Long gone

Dark at 6 pm now.  I walked to the bedroom window to close the curtains, looked out at the last traces of light in the sky, the dark street, the neighbors’ lit windows…and suddenly missed wine.  Not the taste or how it made me feel, it was the ritual I missed.

Oh, who am I kidding? It was all three.  What I pictured as I looked at those glowing rectangles of light across the street was my heavy drinking neighbors sitting down with wine and munchies. I could see the wine in the glasses (it was chardonnay), the beads of water on the bottle, the warmth and laughter….God!  What IS this?  My sobriety calculator says I’ve been sober 1,324 days–do I really still have to deal with this stupidity?  (Stupid shit was what I wanted to say, but heard my mother’s voice.)

I suppose I should be thankful this hasn’t happened in a long time, but why did it happen now?  My mood, I guess, and that instant romanticizing of the scene out the window. I’m old and feeling sad, out of the stream of life.

It used to be, a very long time ago, I would’ve been getting ready to go out at this time of the evening.  The night had possibility, mystery, magic. Once I had a boyfriend who was a saxophone player.  When he wasn’t working we’d hit the clubs.  It was a great time for jazz in San Francisco–Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, Cannonball Adderley, Thelonious Monk–they were all here, and he knew many of them.  We’d sit at a table in someplace like the Jazz Workshop, listening to great music and squinting through the smoke, nursing a drink to make it last.  Between sets they’d come over and talk–shop talk mostly, who was playing where, what gigs were coming up. I sat there starry-eyed and tongue-tied, totally out of my element, loving it.

So of course I had to go on YouTube and listen to some of those guys, and now it’s almost eight and we haven’t had any dinner. But I’m not sad anymore. It was a great age for jazz.

 

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6 Responses to Long gone

  1. Ahhhhh how I would have loved to have been there…

    I think I’ll break out Blue Train before I head to bed.

    Long gone, but ah, the song remembers when.

  2. mishedup says:

    Oh how I love this post!
    So many reasons first being he beauty of your writing, the way you evoke a mood…

    the memories of SF and late night jazz, being there with the musicians, so cool…made me think of times past and fun had and music seen up close and personal (though mine were more rock and roll/punk legends)

    and the sheer, wonderful reminder that doing something, anything, to get us out of the romanticizing, into the gratitude for what we have (because those memories are something special to have too) will keep us away from the drink.

    As it gets dark earlier and colder I romanticize a drink too, just one…

    yeah, right!

    Thanks for this.

    • sswl says:

      Aw,thanks, Michele. You must write about your rock and roll/punk memories sometime.

      And yes, so great to be able to extricate ourselves from the call of the bottle.

      • mishedup says:

        ooohh…good idea!

        Oddly enough I happened into meeting Mixmaster Mike of the Beastie Boys today…
        yes, a music post would be good!

  3. Mary LA says:

    Miles Davis. Thelonius Monk. You don’t need to romance the drinking whe you have music memories like those. But of course we all do at times.

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