Monday, September 19, 2016

368

When I blew out my birthday candles this year it seemed sacrilege to wish
for anything beyond the moment itself. I just blew. No wishes...
Dexter and Nori brought a bottle of Hudson Valley Bourbon,
best I've ever had, with a burnt caramel flavor, wood smoke,
pass it around, get a magic 8 Ball from KC Trommer, kids go crazy,
Lilla brings a peach torte from patisserie, Amy brings a peach pie,
Cristina, fancy snacks and socks, Therese a painting of a hummingbird,
Catherine a handle of rum, Nonna and Papa delicious boursin cheese,
Marco oak aged beer, Quinn guitar strings, picks and a pear,
Tyler and Karen, wine and a watermelon: and more I'm forgetting,
suffice to say it was superabundance. Just so happens
that Flicks & Jazz in the Garden was scheduled on my birthday.
Big band jazz plays for an hour. Meanwhile I throw a giant frisbee
high so it comes back to me, as if I was playing catch with the sky,
while dozens of kids swirl around me trying to catch it too.
After the big band jazz the Brooklyn Raga Massive plays versions
of Beatles and Zeppelin, with the Pyeng Threadgill singing
(daughter of jazz great Henry Threadgill who just won the Pulitzer.)
I danced with my daughter Lucia and she was so fantastic!
It was the highlight of a night filled with highlights.
Then my favorite new band, The Flushing Remonstrance,
played soundtracks to old experimental films,
including George Melies' Trip To The Moon.
This was followed by old Felix The Cat Cartoons.
Soon it was 10pm and the girls were both lying on me
comfortably, while we watched cartoons outside in the park. Perfect.
A wild Austrian neighborhood kid, Hans, hanging around my neck too.
I hardly know him, but it seemed natural, and no one, least me, objects.
It was a warm night, with a cool breeze. Full harvest moon! No bugs!
Better than I could've imagined, like when Whitman says,
" O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you-yet I love you;
You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more
to me than my poem." The night expressed me better than I could.
Or when Seamus Heaney says, "And what happens next is a music
that you never would have known to listen for."
We end Saturday evening drinking port that brother-in-law Matthew
hand delivered from Portugal, Dow special reserve. Best port
I've tasted, with distinct flavor of strawberry, raspberry, plum
and chocolate. We paired it with Lilla's peach torte. Now that's the life!
Sunday, the weekend extends still further with a Doppio Giallo style
doubles tennis tournament in the park, a fundraiser for earthquake in Italy.
I'm curious what Doppio Giallo means. Carlo says it means Double
Mystery. But doesn't giallo mean yellow I asked? Carlo says yes,
but yellow in Italian also means mystery. Do you know why, I ask,
but he doesn't. So now we have a "giallo" giallo,
why is mystery in Italian the color yellow? It's a mystery.
Afterward off to see the opening of Mierle Laderman Ukules' show
at the Queens Museum. Gen and I were so tired after night before
and the doubles tournament that neither of us really wanted to go,
but we rallied, and so glad we did. Such a great show. So inspiring.
And doubly glad that we got to meet Mierle. Do you know her?
Now thoroughly tired, and pinching myself to see if this all
might be a dream, but instead of waking up, I fall asleep!

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