Well, it has happened again. Two incredibly pleasant weeks have somehow passed in two blinks of an eye. It's a funny thing, the way the mind perceives the passage of time. I've said this kind of thing before, but it seems as though there have been single days in my life that have lasted longer than these two weeks. Not great days, mind you…but still.
As tradition has it, we woke up pretty early this morning. It seems like the right thing to do…get the most out of this last day of vacation. So the coffee's on, the dog's been fed and the new Greg Brown is playing on the music contraption.
But wait, I'm getting ahead of things a little. I wanted to talk about last night's dinner. It honestly has not a whole lot to do with this morning except that it's become our habit to treat ourselves to one fancy night out per trip. Me and TheWife™ are not really fancy folks, but we are foodies (except for when we're in the mood for diner fare, which is most of the time).
We hit Havana at 8PM. This is a swanky little Cuban joint- the kind of place I'd normally avoid because I see the folks through the windows, swishing their wine glasses and looking all shimmery and comfortable in their beautiful skin and finery. Much more comfortable than me in my finery. Well, OK, I don't actually own any finery, but you get the idea. I had heard great things about this place so it was more than a little disconcerting to be confronted with the weirdness of the restaurant's first (and only) mistake: nobody shows up at our table for well over ten minutes. Miscommunication I suppose. Once the management figured out what had happened they were suitably horrified and rectified the situation by hurling free mojitos and impossibly tasty appetizers in our direction. Thank you very much. The food was pretty much nothing short of spectacular. I do love the adventure and surprise that comes with this kind of thing. You put a forkful of something into your mouth and there's this explosion of flavor as your eyeballs roll back into your head. Not all of the elements can be identified. It's just pure pleasure. Also kind of fun last night to sit in that environment and watch the pouring rain and lightning that lit up the sky.
What any of this has to do with Greg Brown's The Evening Call I do not know. Though I'm sure Greg's been to places like Havana, he's more likely to be tossing some ingredients in a pot and settling down for an evening of slow food. I listen to him because the songwriting is nonstop terrific and the music is a singular combination of folk, blues, country, and gospel. It's full of humanity and grace and home. He also speaks of heading out into the wilderness with a kind of reverence that approaches religion. Though I'm not a backwoods kind of guy, I can identify with closing out the rest of the world by immersion into something simpler, the essence of which can't be denied.
I'm not in the wilderness up here (come on…there's a high speed Internet connection!), but I think I've done a halfway decent job of closing out the noise. Not by the head-in-sand method, but by filling the days full of music and words and sea and sky. I'll be sad to return to the noise and the worry (there is a whole lot of worry on the horizon) but it is home.
For now though, a little more coffee and later, one more trip to the rocks and sea spray. I tell you, a person can get used to this sort of thing.