Before the show we toured the Bay area, crossed the Golden Gate Bridge with the convertible top down. What a view! The day was gorgeous, sunny, warm and slightly breezy. Myriads of boats dotted the bay. Colorful sailboats sped along driven by wind. Kayaks, powered by the brute strength of paddlers, navigated the sea. And right out in the middle, jutting up through the watery space, stood the rocky island of Alcatraz, cold, severe, foreboding. Way over there, Fisherman's Wharf, a much happier place. You can't see everything from one spot...unless you're really high up...so we snaked our way up, up, up the mountain stopping at various lookout points.
Each view proving more incredible than the previous. (All this after the fabulous mountain top views in Colorado. Our senses were on overload, delightfully sated, but we kept drinking it in.)
Enough feasting the eyes, we had to find a place to fill our hungry stomachs, and then off to the show. After Beach Blanket Babylon we found our way to the top of Lombard Street and drove the serpentine roadway with all its hairpin turns back down to the city.
Our Hotel Pool -- refreshing, relaxing, offering time for regrouping,
Monday was a drive along Highway 1 to the Monterey Bay and beyond. We stopped at a beach and ate our picnic lunch... which a couple of seagulls eagerly hoped we would share.
The Pacific Ocean, the left coast, with its rugged coastline, beautiful pieces of real estate, resort homes, rocky cliffs, beautiful bays...we got a glimpse of all that on our day trip along the Pacific Coast Highway.
|The Mustang convertible touring car and our chauffeur.|
And of course, the city of San Jose, which is much, much larger than San Francisco. Who knew?
And now we're back in our own little corner of the world. No skyscrapers, metros, city traffic -- home to us is a small town with a charm all its own. No dramatic coastlines, snow capped mountains or Red Rocke Park. The sky here isn't as blue as the Colorado sky, our little town lacks the glitz and cultural advantages of city life. But we have fields, a beaver pond, pastures and French Creek, which we love. And we are content with what we have. Even as we spent a week marveling at another world, a world different from our own, wonderfully diverse and fascinating, we are content to return home. This is where we live, and breathe, and laugh and love...serving the God who made us and all people everywhere and lavishes his love upon us all. It isn't heaven. But it's a foretaste.
|The beaver pond, over yonder in the south forty.|