Of Ballgames, Athleticism and Self-Perception

I hadn't been to a professional baseball game since about 1968, when I went with my dad, my brother and some friends to a Cardinals game in the old (then new) Busch Stadium in St. Louis. So when our friends Chris and Jason invited us to a Giants game in San Francisco on Sunday, it might as well have been my first time.

My relationship with baseball when I was growing up was only slightly warmer than was my aversion to basketball and football. I was a boy, and I was expected to be involved in at least one sport. So I tried Little League.* The picture below is the only one of me in some time of sports-related uniform. I think my parents probably sensed this unique opportunity; thus the photograph.

(* I was also on a swim team for several years in 4th-6th grade. I enjoyed that partly because it was an individual sport, and I didn't have to worry about not catching a baseball that was hurtling toward me in the outfield.)

Oh. There was one other picture that is baseball-related. When I was in second or third grade, a father-son banquet was held at our Catholic elementary school. (My dad was out of town, so somebody else took me.) Somehow, through some connection or another, our parish priest had arranged for Lou Brock, the famous Cardinals' player, to come to our banquet. Thus the picture below of me getting an autograph from him. I'm in a sports coat. I think that is my older brother Danny partially hidden behind me. Notice he was handing Brock his baseball, whereas I had a piece of paper. Somehow that seems significant to me.

But I digress. Back to Sunday afternoon. The weather was beautiful, the views were gorgeous, the company was excellent. But the Giants sucked. They lost the game 5-1, and the most exciting part of the whole game was when an Arizona Diamondback player got caught between the third baseman and the catcher. Apparently, that is called a hot box. I may have known that at one point in my life.

Mark, Chris and Jason. We attended their wedding last month.

Then there was the entertainment provided by the gravelly-voiced older gentleman a row behind us and (thankfully) a half-dozen seats down. He quite often expressed his opinion of the game through a powerful voice that had obviously had some practice at this activity. A fierce Giants fan, he was growing alarmed after the Razorbacks had scored five runs in the first three innings. At the beginning of the bottom of the fourth, he yelled, "Somebody DO something!" Later, he pinned his hopes on a Giants batter: "I may be a crotchety old fart, but I like this kid!" The player struck out.

After the game, we made our way across town to the Castro for dinner with Jason and Chris. The food was good, the wine - a Pinot Noir from the northern coast of California - was delicious and the company excellent. I suppose because all the other diners in the restaurant were gay men, we felt free to talk and laugh about subjects that we would not have felt free to do in another setting.

Monday was our last full day in San Francisco. We topped off our activities with a dinner with one of our cycling friends, Kathy, whom we had first met in Corsica in the fall of 2012. In the photo below, she is in the midst of all of us on the concluding night of that tour. (Mark is seated behind her and I am seated to her left.) We were also together last fall on our tour in France and we will meet again this September on our tour in Italy.

In Annecy last fall: Jim (tour leader), Kathy and Bob

I have thoroughly enjoyed cycling these past three years, and I have particularly enjoyed our cycling trips. Kathy recently shared with me what one of our mutual friends wrote of these tours we take: “It ends up being so much more than just biking on little roads through incredible scenery racking up the elevation and the miles. It’s the challenge of putting yourself out there day after day, physically, emotionally, and socially with almost complete strangers who end up feeling like best friends.” That's the way we feel about Kathy and others such as Tom, Michelle and Malcolm. We can't wait to see them again this fall.

I started off writing this post about how sports was not a big part of my early life. It continued not to be until relatively recently. In 1999, I started walking, then moved into running most days. I ran two marathons in 2002 (that cured me of ever attempting another one). 

But it was only after I came out that I started going to the gym and only three years ago that I started cycling. I capped that first season with our cycling trip to Corsica. When word got out in the group that it was my first season, people couldn't believe it. They thought I'd been cycling for years. 

Mark helped me to discover something in myself that I never knew I had. He actually told me - with a straight face - that I was/am a natural athlete. No one had ever told me that before (with perhaps good reason). It wasn't until I was in my 50's that I began to perceive of myself differently, that I allowed myself to belief something about myself that I had always been told - by myself and others - was not true. I'm thankful for that opportunity and for all the other opportunities I have had during these past five years to learn that I'm not what other people have told me I am and that I am what other people have long told me I'm not.

Breakfast in Noe Valley

If I had three or four months to spare from responsibilities, commitments and life in Utah, I think I'd move to San Francisco and blog about breakfast restaurants all over the city and the perambulations I made to reach them. I don't have three or four months to spare, but I have spent the last week doing just that, and I've loved it - both the experience and the food.

On Saturday and again on Sunday morning, we walked down to a restaurant called Savor at 24th and Sanchez. We went back because there was so much on the menu we wanted to try after our first visit.

On Saturday, I had the "Baja Scramble," featuring chicken apple sausage, mushrooms, spinach, onions, chipotle peppers with roasted jalapeno, cheddar cheese & salsa fresca. Delicious. (I've had chicken apple sausage in several forms since being here and am definitely going to have to check my gourmet food store (Costco) when we get back home.) Mark and I also shared Savor's French toast "Parisienne" (pictured in the lead photo above), made from raisin walnut cinnamon bread. This became Mark's favorite French toast of the trip, but mine remains the Cinnamon croissant at Chloe's, topped with strawberries and maple syrup, pictured below.

That did not stop me, however, from ordering it again on Sunday morning (to split, of course). To go along with this, I ordered their Rio Grande scramble, comprised of eggs, grilled chicken breast, mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, spinach and goat cheese. Again, delicious, and a protein extravaganza. Couldn't get to the potatoes.

And then there was the walking part of the experience. Here are some of the photos I took as we wended our way through the streets of Noe Valley:

A poinsettia bush, the first I've ever seen. It was gorgeous.

Yesterday morning, we ate at another place on 24th: Griddle Fresh. It was the lemon ricotta pancakes that caught Mark's eye and lured us in. We shared those, and I had the garden scramble featuring "garlic, tomato, fennel, eggplant, Kalamata olive, basil pesto, grilled asparagus, and Grana Padano sprinkle." I couldn't eat it all, but it was good.

Japanese Tea Gardens: Of Seeing and Seeking

Mark and I took a long loop walk on Saturday through Golden Gate Park, just about from one end to the other. Neither one of us had ever been there before. The most satisfying part of the walk for me was being able to now better picture scenes from one of Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City novels. That is, until we arrived at the Japanese Tea Garden.

My "serious" pose looking over Ocean Beach (which seems somehow like an oxymoron). 

Flora in the park

They don't grow rhododendrons like this back in Utah.

When we entered the Japanese garden, we both felt like we were back in Japan (where we trekked for three weeks on our honeymoon back in September 2013). For me, to walk into a Japanese garden is to be transported into a place that exudes peace and the invitation to contemplate and appreciate beauty that is mindfully created. Almost every square foot exudes meaning - sometimes hidden from unappreciating and/or uncomprehending eyes. 

A sign with a hidden, metaphorical meaning. Stay on the path that leads to enlightenment. Self. Community. World.

I like the imagery of the path. It brings to mind a dirt trail, hard-packed from the passage of many feet, but in the forest and its periphery, removed from the much more heavily-traveled highways. It also brings to mind pilgrims, wanderers and wonderers, who seeking, see, and who seeing, seek. May I always be counted among such numbers.

San Francisco: Out and About

One of the reasons I love coming to San Francisco is because I am able to experience what it feels like to be just another gay man among many. Wherever we have gone in the city, there are other gay men, gay couples, trans people and lesbians (not to mention, I'm sure, bisexuals). Not just in the Castro, but everywhere. That is not something one experiences in Salt Lake City ... although that is changing somewhat.

On this trip, we're staying at a VRBO in Noe Valley. These are some of the views from near our place.

Another reason I like coming to San Francisco: friends and food. I wrote a bit about the food yesterday. We spent Thursday and Friday evenings with a couple we met in January on Little Beach in Maui. One of the highlights of this trip for me will be the memory of watching Mark holding Rob and David's little girl, Kimaya, on his lap as Rob and her (and Mark) "read" books. Both Rob and Kimaya had the lines memorized, and it was like watching a dance of love between the two of them. Precious.

On Friday night, we had dinner with Rob and David and another gay couple - Eric and Doug - who are friends of theirs. That was so much fun. There was an instant rapport among all of us, but especially between Eric and myself, due partly to the fact that we were both Mormon - he coming from a large multi-generation Mormon family (and I an adult convert). Among other things, we exchanged stories of what it was like to be a closeted missionary, which will have to be a subject for another post. Today, we are going to a Giants game with friends - another gay couple and some of their friends; and tomorrow, we are having dinner with a woman we met on our cycling tours. We will have done more socializing in a week than we normally due in several months back home.

We also love coming to San Francisco because, well, it's San Francisco. We've enjoyed - for the most part - doing a lot of walking since being here, averaging about six-seven miles per day. Fortunately, the weather's been wonderful. (We were even able to walk around in T-shirts one day, it was so warm.) We're definitely sore from walking up and down hills, but we've enjoyed ambulations through various neighborhoods, taking in the architecture, the flora and ordinary San Franciscans going about their day.

 View from the top of Dolores Park

A neighborhood garden we walked by on our way to Cole Valley on Wednesday.

The man in the blue sweatshirt told us that the garden had been the creation of the man sitting next to him over the course of a number of years. Their doggie walked over for a pet.

Sunrise from our balcony

The best part about being here, however, is the time that Mark and I have spent together. As he said last night as we had cocktails in our condo, he writing in his journal, me reading:

"Everything about this moment is appropriate."