Had a truly rejuvenating b-day weekend.
The deeply merry greetings of “happy birthday, daddy!” when I picked them up at school on Friday (my actual birthday) would, honestly, have been already super perfect, and if it had only been that all weekend, I would’ve had a totally satisfying noting of another trip around the sun complete.
But we had a barrel of laughs horsing around and we all three savored every sweet & creamy smoothosity of a miniature chocolate mousse cake before bed. (Clearly we then chomped on nano-bot organic seaweed-based-flouride-free-aura-filling-non-acidic-odor-free-dye-free-hemp-infused hippie love tooth nurturing gel…but that’s another blog!)
And that would also have been fine, capping off a great, simple birthday.
But Saturday we had plans in the city.
I’d put a call out to my peeps, including one in from NYC (an old Hampster some of you may even know), to meet at what I’ve always considered one of my prime spots, one of my check-in places where my reset button is gently clicked.
This such spot is atop a particular hill in Golden Gate Park.
The kids put in a really good hustle, and only three people arrived before we did, two of whom hadn’t responded if they were going to make it, so I was stoked they did. (One of my main former DJ’ing and promotion partners, ladies and germs, the Artist Brian Cox.)
People I used to see practically daily — to whom I’m aware I seem at time to have taken the active role in dropping off the face of the Earth — what can I say, it was solid, joyous and great. We’ve all aged well, I must say: the NY visitor is engaged and regaled with tales of interviewing a band so genuinely esoterically legendary that, naturally, he was enabled to land backstage passes for the MSG farewell concert of the guy/band who launched his chair-kicking-out sh**-hot career with a song that’s essentially a pantomime of the fears of aging hipsters.
Two brilliant friends both have regular jobs for the first time in ages, and they dig it! One of them, father to a ridiculously cute 2-year-old, informed me he has twin boys on the way. That was the wow-factor, for sure. He, like myself, has had fatherhood exude from him thermodynamically, and his kidlings three will be lucky. It’s people like him that should be parents; he will be training — without stricture or force; no boot camp, this — the best people of the future. People who know that what is important in life is as is spelled out in The Little Prince.
and our three cavorted, (did someone fart?)
skipped rocks , (Daddy, you so farted…)
and told a skunk to go you know where (and made fart noises.)
We Dads talked smack (proferred plausible deniability as to farting)
The friend who’d arrived first (we were each others’ Best Men at our nuptials) was, on this occasion, sansa-kid, and brought instead not only tasty cheese, crackers & meat & wine, but a tight li’l leather-covered, shoulder bag, firm-sided, stylie picnic cheese-board holder that looked more like a vintage camera bag. And he charmed with a jocular and jovial description of a robotically dystopian spoof painting of the classically styled English fox hunt that he posited, “it would be cool to commission.” Ahh, yes.
After the farewells, it was just we three again…so to the playground.
I took notice that the swing set seemed sturdy. Very sturdy. And…I felt like I imagine a star quarterback or Michael Jordan or suchlike might feel after years away from their sport of mastery when suddenly there they are …by a football field…near the hoop….and they feel that pull.
For me. Yup: the swing set.
Yeah, it sounds dramatic, but you don’t know how much I used to love to be flying on a swing. I was one with the swing. I would swing for ever when I was the age my kids are, and I hadn’t really honestly swung — given it my all and just gone for it — for at least 28 years.
I got on the swing…tested that it wasn’t going to collapse and hurt anyone or be useless to everyone…and then I went for it. And I flew.
It was bliss…and for those few minutes, we three glided back and forth on the three swings on the set, my daughter to my left, my son to my right. a great, green and deeply, knottily rooted tree above and before my raised view, the bluing sky clear above and beyond that. For those few moments the gentle flow and then the quickening and the weightless flight and the giggles of the kiddies magic and excellence and probably truth justice and the American damn way were all pow-woing with the air, and the “there” of it, and it was good.
That would’ve been — and I was proceeding as if it was — the perfect end to a perfect b-day. We headed to BART, got home, and were pooped. Then as I was making dinner my daughter got on a tear that a show we’d been eagerly anticipating — the new, follow-up animated TV series to Avatar: The Last Airbender — was debuting that night. She was right! I don’t have cable so we can’t watch any broadcast television as such. Thank the Saint Jobs (MHRIP) that iTunes had the first two episodes for watching.
That TV is so rich and awesome that it requires another post entirely. Suffice it to say we watched both episodes twice and talked and talked and talked about them. More laughs upon laughs unto sweet sleep.
Sunday was a lazy old day with them, and I pretty much cherished the gift of watching them grow and improve their abilities with the myriad applications of the wii game-interface tool.
And that really was going to be the sweet capstone to a great weekend.
I was almost too tired and satiated to motivate after I dropped the kids off with their mom (my ex) to go back into SF to meet some friends for dinner and drinks in the Mission. But indeed, I was on BART and at the spot when I said I’d be. More people than I had expected were there, and again, these are folks I love a lot, whom I used to see almost daily. People I miss, and I think they possibly may have felt something similar on their end, though I don’t really know. But I do know we made each other laugh in that best way: just to do so. Not to impress with cleverness (of which this group is never short), or coolness (these cats have played gigs at Fela’s club not because it was a cool thing to do, but because that’s what they do) …we make each other laugh cuz we are some eeeeaazzee-ass targets for each other! Doh!
Well after no one choked on their food or spit up beer from laughing, most of these ole veterans of the Year 2000 up ‘n went home. What.EVR! There were still three well-wishers with me. Woops, one knocked off early, make that two: two well-wishers with me.
And believe it or not, Powerlounger was ready to accept that mellow night-cap (at, ummm, 8:30 pm!?!) as the perfect ending to a perfect weekend, especially to a birthday weekend. I was pretty mellow, myself, leaning toward sappy ridiculosities of sincerity and boringness…when what to my wandering eye should appear….
But the final surprise development. The real capstone. The gem of gems. Yet another character entered the play, this time from state Left, and due to a fluke of one of my friends saying hi to someone juuuust around the bend of the bar and leaving a seat open next to me, well, she, this new entry who was a total stranger, sat in that empty seat and practically emerged like a human precipitant of the comfy familiarity of me and my two remaining well-wishers. And really, thanks to her, we might as well just refer to them now as my wingmen, that night, since this new addition liked the hero of the evening just as much as he liked her.