Heaven Can Wait

Last Saturday I went wine tasting with my friend Joe. It was a great time; we had some excellent wines, a beautiful drive up through the Napa Valley (a place I haven't been in probably 10 years since my major wine haunts tend to be in Sonoma county) under bright sunny skikes with golden rays shining off long tows of green. Acres and acres of vines were breaking forth in an abundance of tiny spring buds that, six months from now, will yield bushel upon bushel of plump ripe fruit that will eventually lead to hundreds of thousands of bottles of wine.

It was a grand afternoon... though the trip was in fact a distraction - a misdirection - of my attention from the actual magic trick that was taking place back in Petaluma. While Joe and I meandered our way through "the other valley," Karen was back home busily preparing the scene of the crime - my new apartment - for a surprise house warming party, gathering foods and libations, and friends from all over town; all coming to MY HOUSE to celebrate my new digs on Fair Street - the first place in my entire life that is really a place that I can call my very own.

I was completely unsuspecting... I had NO IDEA (and I'm usually pretty sharp about these things). When Joe and I finally made it back to my house, he asked to come up, and with me in the lead and Joe lugging a case of wine on his shoulder, we proceeded up the stairs to my little apartment. As I opened the door, a dozen shouts of "Surprise!" greeted me along with raised glasses, banners, streamers, and smiling faces. I'm sure I looked like I had no clue what was going on. It's not my birthday... Am I in the wrong place? 

Karen stepped forward to straighten me out... "Happy Housewarming!"

A few minutes later, seated in the middle of my sparsely furnished apartment ("Where are your chairs?" asked one friend), I gazed around at the wide grins, twinkling eyes and self-satisfied simpers and thought to myself, "These are my friends!"

I've never really had that experience before. I have certainly had friends over the years, and some of them have been - and are - long-term, die-hard friends that have stuck with me and by me no matter how stupid my decisions, chaotic my life, or imbecilic my behavior. But until now, I've never had a collective of friends, drawn from all different places, with different backgrounds, and different points of view; friends for whom the only real common ground is each other. This realization was the true gift of the party, a basic, clear, and somewhat startling realization that this group of a dozen folks (and another dozen or so who came along later) are people whom I love; people who love me.

A little over a month ago, my daughter got married and one of the biggest joys of that occassion was the opportunity to see the collection of crazy friends that she and Andy have gathered around themselves. Last Saturday afternoon I looked around my apartment and around Karen's back yard (where part two of the party continued lots of food, and drink, and conversation) with the joy filled realization that I too have somehow gathered around me a similar community. These people who share our existence together, people that can be counted on to laugh, cry, argue with and support each other despite both our annoying differences and similarities.

At the apartment, my friend Peter offered a toast and a blessing of my new place, saying, "A room of one’s own is where you define yourself, before you exit the door into a world that would rend you asunder. Your house is where your story springs from.
Congratulations on acquiring a room of your own, and let the chapters begin."

And those chapters did begin... right then, with the realization of this new place I have come to out of the long strange trip I've been on.

We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking terrific wines, and enjoying wonderfully prepared foods (including a fabulously marinated BBQ tri-tip , a spinach tortellini salad, a sort of baked veggie/potato casserole that was amazing and more... more... more... and more). One of the things about living in Northern California is that people really do know how to cook (and drink) wonderful, satisfying things. When you combine this with good company, playful laughter (as well as a few hot shot ping pong players) and informed and thoughtful conversation that lasts well into the night, sitting around a a burning fire (and even eating Somores)... well, to me that's about as close to heaven as all this stuff gets.

In fact... I'm pretty sure that I'm not interested in heaven unless it turns out to be like last Saturday night.

He Gave Up... Golf!?

In my opinion, Keith Olberman, is not only the best spoken commentator on television, he is also the most entertainingly intelligent. Last night he laid into Dubya for 12 long minutes. 12 minutes that cover the lies, stupidity and wrongheadedness of the last 7 years. He addresses many issues that a I feel are not only significant in our current election, but that are in fact central to our democracy. I plan on doing some more writing on this subject later today and posting it on George Washington's Cousin, but in the meantime, take 12 minutes and watch this video.

THIS is the true legacy of George Bush, the most clueless, hapless, careless, and thoughtless leader of our country (and military) in my lifetime.

Not Exactly Rockin' The Casbah...

So... it's been two weeks since I ventured a blog and it's been a whirlwind of activity (not that it hasn't been a whirlwind of activity for pretty much as long as I can remember here). The weekend immediately after the last blog, in a sort of attempt to make up for not being at jazz fest, by being my own jazzfest, I took part in the first ever Petaluma Moose Marching Band... pulling my trumpet out of mothballs (actually borrowing one from the band "director") and putting it to my lips for the first time in over a dozen years. I took that horn home to my new little apartment and drove my new neighbors (and landlord) crazy while I attempted to bring my lip back out of musical atrophy and played Rebirth Brass Band over and over and over again, trying (more or less sucessfully) to figure out my 5 measures of notes for Saturday's Butter and Egg Days Parade.

Bright and early Saturday morning I joined my partners in crime at the Moose Lodge and picked up my music from band leader Michael Whitley who must have thought he was insane taking on this raggedy bunch of wastrel musicians into a public venue. Michael was a great director; patient, attentive, creative, and most of all lacking in any big expectations. At the bottom of my music sheet ran the words, "PLAY ANY NOTES YOU WANT." It was good of him to give me that sort of permission since what I was actually playing was more or less beyond my control. What was really amazing was that while we all waited for the parade to start Michael started vamping on "Low Rider" and when the band picked it up, I was right there along with 'em.

The fact is the parade was an absolute joy to be a part of, not only because I was getting the chance to play trumpet for the first time in decades, but also because the celebration of Petaluma's 150th anniversary (an all year event you're bound to hear more about in the coming months) was a nice thing to be a part of; a chance to settle into this place that, over the last couple of years has become quite unexpectedly (and more or less against my will) a real home to me. As much as I have fought it throughout most of my life, finding my place in this little Northern California town has brought me a centeredness and a joy that I was not really sure that I would ever find.

Happy Birthday P-Town!

I STILL Know What It Means...

If I was in my adopted hometown, right about now I'd be making my way to the Cafe Du Monde booth for my iced Cafe Au Lait (with coffee made with chicory)and my first Beignets of the weekend. The liklihood is that I would have already begun my morning with a mind-blowing Bloody Mary at Liuzza's before even entering the gates of the New Orleans Fairgrounds and Racetrack... because this morning starts the Holy Grail of music and culture for anyone with a penchant for jazz, blues, roots, or other "American" music... It's JazzFest Time in New Orleans!

For the next 10 days music and food will reign even more supremely than usual in The Crescent City. People will wander around in dust and/or mud, they'll gorge themselves on foodstuffs both wonderful and peculiar (or wonderfully peculiar). People at the fairgrounds, in their homes, and on the street will eat more crawfish than people elsewhere can even imagine exists. All of this will go on accompanied by the incessant drumbeat and lilting melody of music wafting out of every nook and cranny. New Orleans exists both for and because of this incredibly rich mixture of food and culture (not to mention food culture) and despite all of the strange, horrible, and frustrating realities that accompany The Big Easy (both now and from long ago), this is the reason people will ALWAYS return!

You can read some of my previous posts on JazzFest here and here at SpeakLo, and you can catch the fever for yourself by tuning into the Best Radio Station In The World and at the Jazz Fest site itself.

Of course the best thing to do is GO! There really is no other way to truly capture the amazing mixture of people, food, and culture - the incredibly rich tapestry that is New Orleans - than to spend the last weekend of April and the first weekend of May festing with the best of em.

See ya'll next year! Have some mudbugs 4 me!

The Biggest Day

It's been two weeks since my daughter got married at Fort Mason in San Francisco on April 5th. It's been even longer since I wrote a blog, but those two realities have been related. After my adventure of Opening Day in Oakland my parents and my sister and brother in law hit town in preparation for the big event.

The wedding was truly wonderful. It was the perfect combination of the life that Jen and Andy live, the friends and families that they bring together and the meaningful, hopeful, lovingly playful spirit that is them, and in them, wherever and however they seem to be. In this way, the party after (and the wonderful vegetarian dinner that accompanied it) was more significant, and more about them, than all the rest (though the rest was great).

One of the best moments for me was the "Dad and Daughter Dance" that I got to share with Jen, as Paul Simon sang Father and Daughter playing off the iPod I borrowed for the occasion from my friend Steve. We started out with Jen dancing on the tops of my shoes like she did when she was little, talked and laughed as the dance went on, and ended with "eskimo, butterfly, and ear whacks." Likely the last time I will get to play that silly goodnight game with the little girl that has always been the true light and center of my life.

Ironically, just a few days before the wedding I moved into a new house - a new place to begin a new life - something that feels perfectly timed and perfectly right. As Jen and Andy (or Jandy as the photographer called them) move out into their new life together, I am myself starting a new life of my own. Life changes every day (some days more than others) and we find our life's meaning in those moments in between.

It was a wonderful wedding; it was a beautiful day... Congratulations Mr. and Ms. Park.

New Park and Park Classic