San Diego

One tiny corner of it anyway.
After being dumped out of the train at 1:30 in the morning and feeling generally rode hard and put up wet, I bounced back the next morning and set off on adventures. I found a quirky place where I ate wonderful eggs with fresh avocado and mango; they also served a pair of very comfortable sparrows that flew in and feasted on floor tidbits. I spent most of the day working furiously on Ryan's socks, and after a fitting to insure perfect length, all 2 miles of them were finally finished.
His work schedule meant we were able to share a late dinner and then he was off to bed, since 5 a.m. comes very early for someone whose body is still on East Coast time. I explored Old Town thoroughly. I learned that on overcast days it was quiet and nearly empty, on sunny days it was crammed with tourists, so I stayed hidden away, knitting, and updating Ryan's computer to Leopard.
There are historic buildings featuring early domestic implements.

Since I don't spin, I can't say whether these wheels would have been typical of the area.

My favorite place was the cemetery. This one used to extend much further into what is now the street; all but one of the graves were left in their original place. The sidewalk has several small brass circles that say "Grave Site" which belong to ordinary people. The single grave that was relocated belonged to a famous local politician. There were several plaques detailing an event that resulted in the hanging of several native people and at least one Anglo citizen that supported them in their revolt against "taxation without representation." Nothing changes, does it?


Common to all cemeteries were the graves of young children, lost to various fevers and the mothers, lost in childbirth.


I also found refuge at The Shepherdess,
a long-time bead store, which now also carries a small amount of very special yarn, such as Pagewood Farms, and The Fibre Company, and is owned by Cooky Schock. It is definitely worth a visit for the extraordinary fiber selection and the beautiful beads, as well as regular workshops.

There was music everywhere.

Musicians playing in patios and restaurants, and even at breakfast one morning, I was the only person in a small cafe; the owners were an older Latino couple, and she sang as she set the tables and served my huevos rancheros, and her husband sang as he chopped the onions and peppers. It was wonderful, the sun streaming in the old mullioned windows; she asked me about my knitting, and we talked about how our grown children drive us loco.


The wealth of exuberant and humorous plant life brought surprises on every walk.








Surely the plants are sharing a joke at our expense, laughing among themselves on some subsonic level as we stop to gawk.
I hope so.