The hardest part of a perfect weekend is the fact that it has to end. Susan and I spent a wonderful afternoon at Fisherman’s Wharf. Its by far, the most touristy place in San francisco – even on a Monday afternoon it was packed. We wandered through a bunch of little stores selling sexy fairies (um.) and touristy magnets made in China. I found some smoked sweet paprika and a new rooibos tea to try. We had yummy sourdough bread and soup for lunch and finished it off with ghirardelli chocolate. The weather was warmish, the sun was shining – a truly perfect day.

But now, the day is waning. Susan has already gone to bed and she’ll be leaving midmorning and I’m already mourning. I hate the silence that descends when I am left alone – usually I don’t even notice it until I lose the noise and the words and the movements of my guests and then it’s overwhelming.

Once, years ago, the two of us had planned this massive road trip when we graduated college, but I had surgery and she got married, so it never happened. This felt a little like compensation, of renewal, ten years later, and a promise of years to come.

I’m heading home tomorrow for Thanksgiving and a week at home seeing family and friends.