special tea party, aphorism corollary, fuck Treasure Island

I had been wanting to go to high tea with Ming, for a long time.  Not sure why.  It was on my bucket list.

So I made reservations at this place near Japantown in San Francisco.  It's expensive.  It was fun.   It felt like a deep life pleasure. 

But I kept crying.  The music was moving--three Cat Stevens songs, some Stevie Nicks, "Dust In the Wind."  "Starry Night," played--when I was a teenager, my dad gave me an audio tape of Don McClean that had that song on it.

But mostly, life was feeling fragile and too short.  The food was delicious.  We liked the crumpets, blueberry scones, clotted cream, lemon curd, jam, sandwiches. 

My tea was great.  Ming liked his also--imperial pu-erh.  The little desserts were nice.  I got maxed out on sugar, and we took a few home with us.

There were little souffle things that I found boring and not delicious--I gave mine to Ming after the first bite.  But I was glad they had no trouble doing it vegetarian.

Seeing Ming lick the pink frosting from the vanilla mini cupcake was very cute.  Seeing his pleasure at the things.  That made me cry too.  I guess that was why it was on my bucket list--I guess that was the reason.

I was trying not to cry because I didn't want the excellent waitperson to see me crying and think I was sad about something.  I would cry and stop, look away.

There were roses, and I wiped my eyes with a napkin and asked Ming to take a picture of me with the roses to show my mom, because she likes roses.  They look like sweet garden roses more than florist ones.

And there were some funny advices on the wall.  I asked Ming to take my picture beside this one.

The tea place was in a building called New People.  I thought it was a mall for kids things and imagined some kid museum.  I didn't like the idea that a lot of kids would be at the tea place, being their loud kid selves.  (Lotsa reasons I didn't have kids.)

I was mistaken--it's just a regular mall, nothing to do with kids.  But I thought it was for kids since kids are new people.  I was just laughing about this mistake.

We finally left.  We lingered for a couple songs I like.  "House of the Rising Sun" version by the Animals, I think.  And maybe "Sound of Silence."  We walked to the minivan... 

I have an aphorism--it's only a good parking space if you get back and your car is still there.  I have a corollary now: It's only a good parking space if you get back and your window hasn't been smashed and Ming's backpack stolen.

It's $308 for the new window to be installed.  Ming's backpack had nothing valuable in it, but the backpack itself was kinda valuable, a fancy one that the rain couldn't get into. 

"They must have felt disappointed," I told Ming.  "They risked their freedom for nothing."  It was on a busy street, in daylight. 

My bag was in there, and it wasn't touched--I'm glad they didn't get my computer.  Also, my stamp tin was in the glovebox, and that was ignored also.  Kind of a lot of money in stamps, there.

Our whole drive back to El Cerrito, we could hear the sound of more safety glass crumbling and falling.  It was unsettling.  I felt fine, but Ming was sad. 

I needed to pee, after enjoying an entire pot of decaf English breakfast tea, so we stopped at the deli on Treasure Island.



Moral of the story: Hide your backpack, when you park in San Francisco.