This is the kind of Thanksgiving I remember.  Crisp.  Cool.  Splashes of brightly colored leaves intermingled with green oaks and evergreens.  The smell of sage and thyme and nutmeg wafting through the living room, and the distant commentating of a 49er’s game on TV in the background. This is the kind of Thanksgiving I am having again.

Being back in the San Francisco Bay Area continues to bring back so many memories for me.  I feel like my parents might be alive and down the peninsula, if only I were to get in the car and drive to their home.  My dog, Micky, might still be there, causing some kind of mischief.  My brothers, funny, rowdy and boyish, might show up, and round up friends for a basketball game while the turkey cooks.

I know what the day sounds like. I know what the air tastes like. I know what is true. I know love.

I know love again, differently now.

Today my husband is in bed with a cough and a chill, and we have told our family to stay away, away from any lurking germs in our home.  I am cooking a bird anyway, although it might not get eaten until tomorrow or the next day, because I am hoping that somehow the smells from the kitchen will bring him out of bed and back to health.

Today my husband’s son– (my son, too, now, actually;  I sometimes call him my son, but I feel like I can’t really take that kind of credit for him and how amazing he is)– is in Idaho with his girlfriend’s family.  He called me an hour ago as he was making my mother’s Pecan Pie, with questions about caramelizing the sugar and butter.  That my mother’s spirit is alive and as sweet as ever in Boise today, makes me happier than I can say.

Today my brothers are with their families, being good husbands.  One is at his in-laws for lunch, then going out to dinner with his son. My other brother, I bet, is going to enjoy the traditional crab legs for dinner and then call me with the sacred family grace we stole from Mad Magazine years ago: “Stuff your gut…..” is how it begins, then goes downhill from, there.  Still rowdy, still boyish, still wonderful.

Yes, I am grateful, deeply so. In the decades that I have been on the planet, my life has been colorful and interesting.  I have found love, lost it, then found it again.   The shape of my family has shifted and changed, but is still joyful and loving.  My friends, perhaps my greatest asset, are still mostly in my life, like a constellation of stars, at some distance apart from me, but always there when darkness comes.

And finally, I am back in the most delightful city in the world.

The bird is almost ready to come out of the oven, my husband is up and wondering when dinner is, and the 49er’s game is about to begin.

I think this will be another very Happy Thanksgiving.

I wish you a truly Happy Thanksgiving, too.

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.

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.

I am not a techie; whatever the opposite of a techie is, is what I am.  So the fact that Steve Jobs’ death has touched me, unworthy me, is a testament to his genius.  He took the mystery of technology, and made it magical, beautiful and accessible, even to me.

At this moment, no less than four Apple products are within arms reach.  I lost my iphone on Monday and was absolutely distraught for the 12 hours it took to replace it.  My whole life, my connection to the world, all the answers I need and want are, literally, in the palm of my hand, when I have my iphone. Without it, I am rudderless.  It is hard to believe we all functioned as well as did before it.  Steve Jobs, and his genius, envisioned it.

My computer, once a frightening and slightly boring corner of my desk, is now nearly always on.  It is light, friendly, whimsical and cool.  My ipad and ipod are toys I am still playing with.  Steve Jobs envisioned them, too.

Steve Jobs opened all of our eyes to the fact that it does matter how things we make look and feel, even everyday things.  He and Apple inspired my client, P&G, to explore the power of design in their products, so we were asked to incorporate design into all we did for our P&G brands.  I have always believed that the quality of our food, our meals, our wine, makes a difference in the quality of our days on earth; one of the reasons we are in San Francisco is that the foods we encounter here everyday are so special and fresh and respected.  What we touch and feel everyday, be it our telephone, our computer, or our shampoo bottle honestly can make a difference in how we live.  It all matters.

Steve Jobs knew that.  We are learning, slowly.

News commentators speak of him as a perfectionist.  I like that.  He gives me the courage to be more of one.  I find myself compromising on things:  yes, that will do, that is good enough, I sometimes say.  I don’t want to impose on people too much.  I don’t want to be a jerk.  But he seemed to be very much not a jerk.  He seemed kind and positive.  I want to be more like that. A kind, positive perfectionist.  I will work on that.

Watching the news coverage of his life, I was reminded that he was once forced out of Apple. There was a power struggle.  He lost.  He must have been devastated, but he moved on.  He proceeded to buy Pixar, a software company, where he pushed the capabilities of computer animation until he essentially reinvented animation, too. Clearly, he was the variable that inspired both companies to such excellence.

One wonders what he might have done with America, should he have decided to run for President.

It makes me sad to think that he is no longer with us to envision what we need or will find delight in next, to push companies to create or redesign products that are beautiful and elegant and functional.  But his death has shined a spotlight on his short life, and reminded us of just what an impact one person can have.  He reminds me to insist on perfection for myself, and to not be afraid to reinvent myself, now that I am out of advertising.

Steve Jobs didn’t just make amazing products.  He made us all better. His light, his genius, are gone. But, perhaps, just perhaps, his spirit can live on.

On the night we finally pulled into the city, I lay my weary head on the pillow, closed my eyes to the sound of gentle fog horns, and fell asleep smiling.  San Francisco opened its Golden Gate for us, and we are here.

A few days later, boxes are getting unpacked, the belongings of two people and two houses are somehow jammed into a small two bedroom condo, I think I have found a grocery store, sort of, and it is starting to feel pretty good.

But more boxes and closets beckon, so this post will be short. I will take photos in and around my new hood as soon I dig my way out of a few more moving boxes, but enjoy this borrowed photo for now, as it captures the feeling of where I live, Coit Tower and all.

As usual, my patience is not the best, and I am in a hurry to feel really settled.  But so far it feels kind of familiar, kind of new, kind of strange, and kind of wonderful.

More, tomorrow.