Himself: Wet and rainy out there. Slow day at the museum. Delightful dinner with the Feasters. G and J1 talked computers and networking all dinner long.
Herself: Got wet myself going to the kids art show at SMFA and then to the Veteran’s Museum in the old Balboa Hospital Base Chapel. Front crown popped out……unbowed and unbroken. Hurrah. After an hour or so of true embarrassment, I popped it back in but couldn’t get it out again to glue it in. I’ll tell all to the dentist tomorrow. We still have dental insurance.
Reading: Two Beards, one Dresden, and skimming an old WW cookbook and an Heloise G found at an estate sale.
Sites of interest: The Straight Dope
Balance: Being home today.
I saw little old ladies on the free tram in their cheery pastille colored plastic rain coats. I in my denim and tans felt like a tired old bird listening to them chatter.
“We have plenty of time,” one said to another as they headed off to Inspiration Point. What’s inspiring about a flat spot in a giant parking lot I do not know, but that’s its name.
Waiting for the tram on the way back from visiting the Veterans Museum, these same ladies were growing nervous. They kept looking across the street from which all good trolley’s come. I kept looking down the long parking lot to the end where two trams were taking their mandated breaks together. Tête-à-tête….head to head.
As I clambered aboard the tram I asked the driver, “Are you going to the Automotive Museum?
“I’ll get you there,” he said with a smile. A friendly sort. Humorous too. “The green seats are just for the first class passengers.”
All the seats were green.
He whipped right by the Automotive Museum, obviously going to stop there on his second pass, and drove back up to the Prado and Art Museum. We stopped with a hiss. The doors went clunk and wouldn’t open. The piston actuating the power door was stuck. Clunk…and again Clunk. From outside the doors, one man pushed inward while the not so happy driver attempted to knock the pin out so the doors could be opened.
“We have four minutes,” said one of the grey haired ladies. Querulously. Sadly. A young athlete, here in town for the big marathon, suggested we all leap out the back of the bus. I actually considered this. What would I break if I did one of those disc-mounts off the back wall of the tram? On one leg, for of course I couldn’t use the bad hip. Considering, imagine.
Once the door opened and they let us loose, the pastille colored ladies rapidly flittered off to their Old Globe matinee. I walked rapidly downhill to the Automotive Museum dampness staining my hat, my hair, but not my humor.