"Can I tell it like it is?
Help me I'm sufferin'
Listen to me baby-Help me I'm dyin'
It's my heart that's a sufferin', it's a dyin'
That's what I have to lose
I've got an answer / I'm going to fly away
What have I got to lose?
Will you come see me
Thursdays and Saturdays?
What have you got to lose?"
-- Crosby, Stills & Nash, Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
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PSST! Public service announcement! The San Jose slam feature is not on September 9th, but September 8th. Cali folk, please adjust your calendars from Tuesday night to Monday night and come hang with a poet-lady.
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(When you travel alone you are forced to take cheesy photos of yourself standing in front of iconic structures and the locals laugh. So be it! Finally on the flip side of the tourist coin after my own share of grinning at non-New Yorkers.)
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Sigh worthy life. I just got off the phone with my pops, who let it be known, is my favorite person to talk about life with, on account of his always reaffirming the magical opportunities presented and laughing in disbelief, "I'll be living vicariously through you," even though his own vault of stories are pretty damn envy-worthy themselves. I'm writing a little bit in the voice of Bone, my new favorite character from Russell Banks' novel "Rule of the Bone," which I am rereading seven years later on account of it being a coming-of-age travel story that takes Bone from the small mountain town I spent my own summers in to the unlikely island of Jamaica and I am all about travel stories even if I just went to California. Irie. He says "on account of" a lot, which I've taken a liking to if you haven't noticed, and he is way cooler and more relate-able than Holden Caulfield, and Jen B., I think you'd really love this book.
Anyway. This reconnecting with family business is so perfect it feels dreamlike. Last night I braved two buses to Sausalito, just over the Golden Gate, which sounds like the name of a delicious meal but in fact, is actually a rather quaint touristy town on the water. Life of a traveling poet chapter one: your shows will be a random happenstance and you might find yourself in the company of old hippies more often than you'd bargained for. North Point Coffee Company is a small shop that sits directly on the sea. The room is full of folding chairs and middle aged folks who, like Rick says, you never know which old dude in tennis shoes was once hanging with Kerouac and Dylan back in the day. Rick, by the way, if you haven't picked up the names yet, is my Dad's cousin. He is a musician and landscaper and totally cool in the way you always hoped your uncle-figures would be. I was so honored that he, his lovely wife Grace, her brilliant five year old daughter Sophie and my second-cousin, super-awesome seventeen year old Maya came to check me out. (Ivy, Maya's sister, was so there in spirit.)
(A blurry Maya & Rick, on account of the crappy camera)
The show went well. My co-feature, the hilarious and slightly-raunchy May Garson, set it off with laughter and wide-eyed, "what?" stolen glances to family members. She was a great poet to share the set with, as different as our work is, and turns out Yusef is here favorite poet too, go figure. As usually happens in such settings, my set went off without a hitch and I invited the room to join me in Brooklyn. They arrived with whistles through the teeth and captive expressions and head nods and big handshakes complete with juicy thank you's when I had to step out a bit early on account of the five year old being tired and my family kindly offering up their home as it was closer to the venue than Daly City. Left buzzing with my product in the hands of Roy, the super-friendly host, to barter off without me and a promise to connect and collect later in the week.
After dropping off the kids and Grace, Rick and I went to get a bite to eat in their town of Fairfax, which Stewart scoffed at on the phone, but proved to be a new-agey, green-friendly hang out that hosts its own share of open mics and is home to many artists. Rick, who may I remind you, I have no recollection of ever meeting, though I'm sure I must have once as a very small child, and him and I get on so breezily you'd think we'd been family for years. Well, technically we have been, but you catch my drift. We talk about father-daughter relationships, him sharing that he sees a lot of my father in me and my heart swells with pride. If you know Hanns, you know what a compliment that is. He tells me about coaching Maya through the college process. How one night she comes home emotional over the choices and not knowing what her future will bring and he pauses her, "Maya, what is the one thing you do where time stops?" Art, she responds. "Well, that's what you go to school for then." I applaud his good parenting and he laughs, admitting to other foibles, but I see the way his girls relate to him and it's wonderful to bear witness to.
Through the course of the meal, random characters breeze into the joint. Neiel used to work for Rick and is a musician and graphic designer and we instantly get on discovering we've both been to Ghana. Shortly after Annie whirls in like a dervish, an old friend of Rick's from high school. The story is they remet some thirty years later in Fairfax, a far cry from their native Long Island and both grew up to be musicians, after all. She reminds me of Janis Joplin, her energy all over the map, but warm and larger than life, and apparently she owns a set of lungs to rival. Listening to Neiel and Annie talk about their experience at Burning Man festival this summer I think, "where am I?" Some parallel universe, to be sure. I kind of feel like I have stepped into a time machine and am back in the 1960's, or maybe it is 2008 but I'm watching myself on the extras of a DVD about folk musicians in a surreal dreamlike encounter with a version of me thirty years earlier, full of wonder and awfully sprightly. All very strange and wonderful. Perhaps some of this ambiance was due to Rick's stories of my Dad being his older teenage cousin way-back-when, rolling into Long Island from Teaneck, New Jersey with long hair down to his ass, a fringed jean jacket, Chuck Taylor-ed feet and the latest Who record under arm. My Dad was wicked, don't get it twisted, and utterly handsome too. You would have had a crush, I'm sure.
Upon arriving "home," I find the West Coast Meissner's dwelling wonderfully warm and lovely and after a very frank and hilarious conversation about drug use and a bowl of cookie dough ice cream, the adults all part ways for bed. I cannot tell you how comforting it felt to be in their home, sleeping in Maya's bed who was off at her Mom's house and seeing the posters for their band "The Meissner Sisters" adorning the walls. I spent a few hours on the phone with a New York friend whom never fails to make me laugh, but I did not miss home nor him anything other than a slight tug, which was also comforting on account of my heart can be a funny creature and do things contrary of what it should. Glad to report it's in the right spot this go-around. In the morning, Grace cooked me up some eggs and we had a fabulous girl-talk session before Rick arrived to ship me off to the Ferry, which I chose over the bus for it's views and sea-air. The perfect choice. I even had a random conversation with a traveling family from Ireland and got to brag about my little sister and her recent trip. Oh, and listening to Crosby, Stills and Nash on a ferry ride is an experience I highly, highly recommend if you want to feel like all is right in the world.
After a long day in transit, I finally arrived to the homestead and ventured to Oakland to catch an art show. Of course, not everything can be smooth about such a trip and the gallery was, sadly, closed. Must've gotten the dates mixed up. Too exhausted to do anything else, I wasted the $7 on a brief wandering of the run-down shopping district, snapped two photos of the only two things worth snapping photos of and here I am, still on New York time and sleepy. I have a long day tomorrow so after some more novel reading, bed it is.
Loving the solo journey. All this time alone is doing me so good! Oh, and if you read that all, I am both super impressed and thankful for your interest in my trivial sojourning. Hey, why don't you leave a comment?
PS. I just got an email from Roy, the host at the poetry reading last night, whom I am now getting coffee with upon scooping my dough and left over product. Of course, he sends me a poem he wrote about the coffee shop we'll be meeting at. Folks out here sure are a special breed. That is so something I would do. Feeling right at home.
PPS. Check out my girl Sallome's travel blog. She is doing amazing and inspiring things!
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"I was feeling a little sick about the whole thing but it was too late and besides I didn't have any better ideas and neither did I-Man, although I knew that wouldn't bother him because except for things like his veggie patch and other day-to-day activities I-Man wasn't really into ideas and plans and suchlike. Mostly he just took things as they came and made all his adjustments on the spot. He was like the opposite of my friend Russ and most people in America who flip out if they don't have a plan for the rest of their lives and I have to admit there was a little of that in me too."
-- Bone, Russel Banks' character in the novel Rule of the Bone
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