( The view from Look Out Mountain)Eric has perfect puppy-dog eyes. He looked at me, deeply and seriously, way down into my eyes, and apologized. He was trying to find me a place to stay that night. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him I’m homeless… even just then he was breaking my heart. He’s beautiful.
And Mike. He’s beautiful, too. I think California just breathes beauty into all of her children. Mike made me soup, from scratch, the night before I met Eric. He played music for me and I played music for him. The nights were cool and bright with life and coffee. Twiggs is one of my favourite places for that. I fell in love with Mike that night. We hugged goodbye on the day I left… one of those long, tight, I-can’t-believe-I’m-going-to-let-you-go-in-just-a-minute type hugs. And I still can’t believe I let him go. I can’t stop thinking about this hands on the guitar, and the gentle haunted smile on his lips. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again…
Sometimes, though, you’re reminded that you’re in the right place, doing what you should be doing. I came back from San Diego and I was heartbroken. Then I was robbed. I thought I was a fool for leaving that coffee shop and that wonderful man. Then again, part of me felt like I should have never left Canada earlier this year. Today I realized that I can’t go back to Ottawa like I want to in September, until I get my Green Card replaced… otherwise I may not be able to come back here. And I know now that here is where I belong… at least for now.
I wanted to celebrate the Solstice this year; mainly because I’ve always just missed it in the past. I’ve always thought to myself the week before ‘the Solstice is coming, I have to remember’… then two or three days after the Solstice I do remember and kick myself. Not this year, though. This year I had it in the palm of my hand. The day before the Solstice, I contemplated the day ahead in my journal. Here’s what I wrote:
The sun is setting. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. I’ll be there for it, too.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake at 3:30am… and promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. I’ll go to the bathroom after work to bathe. Then, I’ll go to the park. I’ll sit on the grass with Lily and Violet, close enough to the river to hear the water. I’ll stay for just a little while. I’ll pack up, drive to Petsmart, and buy some new bedding and treats for the girls. I’ll clean their cage. I’ll throw away the trash I’ve been collecting and clean out my car. I’ll write a song called “The Longest Day.”I’ll do my laundry. I’ll hug a tree. I’ll buy a little plant and try really hard to keep it alive… maybe some grass or catnip from Petsmart… so the girls can enjoy it, too. I’ll drive to Boulder, and find a boulder. I’ll treat myself to dinner. I’ll treat myself to dessert, too. It’ll all be organic! I’ll go for a hike up the river after dinner to that water treatment place. I’ll sing my song there. I’ll stroll back, stopping by the store to get a Caramel Macchiato and Iced Lemon Pound Cake. I’ll pick up my calc book beforehand, and sit down to do some problems, with my ancient flip flops at my feet, and my trusty calculator at hand. I’ll drive to the top of the parking structure for the sunset. I’ll watch it all. The, I’ll finish my book, drive to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterward, I’ll drive up Look Out Mountain, find a place to park, and stay there all day, meditating. I’ll watch the sunset, drive down to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterwards, I’ll wait around, all day if I have to, for Bernie. I’ll confess my undying love. The rest of the day will proceed sporadically. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll miss my alarm, drive to Idaho, and start farming potatoes. I’ll sleep intermittently.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll do a handstand in the car. I’ll walk to work backward. I’ll drink a shot every hour. I’ll remind everyone that today is the longest day of the year- in Japanese. I’ll give something to Goodwill. Then I’ll buy it back. I’ll go to a movie. I’ll stay for another. Maybe a third. I’ll catch a bug, tell it a secret, then let it go. I’ll skip- everywhere- all day. I’ll go to bed… in a bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll work until noon. I’ll go to price out mattresses. I’ll make a budget. I’ll ask Heather to make me a budget book. I’ll win the lottery and burn the budget book. I’ll buy the mattress, and 20 like it. I’ll line the ground floor of a house with them. I’ll roll around all day. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll get a call from Jason Mraz in 2 minutes. He’ll ask me to marry him. I’ll fly to San Diego tonight and spend all day tomorrow farming avocado. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake… wait… my phone is ringing…
“The Longest Day”
I reset my alarm five times
And spent the morning snoozing.
At work I walked a fine line
between walking out and
rolling around laughing!
It’s the longest day
and I’ll be here for all of it
It’s the longest day
today.
I didn’t win the lottery. Jason Mraz never called. I don’t remember half of what I actually did do that day. But I do remember the important parts… like that I was happy all day, and that I bounced into Starbucks after dinner trying to get Tiffany and Heather to understand how at peace and joyful I was feeling. It didn’t work, but I tried. Dinner was the highlight of my day. I decided to treat myself to a banquet. There is a Mediterranean Bistro right on the river called Grappa. It’s a cute place with four star food and two star staff. My waitress was sweet and showed me to my patio table overlooking the river right by the little park where the slide and fish sculptures are. I got to listen to the birds and the laughing children. It was serene and beautiful. I had brought my book of the day, to keep me company in lieu of table conversation. I read snippets between courses. While waiting for my appetizer, I had ordered a prosciutto and melon drizzled with a balsamic reduction, I sipped my iced tea and flipped through pages in this novel. It was a sort of murder mystery… that much I remember. I’ve read a dozen books since then and I don’t exactly remember the details of the plot. I remember that it took place in the U.S. and the characters were thin and obviously not very memorable, since I can’t seem to recall anything about them. What stood out is what I read after I finished my appetizer and main entrée of Carnad a l’orange. I waited for the check and sipped the cocktail I had ordered. It was a recipe my father recommended to me. He named it “The Italian Gentleman.” It’s 3/4oz. Campari, 3/4oz. Sapphire Gin, A dash of Angostura Bitters, and Zest of Lemon. He recommended it to me after a telephone conversation in which I asked him for the name of the bitter drink I had been so fond of while in Italy. It turns out it’s simply named Bitter and tastes like a non-alcoholic version of Campari. So I sat after a fantastic Mediterranean meal, sipping a drink that was forcefully nostalgic, specifically of my trip to Italy a few years previously. I flipped open the novel to where I had left off a few minutes before. One of the characters was recalling a place they had visited. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the name of the town he had once visited. It was San Giminiano, in Italy. He was talking about the torture museum there, and the floors of devices which shocked him and opened his eyes to the extent that people are willing to go to maim and torture each other. Obviously, it wasn’t the subject that startled me… only that I, too, had been to San Giminiano in Italy and had visited that very same torture museum with my family. The character mentioned being nauseated by the things he saw. I was fascinated while I was there, but I was desperately nauseous as well. Not because of the torture devices… but because I was suffering from an advanced case of undiagnosed Mono. I would take a few steps in the museum, then have to sit on one of the display risers with my head between my knees, asking my mother to read the inscriptions detailing the form of torture to me. Quite a hilarious predicament… And one of the most memorable things about my family vacation.
Let’s recap. I was at a Mediterranean Bistro, having eaten a Mediterranean meal which reminded me of my Italian grandmother’s cooking, sipping a drink that was reminiscent of a drink I had loved in Italy, and now reading about a little town which I, myself, had visited in Italy. The owner of the restaurant came outside, and he was a thin Italian man with his hair slicked back and strong cologne. Instantly I flashed back to Hunters Creek, Florida and the Starbucks I worked at there, where one of my regulars, Francesco, was a thin Italian man with the same hair and cologne, and a restaurant owner as well. He had been infatuated with me and had invited me to Paris with him. I turned him down… after all he was nearing seventy or so. I decided after that never to turn down another trip to Paris so long as I live. What a coincidence, I thought. What a fantastic coincidence. The owner of Grappa invited me to enjoy another cocktail, which I decided not to accept seeing as the first one had gone to my head a little bit. As I rose to leave, he thanked me, his strong accent bringing a smile to my lips. “Grazie.” I said through my grin. “Prego,” he replied with a pleasantly shocked expression. “Buona Notte.” “Buona Notte.” His eyes trailed after me as I walked away.
I knew, that evening, that I was in exactly the place I was meant to be. These little things came together to paint such a wonderful picture of this thing called coincidence. All the puzzle pieces settled into place in those moments and I felt such serenity and such peace. I floated back to Starbucks after leaving a generous tip for my waitress, and ran into Tiffany and Heather and tried to get them to understand all of the sporadic little happenings of my evening. They couldn’t. But I felt in my heart that it was true. I am where I should be right at this moment. I’m on the right track. I’m not lost after all.
Later that night, after watching the sunset and whiling away the hours, I ended up parked on the roof of the parking structure, facing the glow behind Table Mountain. I watched the stars emerge gradually. I put on Lifehouse and listened to their inspiring lyrics. When the song ‘Everything’ came on, I hit the button to make it repeat. The video on Youtube affected me deeply, and I brought it up from memory. The beautiful intro, with God showing the beautiful world to the innocent new girl. Then when she’s torn away from him by things like money, drugs, lust, envy, and suicide. I see him reaching out toward her, but she can’t see him. I see them distressed and lost. Then… the climax, she breaks free and rushed back toward her God. But the corrupters intercede and keep her away. She’s struggling violently. She pushes forward and they push her back. She pushes again and they throw her down. They tear at her clothes and her hair, they won’t let her up. She won’t make it. But then, suddenly, God breaks in and single handedly shields her from all of the oppressors. They rally against him, but he is too strong. The girl is able to rise and see the world again. God throws down the oppressors to the ground, and reunites with the girl, innocent again. They resume their dance and their discovery of all of the beautiful things that he has made for her. The song ends, and I am crying.
I sat on the roof of the parking structure, staring out into the night sky, my heart full of meaningful coincidence, and I searched within myself deeply and at length… for God. I listened to the song on repeat and repeat and repeat, singing the chorus and envisioning the video I’d seen. I felt… I felt such… sorrow. And joy. And emptiness and fullness all at once. I felt spiritually aware. I felt lost. I felt found. I found comfort in my solitude. I felt overwhelming loneliness. I felt self-pity. I felt pride. I felt all these things… but I did not feel a God. I felt MUSIC, and I felt all the things that music inspires within me. I felt Lifehouse in my veins. I felt Jason Mraz in my heart. I felt rhythm and soul. I felt blues and jazz. I felt pop and rap and punk and rock and jam bands and drum circles and cymbals crashing in my brain. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
I felt the Solstice inspiring these words within me. And here they are. And they and I would not exist if it weren’t for this beautiful rhythm in the world.
Then the police made their rounds in the parking structure and I had to go. I drove to the parking lot and went to bed.
And Mike. He’s beautiful, too. I think California just breathes beauty into all of her children. Mike made me soup, from scratch, the night before I met Eric. He played music for me and I played music for him. The nights were cool and bright with life and coffee. Twiggs is one of my favourite places for that. I fell in love with Mike that night. We hugged goodbye on the day I left… one of those long, tight, I-can’t-believe-I’m-going-to-let-you-go-in-just-a-minute type hugs. And I still can’t believe I let him go. I can’t stop thinking about this hands on the guitar, and the gentle haunted smile on his lips. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again…
Sometimes, though, you’re reminded that you’re in the right place, doing what you should be doing. I came back from San Diego and I was heartbroken. Then I was robbed. I thought I was a fool for leaving that coffee shop and that wonderful man. Then again, part of me felt like I should have never left Canada earlier this year. Today I realized that I can’t go back to Ottawa like I want to in September, until I get my Green Card replaced… otherwise I may not be able to come back here. And I know now that here is where I belong… at least for now.
I wanted to celebrate the Solstice this year; mainly because I’ve always just missed it in the past. I’ve always thought to myself the week before ‘the Solstice is coming, I have to remember’… then two or three days after the Solstice I do remember and kick myself. Not this year, though. This year I had it in the palm of my hand. The day before the Solstice, I contemplated the day ahead in my journal. Here’s what I wrote:
The sun is setting. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. I’ll be there for it, too.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake at 3:30am… and promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. I’ll go to the bathroom after work to bathe. Then, I’ll go to the park. I’ll sit on the grass with Lily and Violet, close enough to the river to hear the water. I’ll stay for just a little while. I’ll pack up, drive to Petsmart, and buy some new bedding and treats for the girls. I’ll clean their cage. I’ll throw away the trash I’ve been collecting and clean out my car. I’ll write a song called “The Longest Day.”I’ll do my laundry. I’ll hug a tree. I’ll buy a little plant and try really hard to keep it alive… maybe some grass or catnip from Petsmart… so the girls can enjoy it, too. I’ll drive to Boulder, and find a boulder. I’ll treat myself to dinner. I’ll treat myself to dessert, too. It’ll all be organic! I’ll go for a hike up the river after dinner to that water treatment place. I’ll sing my song there. I’ll stroll back, stopping by the store to get a Caramel Macchiato and Iced Lemon Pound Cake. I’ll pick up my calc book beforehand, and sit down to do some problems, with my ancient flip flops at my feet, and my trusty calculator at hand. I’ll drive to the top of the parking structure for the sunset. I’ll watch it all. The, I’ll finish my book, drive to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterward, I’ll drive up Look Out Mountain, find a place to park, and stay there all day, meditating. I’ll watch the sunset, drive down to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterwards, I’ll wait around, all day if I have to, for Bernie. I’ll confess my undying love. The rest of the day will proceed sporadically. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll miss my alarm, drive to Idaho, and start farming potatoes. I’ll sleep intermittently.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll do a handstand in the car. I’ll walk to work backward. I’ll drink a shot every hour. I’ll remind everyone that today is the longest day of the year- in Japanese. I’ll give something to Goodwill. Then I’ll buy it back. I’ll go to a movie. I’ll stay for another. Maybe a third. I’ll catch a bug, tell it a secret, then let it go. I’ll skip- everywhere- all day. I’ll go to bed… in a bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll work until noon. I’ll go to price out mattresses. I’ll make a budget. I’ll ask Heather to make me a budget book. I’ll win the lottery and burn the budget book. I’ll buy the mattress, and 20 like it. I’ll line the ground floor of a house with them. I’ll roll around all day. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll get a call from Jason Mraz in 2 minutes. He’ll ask me to marry him. I’ll fly to San Diego tonight and spend all day tomorrow farming avocado. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake… wait… my phone is ringing…
“The Longest Day”
I reset my alarm five times
And spent the morning snoozing.
At work I walked a fine line
between walking out and
rolling around laughing!
It’s the longest day
and I’ll be here for all of it
It’s the longest day
today.
I didn’t win the lottery. Jason Mraz never called. I don’t remember half of what I actually did do that day. But I do remember the important parts… like that I was happy all day, and that I bounced into Starbucks after dinner trying to get Tiffany and Heather to understand how at peace and joyful I was feeling. It didn’t work, but I tried. Dinner was the highlight of my day. I decided to treat myself to a banquet. There is a Mediterranean Bistro right on the river called Grappa. It’s a cute place with four star food and two star staff. My waitress was sweet and showed me to my patio table overlooking the river right by the little park where the slide and fish sculptures are. I got to listen to the birds and the laughing children. It was serene and beautiful. I had brought my book of the day, to keep me company in lieu of table conversation. I read snippets between courses. While waiting for my appetizer, I had ordered a prosciutto and melon drizzled with a balsamic reduction, I sipped my iced tea and flipped through pages in this novel. It was a sort of murder mystery… that much I remember. I’ve read a dozen books since then and I don’t exactly remember the details of the plot. I remember that it took place in the U.S. and the characters were thin and obviously not very memorable, since I can’t seem to recall anything about them. What stood out is what I read after I finished my appetizer and main entrée of Carnad a l’orange. I waited for the check and sipped the cocktail I had ordered. It was a recipe my father recommended to me. He named it “The Italian Gentleman.” It’s 3/4oz. Campari, 3/4oz. Sapphire Gin, A dash of Angostura Bitters, and Zest of Lemon. He recommended it to me after a telephone conversation in which I asked him for the name of the bitter drink I had been so fond of while in Italy. It turns out it’s simply named Bitter and tastes like a non-alcoholic version of Campari. So I sat after a fantastic Mediterranean meal, sipping a drink that was forcefully nostalgic, specifically of my trip to Italy a few years previously. I flipped open the novel to where I had left off a few minutes before. One of the characters was recalling a place they had visited. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the name of the town he had once visited. It was San Giminiano, in Italy. He was talking about the torture museum there, and the floors of devices which shocked him and opened his eyes to the extent that people are willing to go to maim and torture each other. Obviously, it wasn’t the subject that startled me… only that I, too, had been to San Giminiano in Italy and had visited that very same torture museum with my family. The character mentioned being nauseated by the things he saw. I was fascinated while I was there, but I was desperately nauseous as well. Not because of the torture devices… but because I was suffering from an advanced case of undiagnosed Mono. I would take a few steps in the museum, then have to sit on one of the display risers with my head between my knees, asking my mother to read the inscriptions detailing the form of torture to me. Quite a hilarious predicament… And one of the most memorable things about my family vacation.
Let’s recap. I was at a Mediterranean Bistro, having eaten a Mediterranean meal which reminded me of my Italian grandmother’s cooking, sipping a drink that was reminiscent of a drink I had loved in Italy, and now reading about a little town which I, myself, had visited in Italy. The owner of the restaurant came outside, and he was a thin Italian man with his hair slicked back and strong cologne. Instantly I flashed back to Hunters Creek, Florida and the Starbucks I worked at there, where one of my regulars, Francesco, was a thin Italian man with the same hair and cologne, and a restaurant owner as well. He had been infatuated with me and had invited me to Paris with him. I turned him down… after all he was nearing seventy or so. I decided after that never to turn down another trip to Paris so long as I live. What a coincidence, I thought. What a fantastic coincidence. The owner of Grappa invited me to enjoy another cocktail, which I decided not to accept seeing as the first one had gone to my head a little bit. As I rose to leave, he thanked me, his strong accent bringing a smile to my lips. “Grazie.” I said through my grin. “Prego,” he replied with a pleasantly shocked expression. “Buona Notte.” “Buona Notte.” His eyes trailed after me as I walked away.
I knew, that evening, that I was in exactly the place I was meant to be. These little things came together to paint such a wonderful picture of this thing called coincidence. All the puzzle pieces settled into place in those moments and I felt such serenity and such peace. I floated back to Starbucks after leaving a generous tip for my waitress, and ran into Tiffany and Heather and tried to get them to understand all of the sporadic little happenings of my evening. They couldn’t. But I felt in my heart that it was true. I am where I should be right at this moment. I’m on the right track. I’m not lost after all.
Later that night, after watching the sunset and whiling away the hours, I ended up parked on the roof of the parking structure, facing the glow behind Table Mountain. I watched the stars emerge gradually. I put on Lifehouse and listened to their inspiring lyrics. When the song ‘Everything’ came on, I hit the button to make it repeat. The video on Youtube affected me deeply, and I brought it up from memory. The beautiful intro, with God showing the beautiful world to the innocent new girl. Then when she’s torn away from him by things like money, drugs, lust, envy, and suicide. I see him reaching out toward her, but she can’t see him. I see them distressed and lost. Then… the climax, she breaks free and rushed back toward her God. But the corrupters intercede and keep her away. She’s struggling violently. She pushes forward and they push her back. She pushes again and they throw her down. They tear at her clothes and her hair, they won’t let her up. She won’t make it. But then, suddenly, God breaks in and single handedly shields her from all of the oppressors. They rally against him, but he is too strong. The girl is able to rise and see the world again. God throws down the oppressors to the ground, and reunites with the girl, innocent again. They resume their dance and their discovery of all of the beautiful things that he has made for her. The song ends, and I am crying.
I sat on the roof of the parking structure, staring out into the night sky, my heart full of meaningful coincidence, and I searched within myself deeply and at length… for God. I listened to the song on repeat and repeat and repeat, singing the chorus and envisioning the video I’d seen. I felt… I felt such… sorrow. And joy. And emptiness and fullness all at once. I felt spiritually aware. I felt lost. I felt found. I found comfort in my solitude. I felt overwhelming loneliness. I felt self-pity. I felt pride. I felt all these things… but I did not feel a God. I felt MUSIC, and I felt all the things that music inspires within me. I felt Lifehouse in my veins. I felt Jason Mraz in my heart. I felt rhythm and soul. I felt blues and jazz. I felt pop and rap and punk and rock and jam bands and drum circles and cymbals crashing in my brain. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
I felt the Solstice inspiring these words within me. And here they are. And they and I would not exist if it weren’t for this beautiful rhythm in the world.
Then the police made their rounds in the parking structure and I had to go. I drove to the parking lot and went to bed.
Now, as I write this, I am back at Applewood. This is the Starbucks where Isaac, from one of my favorite bands, The Fray, used to work. Now, as I write these words, my iTunes on shuffle... randomly scrolling through the hundreds of thousands of songs in my Library, The Fray are singing to me. I can look up from the compter screen and envision Isaac sweeping around the tables, his friends and bandmates hanging out in the corner, goofing around and waiting for him to finish work so they can go practice.
I came to this state for music. "Joan moved away to Colorado." Butch Walker, my savior in High School, brought me here. And as soon as I came here, unannounced, The Fray stumbled into my life, just as they had after I graduated and I needed to learn "How to Save a Life." Then came my trip to Italy. Then came Jason Mraz.
I'm excited for what the future holds.
"Joan moved away to Colorado.
Said she found God and a boyfriend as well:
one that won't hit her or make her feel shallow.
And there's a lot to learn
about Joan."
"I found God
on the corner of First and Amistad,
where the West
was all but won.
All alone,
smoking his last cigarette,
I said "Where you been?"
He said, "Ask Anything."
I haven't found God, though I looked. And I haven't found a boyfriend either, abusive or not. But hell... this is MY song now. And I'll write it how I see fit.
(There's a First and Amistad in Texas. Not exactly close to Houston, where I'll be in September... but then...
1st St & Amistad Ave W, Quemado, Maverick, Texas 78877)
