Every seven or eight years, I get a hankering for an adventure. These adventures generally aren’t planned, per se, they’re opportunities that arise and I think, “Hey, that’d be fun.” And then I’m on a plane, not sure about what comes next.

In 1992 I was offered a job in Kuwait.  I went to the San Francisco public library to check out a book on Kuwait, to see if it was something that I wanted to consider. There were no books on Kuwait, but there was one on Iran. I figured that was close enough (in hindsight, not at all the same…), read it, and decided to go.

In 2001 a friend said, “Let’s bike through Cuba!” I bought a used bike and attempted to buy a nice seat for it (the bike store employee said he wouldn’t allow me to buy such a nice seat for such a piece of junk) and that was the extent of my planning. As we rode from town to town in Cuba, I realized that a few practice rides in San Francisco might have helped me…

In 2007, I had to travel to Nepal for work. I decided to hike the Annapurna Circuit over 21 days. The first night of the trail, other hikers sat around the table, talking about how they had prepared for the hike. When one person talked about carrying a backpack weighted with rocks and running up and down stairs, and the others nodded in agreement that they, too, had done so, I wondered if maybe I should have done more than simply requested vacation days…

All of the adventures turned out fine. More than fine, really. Pretty spectacular, actually. I’ve always been a “Let’s see what happens” type of person, and generally appreciate that there’s a lot of good.

I’ve decided to walk el Camino de Santiago in March and April this year. And for some inexplicable reason, I’ve felt the need to plan. Maturity? Maybe. Lessons learned from past experiences? Maybe. Surprisingly, the planning has been  gratifying.

I’ve researched ultra-light clothing/sleeping options. I’ve tried on backpacks and hiking shoes. I’ve started walking longer distances.

Today my neighbors and I set out for a 15 mile walk, more or less the distance I’m aiming to do daily on el Camino. There’s something about the rhythm of walking that is satisfyingly meditative. We walked from our homes in the center of the city to the ocean. On the way there, we noticed a hummingbird, sitting on a bush. I’ve never seen a hummingbird not in flight. We all stopped, transfixed. The bird sat there. For minutes. We watched, silent. It flittered to another bush, flittered back in front of us, then flew away. We walked. It rained. We inhaled the fresh air of a forest after a shower. On the way to lunch, we noticed another hummingbird, just sitting there on a bush. The bird turned its head and we were treated to a splash of vibrant pink on its head. We watched. It sat. We mentioned that this must be a sign. It flew away. We stopped for lunch. We chatted with strangers. We laughed. We wished each other well. We walked along the ocean, then through Golden Gate Park. At mile 13 my feet began to feel tender. We walked a little slower. When I got home, I looked up the significance of the hummingbird.

From this site:

The hummingbird generally symbolizes joy and playfulness, as well as adaptability. Additional symbolic meanings are:
•    Lightness of being, enjoyment of life
•    Being more present
•    Independence
•    Bringing playfulness and joy in your life
•    Lifting up negativity
•    Swiftness, ability to respond quickly
•    Resiliency, being able to travel great distances tirelessly

I don’t know if I’ll see any more hummingbirds between now and when I depart for Spain. I’ll remember today’s message, though – to be present, enjoy life, and celebrate joy.

I’m a very selective church goer. In San Francisco, I only go to church when my friend Marvin is preaching. Marvin is a joy to listen to. He’s got a confident, booming voice. He’s a poet at heart, and his sermons often involve beautiful word choices and a lyrical structure. And his messages make you go, “Hm.” And ask questions. And then more questions. And I like that.

Today’s sermon focused on the Black Lives Matter movement. And Marvin’s time in Ferguson, paying witness to that movement. And how, yes, all lives matter, but right now we need to focus on black lives, because the justice system isn’t.

Most of the times I’ll go to church alone, but the last couple of times I’ve attended church, a friend has come with me. As we were walking home today, we were discussing the sermon. She said that she hadn’t really thought of it from that perspective. I mentioned that the reason that I support the movement is because 1- black lives do matter and 2 – I experience white privilege and it feels yucky.

The time I rode CalTrain from Palo Alto to San Francisco, not realizing I had to tag my Clipper card at the station (there aren’t card readers on board the train). As I stood there on the train, swiping my Clipper card, back and forth in front of the paper Clipper Card advertisement, the ticket taker walked by and asked me, somewhat incredulously, what I was doing. I told him I was trying to pay for my ride. He told me that you had to tag your card at the station, not on board. I profusely apologized and told him I’d get off at the next station and tag my card. He told me not to worry about it, and just to make sure I didn’t tag off when we got to San Francisco. I told him I really didn’t mind getting off at the next station, and apologized again. He told me to please sit down. I sat down, and at the next stop watched a young (possibly Latina?) woman run on board at the last minute. The ticket taker walked through the train, checking for tickets. She told him that she didn’t have time to tag her Clipper card at the station because she would have missed the train had she done so. He told her to wait by the doors and tag her card at the next station. I got up from my seat and stood by her. “The same thing happened to me,” I said. We both got off at the next station and paid for our ride. Did the ticket taker ask me to sit down because he thought I was clueless? Or because of the color of my skin?

Waiting at the butcher counter, and being called to be helped upon before other women waiting also, women of color. I politely say, “I think they were here first, why don’t you help them?” Did the butcher really think I was there first? Or did he call on me because of the color of my skin?

Reading the recent incident about the black women’s book club that was kicked off the Napa Valley wine train for laughing too loudly. Oh, goodness. If laughing out loud is a crime, I’ve got a lifetime of prison ahead of me. I think back to all the times that I’ve been loud (and sometimes inappropriate) in public, and the worst reprimand I’ve gotten is to be shushed. Was it because I was interacting with lenient waiters/maitre d’s/bouncers? Or was it because of the color of my skin?

I’m leaning towards believing it was the color of my skin, in these, and many other situations. These are small, seemingly inconsequential interactions. The thing is, we live in a racist society that allows, encourages even, not only these small inequities, but larger ones as well. The prison populations that are overflowing with disproportionate numbers of black men and women. The unparalleled excessive use of force against black men and women in police custody. The higher percentage of black children that are suspended/expelled from school.

It ain’t right. It’s time for change. This is why #BlackLivesMatter to me.

Hot. Scorching. Blazing. Sizzling. Sweltering. Boiling.

Realizing you’re drenched in sweat. Your hair, every strand, completely soaked under your hat. Trickles of sweat rolling from your neck, down your back, into your waistband. Sunglasses slowly sliding down the bridge of your nose. Sitting in the shade for relief, crossing your legs, and having them slip off of each other.

I know that this is normal for many people. It was normal for me growing up. One hundred degree days, with humidity so high you wilted when you walked outside, were the norm during summers in North Carolina. But that hasn’t been the norm for the twenty or so summers I’ve lived in San Francisco. Summer to me means boots, a light jacket, and a scarf on particularly cool nights.

We duck into stores that have air conditioning. We plan our route to our next destination based on which streets and alleys have shade. We relish the first moments of returning home, the discrepancy between the outdoor heat and the indoor air conditioning so welcome. In the afternoon we nap, exhausted from the heat. We drink bottles and bottles of water. We shower, and shower again.

And in and amongst the heat, the sweat, and the consumption of water, we explore Siena. We marvel at the Cathedral of Siena, its black and white stripes standing out against the pale blue sky. We enter its cool sanctuary and marvel anew at the mosaics on the floor, the endless columns, and the stunning stained glass windows. The interior of the dome, with hundreds of gold stars, each in its own square of perfectly blue background, is my favorite. I stare upwards until my neck cricks and I start to lose my balance.

The library astounds us with its vibrant jewel colors, still intact after hundreds of years. It’s a small room, but everything about it is marvelous. The ceiling is awash in bright reds, golds, blues, violets, and greens. The walls greet us with frescoes of Pope Pius II, and along the walls we see manuscripts with fancy script and intricate drawings. I gently tread over the crescent moons on the floor that form stars and wonder who created such a masterpiece.

We visit churches and museums til the heat beats us down, then we retreat home, not venturing out again until evening, when there is some relief from the heat. We dine al fresco, eating caprese salads and pici with wild boar, grateful when a breeze blows through. And then, gelato. The icy sweetness makes the heat almost bearable. Almost.

Outside View of the Cathedral of Siena

Cathedral of Siena Interior

Dad Shooting Mom in Cathedral of Siena

Little Angel in the Cathedral of Siena

Dome of the Cathedral of Siena

Crescent Moon Floor in the Library – my favorite floor in Siena

Library Ceiling in Cathedral of Siena

Siena Rooftops

Streets of Cortona

Tuscan Countryside

We Love Gelato!

Mom and Dad in Cortona

Gates at St Caterina’s Sanctuary

Apertivo Tuscano. I didn’t know what I was getting and it was a delicious surprise!

Taxi Passengers – I love that someone added passengers to this taxi sign!

Saint at night

Il Campo at night

Some exciting news at work today! We’re so excited to welcome WooCommerce to the Automattic team. Cheers!