We had tried to go to the Academy of Sciences on Monday. Using the handicapped parking placard I'd cleverly remembered to bring along this time, we secured a spot and followed Big Cuter's directions on the pathways and there we were at the Bandshell, looking out at a plaza that had been a parking lot before the renovations began as we were leaving the state in 2006.
You may remember the Bandshell from J'Lo and Matthew McConaughey's Wedding Planner, one of our favorite San Francisco love stories. It was the setting for the bride-gets-into-the-taxi scene toward the end.
But we didn't want music. We wanted Natural History right up until we hit the ticket booth and saw that it would be nearly $60 for us to enter. That wouldn't get us into the special beastie exhibit. That required its own admission fee. We grimaced. We groaned. We turned away. My heart was just a little bit broken. Taking Big Cuter to a museum was one of my favorite ways to spend a Monday morning back when he was in kindergarten. I'd been looking to reprise the experience. Alas, $60 was just more than we could bear to spend for an hour's entertainment. I wonder what families with kids do nowadays; our museums were free back then.
As an alternative, since the sun was shining and there was barely a breeze, we parked ourselves on a bench and watched San Francisco go by.
Bicyclists were everywhere, including this one who looked like an ad for living in San Francisco. Is this hipster cool or what?
Big Cuter spent the weekend trying to show me the difference between hipster and yuppie and I guess nobody is preppy anymore. Who knew? Are there still jocks and greasers? Do I care? Such was our conversation that long and lovely afternoon.
There were frisbees and skateboards
and dogs and babies and hawks floating on thermals. We stared in fascination as one and then two little birds swooped and pecked and annoyed the hawk who was hovering over their tree. They were tiny in comparison to his bulk, but they were undeterred. He'd glide over the tree and there they were, slamming their little selves into his body and his wing span. Protection was their game and they were not giving up without a fight. They drove him away, only to turn whirl around and find a sea gull diving in where the hawk had dared to try. They undercut his approach and he took off squawking. The good guys had won the battle, and retired to the nest to check on the chicks. It was high drama.
We helped a tourist locate the restrooms and admired fancy socks and well-behaved children and mocked poor sartorial choices and tonsorial disasters and then we Zip Car'ed back to Big Cuter's apartment and fell asleep.
Sight-seeing is exhausting