I was so busy digging into my cave after escaping from Boston, that I haven’t had time to write. Just time to put up sand bags, no trespassing signs and join up with the learn by mail militia. Hunkering down in every way I can. I mean I even fired up the crock pot.

I may never leave this hut. I have three hots and a cot. And, wood. Much fire wood for like survival and romantic firelight and whatnot.

Once I landed back at SF Airport, and after we found our way out of the thickest fog I have ever had surrounding me on the drive from the airport, it’s been California lifestyle all the way. We even brought our bikes up to a shop for air, tuning up and lubing. Turns out, and I now know with certainty since we can’t find a bike rack that will fit on our convertibles, that while it is much warmer here than Boston in January, an open roof in San Francisco cruising around in January is fucking cold.

Nothing makes me feel that sweet freedom of a world of possibilities like blazing down suburban streets on my bike just exploring. Instantly, I’m 12 years old and instantly the universe is blocks larger and easier to access. I found out the other day that we live really near some kind of ranch/horse farm dealio, and I need to work on being able to scale the steep trail between beaches without jumping off and walking. On bike, it’s a great way to catch the sunset.

Without disturbing the neighbors.

On my bike I also scrounged up supplies for a series of home-cooked dinners in the new year. It likely won’t be a trend, but with ample time off it was a fine divertissement. I’ve used more flour in the new house than I had in the whole time we lived in our last apartment. Ain’t nothing like slow-cooked pot roast and freshly baked white bread if you are planning to never leave the house again.

Sadly, the freedom of time off and nothing I had to do ended today with work. But, after seeing snow again and regressing to a mental age of an unhappy 14 whilst in the bosom of my family, I was happy to be back. I mean, like any office job, it’s Occupational Therapy with the complexity, stimulation and comforting repetitiveness of making potholders, slightly better pay and the occasional free pen.

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