There’s a legend in my family that my mother decided she was “finished” being pregnant. Like many a Bay Area resident, she decided to take a hike up a hill. A few short hours later, she went into labor.
I always recalled the story of her trudging up the Fillmore hill. It’s a fairly steep few blocks, so much that the 22 Fillmore bus makes a detour. Yesterday I had an appointment on Union Street and had 30 minutes on a meter. My appointment was canceled and I’m just not the type of person that will give up a prime parking spot where I infrequently visit. So, it was a nice day and I got myself a Jamba Juice, put some good exercise music on my iPod, and decided I would recreate the legend more than 38 years later. I walked a few blocks, looked up the hill and determined I would conquer it like Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay besting Everest. It only took a few minutes to ascend from Union Street to Broadway. At the top, a gaggle of tourists gathered to hear a guide and gawked as I took my last few steps to the top and raised my arms in my best Rocky Balboa impersonation.
Going down was easier.
And then I found out that apparently my mother walked up Telegraph Hill.
As you can guess (because I am writing this post now), I did not go into labor. The two mile walk later in the afternoon with my speed-walking stepmother didn’t do the trick either.
So today, on the summer solstice and the day before the due date, I sent Larry off to work to ship BLACK DIAMOND #3 (pick up the BLACK DIAMOND series at your nearest retailer) off to the printer. I did some paperwork, made some calls, reconnected with a good friend in Israel, did some errands, re-sealed the silicone around the kitchen sink (which had been bugging me for the 8 years since we moved in) and then decided that I didn’t go into labor because I clearly walked up the wrong hill.
Around 4pm, I determined that if I was going to have this baby soon, I would need to walk up the proper hill. I’ve never been to Coit Tower despite having lived in San Francisco for much of my life. I’ve also never seen the wild parrots that live on Telegraph Hill so in the spirit of “one more thing…”, it seemed like I should to make my way over to one of the best San Francisco walks which starts at Greenwich and Sansome Streets and ascend the stairs to the tower. It was an INCREDIBLE walk — the weather perfect, the flowers fragrant, the parrots flying and squawking overhead — and Mimi fueled by a bit of OCD, a positive attitude and a Sobe fruit drink. The walk was a breeze and I was barely winded (although I did take my time because, well, I may be obsessive, but I’m not stupid).
Larry made me a great dinner and now we’re going to relax and keep our fingers crossed that we can recreate the family legend.
And I have to quickly say “hey” to my friend Jared who was disappointed I didn’t post last night — so Jared, this post is dedicated to you.