An early morning: as Anna and I were walking down to Kate's to meet Aram and MD MD, they rang up: "The Kate's doesn't open until 830." So we agreed to detour to Cooper's, where we sat outside an enjoyed the first cup of coffee.
Over a plate of the Fruit Orgy, I wondered what would remind me of my love for this country. Aram promptly said, "The Minutemen." They wrote songs that expressed quiet optimism, while acknowledging the frustration of the Reagan era.
Anna had a soccer game: we walked over to her apartment to pick up her gear on the way to the Polo Fields. Her apartment building has a locked iron grate, and a locked inner door: we passed through these and traipsed up the stairs. On the landing of the third floor, I saw a new-looking pair of Camper trainers. How odd, I remarked. As we approached the door of her apartment she stopped short. Her smelly turf shoes were gone. The shinguards remained, but someone had just absconded with her Adidas (and left their Campers in exchange, apparently).
Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise: after Anna put up a very polite sign asking if someone had taken (she didn't write 'stolen') the shoes, she grabbed her cleats -- fortunately, Saturday was a nice day and the game was out-of-doors, so the loss of the turf shoes was a big irritation but not catastrophic to enjoying the day's game -- and scooted over to the playing field. I rode over to meet her. While the team were playing (and they won, 1-0), I chatted with another cyclist. Upon hearing the story of the purloined sneaks, he said, "You should go over to the Sports Basement, where my best friend works. You can't miss him: he's got a beard out to here."
And indeed, we went down to the shop looking out on Crissy Field, and Anna got a very comfortable ("better than the Adidas!") pair of turf shoes. And then we got ice cream, dipped in chocolate.