Post #77: Plane Spotting at SFO
I love the smell of jet fuel in the air. It’s a smell that triggers equal parts memory and imagination. It’s a smell I connect with impending adventure.
I love the smell of jet fuel in the air. It’s a smell that triggers equal parts memory and imagination. It’s a smell I connect with impending adventure.
The first saw them about a week after I moved to the neighbourhood. They sat by the restaurant window, dressed in matching outfits of animal print. Twins. In the few seconds it took to walk by, I was taken. They were intriguing, vivacious. Instinctively, I wanted to know more about them.
I love picking streets for our regular urban hikes and seeing where they take us. Today, the American and I picked California. We are well versed in what California looks like on Nob Hill, so we joined California at Polk and headed toward the ocean.
For a time, I lived in Dublin, Ireland. It was such an exciting time in my life. I’d just fallen in love – hard – with an American who had deep Irish roots. I was living light years away from family and friends, in a country famed for their storytelling and craic.
I worship chocolate. In any shape or form. However, a recent horrendously shameful event culminating in the miraculous evaporation of two whole Ritter Sport bars, led me to realise that something must be done.
It has been six years (maybe more) since I pulled on a UNSW softball uniform. And I miss it. I haven’t found a team to play with here, and I have been itching to play again. So I signed up to play with work in a tournament over the weekend.