These are a series of reflections on moments in life, shared from time to time, through out the year.


It is Saturday, the most favorite of days. It matters not whether it is cloudy or sunny, cold or hot; it is Saturday. There is time for the pillow and the clock means nothing. This morning, I got up just before Arthur went off to the gym. There is nothing more delicious than to devour The New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle in a bathrobe in the Living Room accompanied by a French Press of Peet's coffee and a fresh peach, cut in slices. There is time on Saturday to really read the newspaper, and to curl up with the world.

Saturday is a time for my own rituals ­ putting new sheets on the bed, and fresh towels in the bathrooms, and doing a load of laundry. This is all done with the television in the bedroom tuned into whatever might be interesting. Today it was Four Weddings, and a Funeral; sometimes it's Daily Mass on EWTN, where I bemuse myself with the homily. Today it is the delight of little tasks.

I read something in the New York Times that I wanted to show Arthur, but could not find it despite attempting to ferret it out of the website, and by reading through a week's worth of papers. Soon he is home and we're off to amuse ourselves.

There is a huge music festival in Golden Gate Park, so we go the long way around to the California Palace of the Legion of Honor, where a show, Women Impressionists, has caught our imagination. We get tickets for 3:00, and thus have an hour for lunch. Arthur has a Neiman Ranch hot dog, while I have proscuitto, stone fruit, arugula and goat cheese. They are both wonderful.

We still have time to spare we look at other stuff. There's a little exhibition of the editions of Ambroise Vollard, who collaborated with Picasso, Redon, Degas, and others in illustrating the written works of others. We go over to the Achenbach, but it is closed ­ we'll have to make an appointment. Finally we end up looking at the collection of ceramics. Arthur never met any silicate that he didn't like.

The main attraction, exhibitions of the works of Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt, Eva Gonzales, and Marie Bracquemond, is wonderful. We both like the paintings by Morisot. The galleries are crowded, but not as badly as I feared. There is the usual store at the end of the exhibition, but nothing there calls out to me. In the real store, however, I find myself buying a huge book on the Royal Tombs of Egypt, a topic that has engaged me since I was a child.

The day is beautiful, and as we walk back to the car, noticing the cypress and the waters off the Golden Gate, we decide that we must visit Citizen Cake and have a pastry. This we do ­ Arthur a molasses cookie and I a "Tiramisushi". We watch as the barmaid cuts limes efficiently and with a minimum of cuts. Fascinating.

We walk down Hayes Street. There are shoe stores to peer into. An exhibition called Faces of Aging at the Agesong Gallery, along with paintings and other artworks, Art with Elders, some of which are quite engaging. We wander on into a clothing store for men, with stores in Paris (Marais), New York, and here. Expensive. We look in at Polanko, where I see an etching by Zenil that involves Frida Kahlo, and his usual stock of characters.

We've decided to go to the movies, so we work our way over to Opera Plaza, making certain that we take the alley that runs between the Opera House, and the Veterans' Building. We buy tickets, and talk to another couple about the movie that they're going to see, and then go off to spend a few minutes at Books Inc., now occupying the space that A Clean, Well-lighted Place for Books once had. We don't buy anything, but go over to see our film, Love Comes Lately, Jan Schütte's compilation of three Isaac Beshaves Singer stories: Alone, the Briefcase, and Old Love. All the pieces are tied together by a train that travels up and down the East Cost, Florida to New Hampshire, with Long Beach thrown in on the side.

These stories are almost worthy of Aesop, being somewhat a fable and even more so a dream, as they ruminate on old age, love, companionship, and storytelling. They are delightful.

The evening ends, appropriately, at Max's at Opera Plaza, where we have matzo ball soup and latke with sour cream and applesauce. The waiters are singing, and we talk about our day. Yes, Saturday!


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