San Francisco post 7

The sun is beaming through the blinds, Nomi and Conrad are playing pretend games with pieces of foam, and Eden is sitting exactly where she's been for nine months, except that now she's pushing her mommy's belly button out magnificently.

Ginger arrived Monday and played with the kids almost non-stop until she left Tues - they're convinced she's their very own personal entertainer. Hide 'n seek upstairs, tag in the courtyard at dusk, crayoning, "helping" her knit - all in an afternoon and evening. We decided she's another granmama instead of an aunt; she is, after all, 16 years older than Wes.

Tim and Stephen arrived about 1 p.m. Tuesday in a rented YELLOW car, re-made the children’s acquaintance, then the three of them left for Yosemite. They'll be back Thursday; Ginger is hopeful she can be with Airiel for Eden's delivery.

As with all bonafide Churches of Christ, Lake Merced has a monthly potluck. In keeping with the eclectic membership, we feasted on burritos, Mexican chicken, chow mien, spaghetti, KFC original and crispy (which made me feel at home) and even a cake for those whose birthdays falls in Oct. Someone dared to ask one of the honorees, Lydia, if she would do such a thing as reveal her age. She replied, "No, but I will tell you the year I was born. You take it from there." Took a while, but I counted on my fingers and figured it out. She's 97. She reigned supreme - nobody else even came close to that accomplishment!

I felt like a gen-u-ine San Franciscan when I walked to Wal-greens yesterday. I joined many others making their way up and down the hills, stopping the never-ending traffic at the crosswalks by simply poking a button. That actually makes one feel pretty powerful. Alas, this Wal-greens is almost identical to the one in Searcy - except for the stacks of beer and shelves of wine; I could have shopped blind-folded. Only the people kept me from thinking I had been magically transported back to the corner of Main and Race: no blonde, blue-eyed, fair-skinned clerks or customers to be found. Instead, darkly attractive men and women milled in and around me, speaking not a word I understood.

Later, the kids and I made yeast rolls. I'm telling you, it was just like someone let the three stooges loose. While I was helping Naomi knead her dough, Conrad emptied the salt from the shaker into a white heap on the counter and was busily stuffing his piece of dough into said shaker with his fat little fingers. A minute later I rescued the bag of flour from his grasp before we all looked ready for Halloween a bit early. Naomi and I made cloverleaf rolls and popped them in a muffin pan while the boy finger-painted with both hands in the leftover flour on the counter. Wonder of wonders! They turned out pretty decent. I used Julie Cameron's recipe in Downtown's cookbook.

Could someone send me a picture of my husband? I'm having trouble remembering what he looks like.