Dutch babies

This weekend San Francisco and I bro'd down, so I am no longer super sad to not be in Paris anymore. I mean, if I could teleport back there for a bit I definitely would, but it is also nice to be home. We had guests in town, which meant Fly Bar on a Friday night. But first Mike took his brother disc golfing in Golden Gate Park, and I jogged the three miles out to meet them after I finished work for the day. SF really is ace for outdoor exercise, especially when there's a bit of a breeze and even some fog to sprinkle my sweaty face. Now that I'm used to it, running when it's over 65 degrees causes me to melt.

Saturday we ate brunch at a sidewalk table in the Mission, which is about as close to the experience of a Paris cafe as I'm going to get. We had friends over for dinner, ordered an embarrassing amount of Thai food (Modern Thai on Polk, get on it), and then I slept like baby. Sunday I made delicious delicious Dutch Babies, which we ate on the porch until a last-minute crowd came over for the women's World Cup soccer game. Oh, the excitement! Oh, the heartbreak! It was up and down and up and down, and then just down. Oh well. The day redeemed itself via gardening, a long walk/run through the park, and "homemade" pizza, all ingredients supplied by Lucca's. Divine.

And yet, and yet. This morning was tough, for no one reason I can put my finger on. Maybe because it felt a bit - only a bit - like a warm summer morning, something I pine for every foggy San Francisco "summer" day. Maybe because work is overwhelming when you get back from vacation, and the to-do list is long. And maybe - just maybe - because I'd rather be wandering around the Marais, drinking coffee and eating these.

But don't worry about me! Really, don't. I know you were concerned that I am wasting away from having had too much fun on vacation. There are all kinds of excitements coming up in the next few weeks, including the imminent arrival of another Mike sibling, and then the chance to throw myself into the role of Bridesmaid.