Labor Day Weekend

Where I used to track the lowering arc of the sun in the sky by where it shone in the City Center courtyard as we had lunch, my newest criterion is a few streets from our new place; as I walk my fixed gear bike up the steep blocks on the way back from work, I often pass a couple I would describe as punky, who sit on their front porch and smoke. Where they had been in the sun the last couple of months, now they are in the shade. Having moved in right around the summer solstice, I wonder how bright our place will be once the sun is at its winter angles.

Labor Day weekend does not, of course, mark the end of summer in the city, and we have been having fine weather since we got back from Tassajara. Typically, I have been fretting about my fitness levels, with few chances to get longer rides in my legs. On Wednesday I didn’t ride at all, despite having a mostly free schedule, as I wanted to save my energy for the talk at Zen Center, for which I would have to ride across town and back.

I had been determined not to repeat what I had said at Tassajara, the circumstances being so different, but I did end up revisiting some of it, with a concluding feeling that it hadn’t necessarily held together so well. I did get some very sweet feedback from a longtime practitioner who attends my classes, that I sounded more humble – but then worried that perhaps they had found me arrogant before, which I would hate to be thought of as.

For the long weekend, I had roams and a wedding on the schedule – all lovely, especially getting to officiate at the Pulgas Water Temple, which I had never visited before. The harpist who was a part of the ceremony said it was her favourite venue. Close up, I could see how meaningful and heartfelt the young couple’s vows were. Afterwards Ruth and I (and Georgie,in her buggy) went over to Burlingame for a swanky dinner to celebrate a year of knowing each other – a day that also occasioned hearfelt expressions of love.