A San Francisco Day

The first time I ever went to San Francisco it was for a computer training class in July of 94. Ken Owens, a friend and co-workers advised -- "take a jacket." I thought he was funnin' me or perhaps "hittin' the sauce" and of course I ignored his counsel......heck it was July. Most July mornings in Alabama you can cook breakfast on the hood of your truck by 10 a.m. Not so in San Francisco. I flew in on a Sunday morning and fog as thick as a marshmallow enveloped parts of the city. It burned off after lunch so I drove slowly through the Presidio and on across the Golden Gate Bridge.
Golden Gate Park sits on the east side of the bridge and is perfectly situated to catch rays from the afternoon sun. I got out of the rental car in my short sleeve shirt and walked towards the viewing area. The air temperature was about 50 degrees but there was an endless breeze off the Pacific which sent a chill deep into the soul of this southern boy. But staring at the city in the distance across a cobalt bay with sail boats mingling together in what looked almost like a dance, I didn't mind the cold. I thought to myself, Jilda is going to LOVE this place.
I was there for two weeks so she came out the following Friday. I had advised her to bring a jacket and since she's smarter than me, she brought one. We spent the weekend exploring the city. We drove on steep crooked streets and ate at quaint restaurants. We had clam chowder in a sour dough bowl on Fisherman's wharf. It seems like all the homes in San Francisco are three story Victorian houses painted in a rainbow of colors and every single one has a view.
Today I got home early so Jilda and I went for a walk. She picked up her jacket. As we made our way around the barn and back toward the gate, the autumnlike breeze kicked up and she said this is like a San Francisco day. I looked up at an azure sky with cotton clouds as big as mountains and I had to agree.