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Wednesday, June 25, 2003

It's 94 degrees in downtown San Francisco, and it's pretty hot here at the coast as well. Wow, a real summer day in San Francisco.
I'm thinking I need to write about my whole family history. It's so complicated, and I've been trying to piece it together for years.

Let's just say my biological mom was a "hippie lettuce smoking, drug taking air headed hippie chick" type, except she was born way too early for her type. And when you're a pioneer in a still somwhat scandalous type of woman, born into a "good family", well it gets complicated, real complicated, very fast.

Let's just say my mom was the type of person who experimented with more than her fair share of whatever illegal drugs were available at the time. Today, she'd be a normal college girl. Back then, she was a pariah to everyone and especially to her snobby stuck up family.

My mom is really why I have "inner hippie" in me. It's in my genes.
I just found out my grandma is in the hospital. Maybe that's why I've been feeling homesick.

So here's my weird family story, although I understand this situation is becoming more common.

My grandparents practically raised me, because of issues with my mom, my dad and my step-dad. It's all very complicated, but it worked in a way that situations like this have to work.

My grandma is like my second-mom, probably more my mom than my real mom. I'm sure this is the way that divorced kids feel about their step-moms.

Anyway, grandma had heart failure and since she's old (she's 88) and has other health issues, heart surgery is a problem. What they can do is an angioplasty, which will clear the blockages in her veins thereby extending her life for a little while longer.

I have a feeling she's going to be okay, that she'll pull through. She is a strong woman, but I'm praying for her. Of course, I'm in a strange mood now because this all brings back long forgotten but never really quite really forgotten family issues so much of which happened before I was born and in my very early childhood.

I'm not sure how much I want to blog about this issue, because like any family issue it's so very, very complicated.

But if you read this, send healing thoughts to my grandma, my second-mom.

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

It was fun to be at this one particular gym, which is located about 10-11 blocks from Pac Bell park, watching the baseball game on TV and then hearing everyone cheer when a homerun was hit at the bottom of the 6th. It was almost like being there.

Except we're not. We're at the gym and not at a bar because some of us: 1) don't drink on school night; 2) need to work out constantly because of the gut we have from having spent too many years at the bar watching sport games and drinking beer; 3) are recovering alchies; 4) don't give a hoot about baseball and we're just there to work out or to cruise the gym scene; or 5) Tuesday is our regular gym night.

Of course 20 minutes later as I'm in my car at 10th and Folsom waiting for the light, I realize that I am now 8 blocks from Pac Bell park and need to get the hell home before the game lets out and I get stuck in traffic.