san fran bam

A quick trip home, is always a refreshing way to bring in a new season. As I packed my bags in the drizzle of what is Portland, I smiled at the selection of shorts and tanks that I had folded into my bag…don’t worry, you would get one last glorified use along those big city lights… (and YES, I DO talk to my clothes as if they have a soul)

And oh, how that bridge twinkled driving in at 2 am. The pain of the 10 hour drive, may or may not of been from the loot of convenient store coffee and M&M’s, was more then worth it when collapsing into my brothers hospitality of an apartment.

The next few days were spent busing, no I take that back, mainly walking from district to district. never with out a view and a cup of coffee in hand. I share with you the pitiful collection of everything a little iPhone and my terrible sense of photography could catch.

Every Saturday I happen to be in the city, it is with religious effort that I make my way to the Farmer’s Market down at Pier 1. I don’t care what crowds of tourists that I may or may not have to fight through. I have a firm belief that California produce (ahem, or a pastry) is best enjoyed while on the Pacific Ocean with a view of the Golden Gate and the magical land known as Alcatraz while listening to some funky street band.

You would be proud to know I did 6 miles in those heels, champions they are.

And that is where I will end my pictorial bragging.

I am off to pack up my closet with those summer tanks, and restock those huge sweaters that don’t really fold and always topple over…currently taking suggestions on the sweater quandary…



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