The Wave Organ
I was becoming a wizard at fried bread, white rolls cut in two, fried in hot butter then topped with sharp cheddar and an egg. It was a Zen karma gift to my wife and hosts: many mornings of happy bellies to you. This day was bright and sunny. The fog was absent for the second day in a row, and we took advantage of the weather to climb up to the top of Bernal Heights Park where Rob, Kate, and Marley, the black wispy dog, were walking. They gave us a bird's eye tour of the city, everything that could be seen, which was north to the bay, east to Oakland, and west just to Twin Peaks. We made plans to visit the wave organ just east of the Presidio on a narrow jetty of land stretching into the Bay. Our driver wound through the streets until we reached the Marina District where we abruptly jumped out of the cab and walked down Chestnut street in search of food. When we settled, I ordered a big plate of Thai rice along with a glass of purple wine. The walk to the wave organ was ex...