Unusual Sunday

Yesterday evening, while we were waiting for the Chris Botti concert at Davies to begin, hubby decided to call son. Son told us it was raining in Redwood City (!!@@). San Francisco, too, was overcast, and there were a few light sprinkles. The plate-glass windows of Davies steamed up, young women in short dresses danced to the tunes of a jazz band in the lobby. (It made us sad, though, to see how many, many homeless there were, standing with their hands out, on practically every street corner, up and down Van Ness. More homeless people than self has ever seen, in all the years she’s been going to the City)

Today, though self would dearly love to just settle down with a good book, she has to give a reading. She still hasn’t decided just what to read. Hubby and son say they might go, which would be the first time either of them has attended one of self’s readings in something like 10 years–!!! No, that’s not quite right: son did go to a reading that self gave in Kaleo Café in the Inner Sunset, about three years ago (a reading organized by the resourceful and wonderful Annabelle Udo). But the last one hubby attended was at Eastwind Books in Berkeley, for an anthology called Tilting the Continent, which appeared over a decade ago.

There are both good and bad things about having family at a reading. On the one hand, you are assured of at least one person in the audience. On the other hand, you have to choose what you read more carefully. Ha ha ha ha ha!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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