Relaxing at Fort Funston

It's Saturday in Mountainview, and though I have been going non-stop all week, getting as much as I could out of my time in San Francisco, I have to say that a quiet day is a mighty welcome thing at this point. And that's exactly what Lesley and James have in mind for today too - after all, it is their Saturday, and they have both been working hard all week, so Saturday is relax day. I agree.

A slow out of bed, a cup of coffee, and we are all gathered around the table, listening to a radio podcast. Lesley makes her special avocado toast, fried egg and a splash of tangy tomatillo salsa, and there are nothing left but crumbs on my plate. Abbott gets antsy. We all climb into the car, planning to spend the day on the beach at Fort Funston. The sun lazily pokes its head out from behind the clouds, and the air warms.

We stop en route at Trader Joe's - I have never been. Lesley tours me around the store, and we select snacks for the day. Some spicy-sweet pecans, blocks of cheese, a basket of figs find their way into our basket. A bottle of Pinot that I brought from Napa will pair well with it all.

We cruise along the highway, heading north and west, heading towards the coast. The mountains roll by, grasses brown from drought, soft camel humps sailing by my window. Lesley plays music, James skips through the songs he doesn't like. Abbott gets excited when we near the Fort, knowing what is to come. We all climb out of the car, sort the picnic, grab blankets and glasses, forget the sunscreen. We head towards the cliff, sliding down along sand-covered stairs, making stops for all the photos. The sky is blue, the clouds light and streaky, the cliffs a complimentary shade of red-brown - the photos are perfection. We take lots, Lesley and I. James and Abbott pull away up ahead.

Down on the beach, people and dogs and more people and more dogs walk up and down the coast. Fort Funston is one big off-leash dog park, and it shows. Dogs are happy, their humans are happy, and the sun shines down on it all. Abbott is happy, and chases after a red frisbee. Halfway down the beach, Lesley rolls out a red blanket. We stop and we picnic, and we soak up the sun. Abbott drinks water from a wine glass. We should have brought him a bowl.

Waves crash into the beach and dogs crash into the waves, chasing after balls. The wind is strong, blowing in from the ocean - overhead, birds and paragliders alike float on the breeze, dipping and sailing back into the coast. We wave. We gather up our picnic and continue along the beach. James tosses the frisbee and Abbott runs. Lesley tosses the frisbee and Abbott runs. Abbott drops the frisbee in the water, and the waves drag it under - Lesley runs to catch it. I dip my toes in the ocean and it's cold. Now we both have wet feet. Lesley saves the frisbee.

Further down, we find the cliff trail and begin the climb. Sand slips beneath our feet, making the climb longer. We pause to take more photos, and to rest our legs(all those stairs yesterday did a number on me!), and succeed in making it to the top. Another brief walk along the cliff, through the tunnel of Battery Davis, and back to the parking. Sun-kissed skin, wind-whipped hair and picnic-filled bellied and we are happy people. And Abbott. Time to head back.

My last evening in Mountainview, my last evening with Lesley and James, and "midnight" pizza has become our tradition. A brief market stop nets me a bag full of deliciousness, eggplant and tomatoes that taste of the sun, sauce and basil and cheese. I whip up a simple dough, grill veggies, Lesley grates cheese. Abbott watches. I top one with tomato, one with herbs and cheese. The eggplant gets a dose of garlic and chilies, and they all go in the oven. With a bottle of wine, tomatoes and cantaloup and prosciutto, it is simple and beautiful and delicious, and I will always make midnight pizza for Lesley and James, because I can't do enough to thank them for their house, and their welcome, and their company, and their generosity, and, and, and...I would make them all the midnight pizza, always.

Now I pack my bags, dirty clothes and balled up socks, bottle of wines and papers and pamphlets galore. It all fits, with room to spare. I check in for my flight. I take a long, hot shower and climb into to coziest bed this side of the country. This has been a wonderful, if much too brief, stay, and I'm sorry it's already come to an end.