If you asked me what I did each day, it would be difficult for me to tell you.  I don’t get dressed and go to work, and some days, I don’t even cook dinner. But ever since we moved here, I feel like I am swamped.

Perhaps you have noticed I haven’t written in three weeks ( I know you’ve noticed–you’ve told me so.) And I feel terrible about it. Writing life after advertising has made me feel connected to each of you, which has been pure joy. I love your comments, on and outside the blog, and I love just knowing that you are there.

I have thought about ending it all.  (The blog, that is.) Because I hate having days and days go by when I can’t find the time, or the focus, to sit and write. It seems like I am not holding up my end of the bargain:  I ask you to come visit my website, I should have something to say.

I even wrote my final post, and was about ready to publish it.  But then my sister-in-law asked me to reconsider.  How sweet is that!

So here I am.  Again.  For whatever it is worth.

Right after I came back from a year in Paris, which was exciting but traumatizing and life changing all at once,  a book came out called “A Year in Provence.”  It was written by a guy who had left the world of advertising for a year in France, and wrote about it. It was an instant hit, is now kind of a classic, and he has made a pot of money from it, plus he gets to write off all of his trips to France for the rest of his life as “research.”  I couldn’t believe it.  He and I had the same tricky year abroad, but he was clever enough to cash in on it in a book.

Another one of my sisters-in-law just gave me the book “Slow Love” which is written by a woman, fifty-something, who leaves her highly visible, highly stressful job in New York City and struggles to regain her equilibrium.  Another hit.  Another book I should have written that would have let me retire rich and write off all of my trips back to New York for the rest of my life.

Then there is that book idea I have that keeps nagging at me to be written; “The “Devil Wore Prada” in advertising, but with a guy for a boss and a murder thrown in.

So if I am going to write, I really should start my book. I probably should say good bye, here and now, since I am just not sure I can keep writing this with the vigor that I would like, and that you deserve.

But instead, I will ask for your patience.

And I will do my best to keep treading water.

Last night I learned how to make Pad Thai and Grilled Vietnamese Beef and Indonesian Steamed Cod with Fresh Coconut and Chicken and Winter Melon Clay Pot.  The recipes weren’t hard–they were really easy, actually.  But they require some interesting ingredients that I have never seen, and that are readily available in San Francisco.

The people from the complex where we live organized the event, an Asian Fusion Cooking Class, taught by an international culinary instructor, Thy Tran, in our complex’s kitchen. About eight of us arrived at 4:30, learned from Thy about the dishes and the many fascinating, beautiful and fragrant ingredients, then set about cooking.

Midway through the preparation, as I stood julienning pressed tofu, it hit me.  This was perfect–amazing food opportunities is one of the big reasons we moved to San Francsico in the first place.

We cooked in teams for a few happy hours.  Then around 7, our husbands showed up (I know, sexist and old fashioned, but somehow it worked) with each of our favorite wines, and we all sat down to a colorful, healthy and delicious feast.

More about fresh turmeric (a gorgeous, bright orange ginger-like tuber that has a wonderful flavor and cures everything in your body), winter melon and these lovely recipes another time; the most satisfying thing about the dinner was the company.

I met a group of interesting, bright men and women ranging in age from somewhat younger than I, to way older, and found them each to be delightful.  My new neighbors. My new community. And they could not have been more welcoming to my husband and me.  It is funny, because we knew the food here would be a delight, but we didn’t necessarily expect the neighbors to be that way, also.

It seems they do lots of events here-we missed the Pumpkin Party on Monday night, where everyone brought a dish made with pumpkin (from lasagna with pumpkin, to salad with pumpkin seeds, to pumpkin cheese cake).  And I have signed up to volunteer with my neighbors and serve lunch for the homeless at Glide Memorial Church in November. It is just the kind of thing I have always wanted to do, but never had the little nudge to get me all the way there.  It makes me really happy.

There is so much to learn about and explore and make and eat in San Francisco.  There are ways to spend my time that can make a small difference in the world.  And there are new friends to be found.  It is all good.

Our remodel begins in a day or two, which should be filled with, as they say at Procter and Gamble, “challenges.”  But I predict that by Christmas, we will be in our newly painted and reworked home, eating something delicious, with a few new friends around the table in our newly recovered chairs, and a whole, new life to live.

I can’t wait.

My morning walk is my sanity.  Not long.  Not hard.  But filled with fresh air and new perspectives on my neighborhood, myself, and the day at hand.

New York greeted me with water views of the Hudson River, and Park City had sky and mountains and birds and all kinds of natural phenomenons to inspire me.

And this morning here in San Francisco, I began to push a little further, out along a funky pier across the street to find a new view of an old bridge, and a fresh angle on a beautiful skyline.

Water is so calming and the Bay, this morning, was especially so. I had to dash across the Embarcadero to reach the waterside of the street, but there the sounds of the trams and traffic fell away and the calling of the seagulls are all I heard over the lapping of the water. The morning sky, orange and yellow, seemed painterly and somehow further above me than usual.  And when I turned and saw another perspective on a familiar skyline, it too seemed almost art directed.

I can’t seem to find much quiet time, time to reflect, or write, these days.  We are traveling to see family a lot right now, because we finally can, and our time here is spent with paint chips and faucet selections and meetings with contractors and sub contractors. It is all good.  But it is busy.

I am off now to visit our son at school in Colorado and can’t wait to see his sweet face. Next week should be calmer and hopefully I can write a little more.

But, of course, I have been saying that for the past month now.  Ah, the joys of moving.

I know I should be offering clever insights on the Occupy Wall Street story or some other topical issue, but honestly, my brain is frazzled from moving in these past two weeks, and I don’t have any clever insights on anything other than where to store the Christmas ornaments. Right up there with divorce or loss of a job, although still far beneath the death of someone dear, is the stress of moving, and I can attest to that.

And heck, it is Friday afternoon, and even when I am not working, my brain knows a weekend when it sees one.

So let me just share with you a few more pics of the neighborhood at different times of the day.  I do love it.  The flowers, the food, the weather.  Lombard, Sansome, Battery, The Embarcadero; even the names of the streets sing to me.

We can talk about deep issues another day. Right now it is all I can do to figure out how to occupy Lombard Street.

Here are some of the views from our new place. The first one is looking east, across the San Francisco Bay towards Berkeley, and the second one looks south towards the Financial District. Both are beautiful and change throughout the day, but are especially magical at night or in the early morning hours, when they twinkle and sparkle endlessly.

My favorite time of day here may be just as the sun sets and kicks light back at us off the windows from across the bay, and flickers like sequins on a dress.

It is wonderful and weird to be back in the city. Wonderful, because it is just as beautiful as I remember it to be, and if anything, I appreciate the beauty even more now that I have lived in other places.

But it is a little weird to be living here, and for the first time, not have a job to go to each day.  It is odd, because I am still really busy, getting our things settled, trying to get started on the remodel, learning where to shop and exploring little corners of our new neighborhood.

I just feel a little out of place.

Maybe it is because the apartment is painted a depressing color of brown-it was a real man cave in its day, I am sure-and we haven’t painted or remodeled it or furnished it the way we want, yet. I find myself thinking a lot about the people who used to live here, and feel a little like I am intruding.

Or maybe it is because my husband leaves and goes to his new office each day and I don’t have that purposeful other place to go.  I hate the default activities I fall into-laundry, dishes and sweeping floors.  I mean, not that I don’t enjoy the everydayness of those things, it is just that I need a little something more, too.

It is probably just that it is all still new, and nothing, not even getting groceries, is second nature yet.  I am not sure where to go, how to get there, where to park if I drive, and which means of transportation I should take if I don’t drive, much less what to make for dinner. My husband knew where to get anything and everything in Park City, and my brother and sister in law knew about all things Santa Barbara, from restaurants to electricians to dentists.  Even in New York, I had a wonderful network of colleagues from day one to guide me.

Here, every day is a little adventure.

Last Sunday, we rode our bikes to an outdoor pool for a Crab Feed, which turned out to be terrific, even though we had to navigate our way around the Fleet Week crowds.  Still, we had a great time and felt pretty good about ourselves.  Yesterday, we spent four hours looking at dishwashers and faucets and came home thoroughly worn out.

This afternoon I need to figure out how to get change of address cards made.  Where to go and how to get there is still anyone’s guess.

But I am eager to find out.