I Left My Heart In San Francisco

In keeping with the theme of song-title-titled-posts (sorry, Tony Bennett, to categorize you with the Drew Carey Show theme song; and sorry, Ian Hunter, for not giving you credit for your own little ditty, but referring to it as "the Drew Carey Show theme song"), I had a quick last-minute business trip to the Bay Area last weekend that left me pining, ever-so-slightly, for palm tree vistas and a four-one-five area code.

I know! You just barely got to the point where you could leave your two-one-two in a voicemail without the awkward pause and shuffling for the number, Al. Let this need to move catch its breath!

It was less of a "want to move" moment, and more of a "want to collect homes in various locales" moment. Again, I know. I need to daydream in my pay scale.

I checked into my hotel and Eastern Daylight Allison was ready to hit the sack. But Pacific Daylight Allison (goaded on by Nibbling on Airplane Biscoff Cookies All Day Allison) couldn't resist the evening walk through North Beach in search of scenery and sustenance. I found both - but only managed one shot of the former and devoured any evidence of the latter.
Plus, I didn't linger long - airplane hair and my flight wardrobe (do you have these, too? The comfy duds that make sitting in a cramped space for 5 1/2 hours at least tolerable?) looked a little out of place among the uber-hip and well-coiffed.

Before I fell asleep that night, it dawned on me there was one San Francisco landmark I'd never seen that might make for a good morning run destination - the Painted Ladies Victorian houses at Alamo Square. I didn't know they were called that. I had to Google "famous victorian houses in San Francisco." And I was dangerously close to resorting to my first choice of search terms: "houses on the Full House credits." I wonder if the P'Ladies know their reputation, at least in my brain, has been reduced to the Tanner family picnic, the milk man and the paperboy.

I woke up the next morning at the crack of dawn and mapped out my run - (A quick aside - as I'd packed my bag for the trip, Noah looked on with quiet skepticism as I made room for my running shoes and attire. That extra outfit is quite the committment, you know. That sucker upgrades the overnight carry-on from the convenient over-the-shoulder type to the small rolling luggage type. So there was no way I wasn't going on this run.) four and half miles and a simple enough route. All was going well until I was distracted by this view:
And suddenly I found myself running along the pier for way too long. I realized I wasn't spotting any of the street names I needed and asked a local (who was not a local, but a tourist. She hid it well. But she did whip out a map; that'll do.) for directions. All was right in the run again until I re-routed to figure out what this building was:

All the while leaning on the silly notion that blocks were blocks, squares were squares and I'd see the street name I needed before long...

Seven miles later (glad I left in plenty of time!) - I found this:
And as I soaked in the scene and the city scape in the hazy distance I realized, "ah - crap. My hotel's in that hazy distance. I've gotta haul butt back there." (Aren't my conversations with myself poetic?) And I did, indeed, haul butt back to the hotel.

Not a bad day at the office.