Sitting on the airplane next to a tall, thin young man with narrow wrists and a nose that hints at having been raised well and thoughtfully. His skin is poreless, this much I can see. He orders a burger from the United cart and eschews the bun, taking big gobbly bites that say that eating is something he wishes he didn’t have to do. He seems embarrassed to partake. I imagine that he wants to get back to his device, a device of a size that tells me I know nothing of the ocean of possibilities in technology. It sits before him on the tray. He keeps his hands in his lap and his body seems so straight and yet comfortable and still, and I think, this younger generation. There is so much they know that I don’t.
This Summer has had me traveling, for work and to see family. When I am home I savor it, soak up the San Francisco fog and my beloved routines made more precious because I know I’ll be leaving again soon. I love my home.
I also love to bop around, and to play drums, and I love my family, so it’s been worth pulling myself away from the ocean air and the cool nights to get a little adventure in.
Last week, I was in Colorado, the new home of my sister and her family, and I got to spend a couple of days with my hysterical nephews and lovely brother-in-law and my sister, all of whom I love beyond words. Then, I headed to a music festival in the mountains above Denver to play a show and hang with my musical sisters for a couple of days.
I took my teeth to their bi-annual early morning cleaning, and walked back up through Chinatown. The day was one of those rare ones in which there were no appointments or pressing work to do, so when I passed Molinari’s I made a detour and landed in Caffe Trieste. It’s not my usual place, but I do admire its musical and poetical story. I ordered a cup of black coffee and sat at the back corner table.
The coffee was hot, so I sat and waited. The sun was coming in the transom-like windows at the top and the center of the room was beaming. Folks were lined up along the windows and the walls, reading newspapers, looking at phones or computers. In the center of the room there was a family, tourist-seeming, and the light was shining on the brown hair of the teenage daughter and son, who both seemed restless and irritated with their parents. The sound of the steamers was going, and the conversation at the coffee counter had a rhythmic rise and fall.