Mislaid

Oh San Francisco. Oh California. So many... words. Lost in the pauses and the fog.

I flew out last Tuesday for the hearing. Banking in over the Sierras, the sun shining bright at SFO. Spent two days preparing, holed in the hotel room in the Wharf. Surrounded by tourists and Eat at Joes and crowded boardwalks. But the views! Long runs along the bay, through Fort Mason and into the Marina district. Touching the Presidio.

Dinner and wandering North Beach. Finally making it to City Lights where I bought:

• Nell Zink, Mislaid
• Sharon Olds, Blood, Tin, Straw
• Old Time Herald

And a postcard.

Then the hearing on Thursday. Treating myself to a mint mojito from Philz afterwards. Sitting in an overstuffed chair, letting the SF conversations wash over me. Two more days of light meetings. Long walks. Drinks at Vesuvio. Ameoba in the Haight. Rambles on the F, sliding along the Embarcadero. Smitten in Hayes Valley. Ducking up the stairs of the old Fillmore West that's now a Honda dealership. Dinner in Chinatown with old friends. Those views - the hills. The smell of the water everywhere.

Reading Mislaid on the flight back (and thereafter). Perfect for my mood. Smart and snarky. Such incredible sentences, wry observations. Wit and intelligence for days. Her answer to the one-question Paris Review interview last winter tells you everything you need to know about her. That and the New Yorker profile. And, of course, the book itself. The plot caves in on itself at the end - but that's beside the point.