When I finally get invited, I can't join the party, typical

I have received my first invitation as a blogger, to go and see 'Burn the floor' at the Post Street Theatre. Unfortunately, life is short and my time is a terrible premium right now, but that doesn't mean I can't plug it since it's meant to be really good. Ballroom dancing at its best and hottest.
So if you have time, money and nothing to do this weekend, go burn the floor with some sexy dance-moves.

Life is, like, so full of, like, complications and stuff, like, it's driving me crazy

From one young person to another:

- So, tomorrow morning I have to be at work at like seven. My boyfriend can't drive me, what shall I do?
- Take a taxi.
- Like, yeah. I guess. I guess I could just, like, go up to one of the hotels and get one of the taxis from outside. - 'Cos, like my boyfriend always drives me. He's like, my chauffeur.
- How long have you guys been going out?
- For like, four years. And he drives me everywhere. I'm never gonna break up with him.
- You can just call a taxi and have them come pick you up. You don't have to go out.
- Call them? How?
- Like, call their number?
- So, what number do you call?
- It's like, the number for the company.
- So they have, like, I mean, who answers the phone?
- Like a person who works there. Like, a special telephone person.
- Awesome.

- So... do you have to pay for like, when they come and get you and stuff?
- What do you mean?
- Like, if the taxi is somewhere else, and he has to drive to your house to get you, do you pay for that too? It would be like, so expensive? Like, why does my boyfriend have to work tomorrow?

It's a little place on Broadway and Montogomery and that's where it's at

The woman doing my shoulder-tattoo is young, small and so cute you'd like to put her in your pocket and take her home.
She also has a cracking picture of her grandmother on her shoulder which makes my heart melt.
She makes me want to come back for more. I am all for supporting women in the art, so if anyone wants to get a tattoo, give me a shout and I'll tell you where to go!!

IheartNorthBeach, I really do.

I haven't been to North Beach for a long time and being up there this week made me realize how much I love it. To me, North Beach sums up what San Francisco is really all about. It has a real sense of old-school community and at the same time, North Beach is where you go to disappear. And although your not short of quirky characters in the rest of the city, it's in North Beach you will find the real originals, and they won't be shy to strike up conversation.

And although I usually feel like a very normal, average sort of ordinary person in North Beach - as if I'm a Swedish tourist getting lost on my way to Fisherman's Wharf - maybe I have lived in the city long enough now for all the crazy wackiness to start rubbing of on my ice-cold Scandinavian composure, because it is here that you will walk along Broadway, minding your own business, and suddenly being stopped by a guy in a trench-coat holding a briefcase asking: Where are you from? You're not American?
- I am European.
- I could guess. There is something about you.

He digs a card out of his pocket.
- Why don't you give me a call. I'm not hitting on you. I'm a psychiatrist. I would be interested in talking to you. For research purposes.
-???
- Or maybe you could send your neurotic friends to see me.

I shake my head and escape in to my car.
Research? Neurotic? He hasn't got a clue.

The traffic-wardens in North Beach are as belligerent as in the rest of the city though.
The fines hurt your purse as much as they do anywhere else.

This is a big deal, bigger than anything else

A lady who had traveled from Tulsa to D.C. to watch the inauguration put in to words the importance of this day better than many others when she said:
- I have a young grandson, and I can now honestly tell him that he can become anything he wants. He doesn't have to play NBA games to make money, he can be anything he wants.

A day after the inauguration and we are all overcome with a senes of satisfaction

An old beatnik, a regular in one of the Italian cafés off Columbus Ave, smiles at me as we choose our bagels and spreads.
- It is a beautiful day today, he says, nodding to the rain outside the window. In fact, don't you agree that it is one of the best days we've had in the last eight years.
He smile is so big it is almost making the wrinkles on his cheeks disappear.

Martin Luther King weekend

As Obama has called for Martin Luther King day to be a day of service, me and Holly has signed up to volunteer at Ocean Beach where we will help clean up for a few hours on Monday.
It is a great initiative, and for me, the perfect location as I am down there almost every week, taking pictures.

On another note, something has happened in school, with my daughter, a teacher, a bunch of papers and a cheek, and until I have full understanding of what went on, I won't be able to blog about anything else. I hope to be back soon.

We all come out together in the warm, embracing California sun

The very stoned down and out hippie in a tye-die Jimi Hendrix T-shirt does a peace-sign when he sees me, the smell joint in his right hand drifting heavily through the air as he passes me. I smile back and think, how sweet, that after 40 years, the sense of love, peace and understanding is still alive and well in Golden Gate Park on a Friday afternoon.

The I look down and remember that the print on blue my T-shirt is the dove, the olive-branch and the message One Love in big letters. I think I might have been mocked, in a very warm and endearing kind of manner.

There are small reflections on the way home from school, but the truth can sometime be too big

The kids talked about Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks in school. Holly told me about the bus, and the dream and getting arrested. She doesn't get it, nor should she.
- I wish I could have been there, to see. Because I don't understand.
- Where on the bus do you think you could sit? I ask.
- Anywhere I like, she says. Because it doesn't make any sense.
- But Rosa Parks got arrested for sitting in the wrong seat. So where do you think your seat would have been.
She thinks for a long time before answering.
- Probably somewhere in the middle.
- How come?
- Because my skin is in between. It's kind of not brown, but not really white. Mixed. Like, peach-y!

I don't tell my fair-skinned, almost white, little girl, that she would indeed, have been sitting at the back, and trying anything else would have had her arrested too.

I can't think of worse times to go shopping, even if you are looking for bargains

The worst thing with the credit crunch, apart from, well, the obvious thing, like, money, must be how it changes people, for the worse.
Like the sales lady in the empty shop who can't stop flattering me with empty compliments - until another customer walks in and starts fingering the expensive leather bags, and she suddenly throws my 50% off sales jeans in some tissue-paper and says a quick bye before turning to the other lady, all smile and great manners, leaving me and my "perfect body-shape for any types of jeans" to put the jeans in a bag by myself.

Nothing much is happening when you decide to be a positive person, and that is why my blog is slooooooow

So spring has hit the bay and people left their houses early to to cruise the beach, hang out in the park and to generally enjoy the fact that a a very cold winter is over (California cold, that is).

We had a bowling party for Holly yesterday. She's 7 now. My baby girl.
The guy at the bowling alley was grumpy, un-accommodating and tight. I didn't let it get to me. Not too much, at least. But I was thinking that it might not be a bad thing if they closed it down in aid of the proposed museum they want to build. Then I signed the petition against it, anyway, as I was leaving.
It's a new year, and I'm sending happy thoughts even to the mean people.

If I had a dime for every stressful hour of the day, I would spend it on ice-cream for the kids

The two women having coffee in the Warming Hut complain about the extensive schedule their nine year old boys are put through. It's baseball this, swimming that, soccer practice, hockey games, running teams and ski weeks.

- It's exhausting for them, they say. My son is totally crashed when he gets home at night. He has barely energy for his homework.

- And they feel stressed out because their coach is putting pressure on them to perform, so they want to do better, and then they practice harder, and then they get more tired.

- And he's still not getting it totally right. I mean, his swing is good, but it's not great, and we keep telling him that he needs to do it better, keep working at it, until it's perfect, but you know, he works hard, and it doesn't get any better.

- So my husband decided to hire a coach for private training so we can work on this, get it perfect. I think it's the best way to do it. Move forward.

- It's just weired. Over the holidays, they could stay up and play until nine or ten, and get up by six, to keep playing. Now, when school and training has started again, they're in bed by seven thirty, and they can't get up in the morning. It's exhausting for them.

- I really feel it's hard work for them. Too much pressure.

- Imagine if you had three children. You would spend your entire weekends at different sporting events. Impossible!

- Well, the coach will make it better. He'll get him t where he needs to be. After that it will be better, for sure.

Oh, and S**T, now I'm late for picking up the girls for violin -

when will I ever learn?

It is the stress of a new year and old habits

Mirror, mirror on the wall, please tell me where my husbands wedding ring might be, and where my daughters Nintendo DS Tinkerbell game might be since six people have now been looking for them for two days without result, and also, please, tell me when my fringe might grow out.

Oh, and also, please, could you tell me when my headache might disappear?

This is the beginning of the the rest and so on - time to get a little sentimental

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life -

So, back in SF after a week skiing in Tahoe.
New Years eve passed without any broken expectation - if your right leg is as bruised as mine, there really is no need for an all-nighter, just a glass or five of bubbly, in the sofa, in front of the open fire, friends cheating you on Who wants to be a millionaire, the next morning is a seven o'clock start, you're meant to ski with the little one's and they are faster than you, so you need your rest.

My resolutions for this year are few but detailed. I am meant to become more experimental with my cooking (no, seriously) and I will stop doubting myself and my abilities. Just go for it, kind of. Spend more quality-time with my friends. Have them over more for spontaneous, experimental dinners. Not rush my kids. Stop, take deep breaths, enjoy the moment. Take Holly kiting.
Organize my photo's. Read more books. Listen to more good podcasts. Watch less crap TV. Go running even when raining. And so on.

I will not forget that I live in one of the most beautiful and exciting cities in the world, and I will take every opportunity I have to enjoy the smell of the beach, the noise on Haight Street, the colors exploding as the tram is going down Market through Castro, the people hanging out in the Mission, and the view of the East Bay as you turn on to 17th going down to my house.

On a more personal level I wish for my friends and family to have a healthy year this year.
'Nuff said.