return to my silly self in the next posting. But in the meantime, Iencourage all of you to do one thing to help move forward this extremely exciting societal change. Join a credit union and then explain to your big bank why you are breaking up with them, write a letter to the media about what's happening, bring the Occupy movements in your area warm drinks and food, talk to your friends and colleagues about it, participate yourself. This is the people's movement. Let's all be a part of it.

EARTHQUAKE!

Last week, in mid sentence with my boss, the earth a-grumbled and shook. Less a terrifying tremor and more a gentle nudge, but a genuine, 100% Californian Earthquake. Especially ironic is that it happened the same day as the Great California ShakeOut earthquake drill, in which everyone who signs up is supposed to all jump under their desks, pop themselves in a doorway, duct-tape themselves to the floor, or whatever it is one does during an earthquake. I of course, in my vast earthquake experience, knew exactly what to do: I kept talking and felt the building shake but didn't mentally register it until my boss said "that was an earthquake." I think it's a defensive mechanism, like the time in the middle of the night that I had a rat run between my feet, felt the fur, and told myself it was the cat. But we didn't have a cat. I'm comforted that, in a state of emergency, my mind will clearly and forcefully evade reality and I'll enter danger in a state of complete blissful unawareness. It may limit my survival chances, but at least I'll be happy.

Speaking of survival, I started biking to work last week. Now, I've commuted for some time and consider myself relatively hardcore. But let me tell you: Rather than feeling (and looking) like this on the road I more felt and looked like this (complete with that abject look of terror at seeing the next five blocks of hill) whilst struggling up on my lowest gear. Most of my bike-based encounters with San Francisco have gone something like this:

Me (to myself): "Oh, this hill doesn't look so bad"

five minutes later

Me: "Okay! Made it up the first two."

five seconds later, upon seeing the next hill

Me: "holy mother of blessed #&@*@)!"

approximately 15 minutes later, while cars, people walking, dogs, squirrels, and old folk with walkers, all of whom race by me while I go slower than the speed of retreating glaciers impacted by climate change.

Me: "ouchouchouchouchouchouch!" Then there's usually some self-pity, almost crying, almost throwing up, and utter despair. But when I do make it, oy, what views! I'll get pictures up eventually but the vistas are simply spectacular.

While it is difficult, it's not as bad as it seems. I bought an incredible bike map with great, more flat routes on it, and the left wing commie pinkos in the city have made it surprisingly bike-friendly. So much so that the cab drivers, rather than deliberately cutting you off (as they do in Ontario), actually give you plenty of space, as do the other drivers. No one honks at each other (for the most part) and people are really patient. I think there are two reasons for this: 1) everyone is stoned, as per west coast tradition and 2) everyone is incredulous that people bike here, and hold respect for those making it up the hills by bike. Or maybe they just think cyclists have completely lost their marbles and so give them plenty of space to avoid any psychotic incidents from people happily torturing themselves on two wheels.

But I'll continue to grind along, anticipating breathtaking climbs and even more breathtaking vistas, and appreciating the strength in my body that allows me to push so hard. And also, once in a while, taking the bus.

Next time...a new abode, a new adventure.