Andy and I made a quick jaunt to San Francisco over Labor Day weekend. Flying while knocked up sucks more than flying while not knocked up. It was exciting to get out of the smoke and get near the ocean.
We had 2 1/2 days and we checked out museums, oohed and ahhed at the fog, freaked out (well, I did while Andy and Lindsay shrugged) about all of the vegetation that just grows like weeds that we have to pamper in Montana and they still don’t grow all that well ( nasturtium fields, rhododendron trees, dahlia plantations, etc.), ate well, saw our pal Arann play music with his band, walked with bare feet on the beach, visited a farmers market that makes Missoula’s seem like a children’s play market, shopped a bit and noodled around with old, dear pals.
It is always nice when not much has changed between friends in nearly 20 years except now we talk about our career paths, the onset of wrinkles and having families instead of going to second base, Boone’s Strawberry Hill and our senior class song.
