Roger's 60th birthday was Thursday night and we surprised him with a party intended to trump all parties, past or future. Over the past few months I've been inviting people from all over the country to come join us, and people accepted with joy, making arrangements to fly, and drive, and carpool in for the occasion.
We met up at our friend Carol and Bill's incredibly gracious home, a house of deep cherry wood and leather divans, terraced gardens, a serene blue pool, and candles glittering softly amongst the draping bougainvillea. The group was small but achingly and beautifully deep with history. Many friendships in that room went back 30, 40, or more years. Some were more recent but were of the quality that felt instantly ancient and familiar. There was no us and them, east or west, north or south. It was an instant eclectic tribe and the chemistry was rich with shared geographies and stories of road trips and laughter at in-jokes and rapid fire jibes at each others' expense.
Roger's college friends sat around a table and discussed various landmarks in Lawrence, Kansas, and reminisced about favorite old watering holes and discussed what landmarks have been torn down and replaced with what. My college friends sat around another table comparing the vagaries of bus travel in South America. Newer friends sat in and listened, while someone would give a closed caption narration of how everyone was connected ("she knew him for awhile, then they both married someone else, but then they remet at a reunion, and then they married each other...") and bits of back story to tie things up ("... so even before we dated, all our kids went to the same high school, in the same department, all three years apart... that's why everyone is talking about the teacher that got fired.")
My months of deception were a constant source of conversation, made so much more sweet because I'm widely known as being almost pathologically honest. ("Lies within lies, Roger," I kept intoning, with a big grin on my face, "lies within lies.") Roger was glowing the entire time. I'm thinking I may have a new career track as a con artist.
There was music. Great music. Roger's music partner from college, the Greg Kesler of Nolan and Kesler fame, flew out from Connecticut via Wyoming. He plays harp and guitar, and Nolan and Kesler were well known in Kansas through most of their college years. My friend from college, Brian Marshall, a bassist, came down from northern California and added his spice to the mix. (Since upright basses are difficult to sneak into a plane, I rented him an instrument for the occasion). When we visit Brian and his wife, Nancy, Brian plays bass and Roger plays guitar and the music is great but could really use a harmonica. And when Nolan and Kesler play, they always bemoan the lack of an acoustic bassline. My dream (and indeed my not so secret agenda behind the whole party), was to get the three of them in the same room just to see what happened.
In a weird wonderful alchemical way, it was a musical weddding... symbolizing the conflation of Roger's and my two worlds. One person each from our college years, and Roger in the middle, linking the two. And surrounding him were all his friends, old and new, all east, west, north, and south of us linked together by a common sensibility, shared across thousands of miles... the fallout of Vietnam, whispers of the summer of love, denim granny skirts, VW vans, concerts, and illusions of limitless freedom... now joined together in one moment, to celebrate Roger and how downright wonderful life can be sometimes, forty years down the line.
Nolan and Kesler played N & K favorites, from Mama Tried to Peggy Sue. Then Brian said he'd like to pick a tune -- Van Morrison? Bob Marley? Bob Marley won hands down, especially amongst the kids (now the same age at which the rest of us all met each other.) Brian started the great bass line for Stir it Up and suddenly we were all singing the stoner lyrics that anyone can remember no matter how wasted, and clapping and passing around a phantom joint -- not only in homage to Bob Marley, but in solidarity of spirit between generations... a toast to universal youth, a momentary dropping of all boundaries between young and old, now and then.
The night was magic. It was an "Our Town" night that I would gladly relive for eternity. The music, the laughter, the absolutely palpable love for Roger and for each other. The grouping was perfect; everyone seemed to fit together seamlessly. I can only hope that people had half as good a time as I did, because it was an evening I'll be reliving for years to come (unless and until we can figure out how to do it again, and soon.)
Layers of love and friendship. So vital. That feeling of visceral, unconditional love. I've been getting that with my illness -- a sub-optimal way to receive and understand the power of love, but potent nonetheless. And Roger got it at the party. A huge chunk of visceral knowledge of our universal connectedness, and love, and roots, and support. This is where I know my riches are stored. I glanced across the laughing joyful room and counted my friends and my connections like a miser counts his stacks of gold. My life is so enhanced, so magnified, so enriched, made so deeply meaningful... because of the people I am connected with. And Roger felt it too. Not just in that room on Thursday night, but with all the many people who couldn't be there as well.
The green links, heart to heart, sustaining and supporting and enlivening and healing. My hope and prayer is to know this, and remember this, and honor this connection. I need many long weekends with friends, or even long dinners, or even a long phone conversation. I also need solitude and time by myself. But even in those hours where I need to be alone, those friendships are there, supporting me like invisible strings, holding me up, enabling me to sag from time to time and still keep going on.
We are all growing older. The people in that room may never all be in the same place again. I hope to god that that isn't true, but inevitably, we will start moving to a different plane. But... I do believe... there were people in that room that had already moved on, that graced us with their presence, and who made a brief journey from the other side to wish Roger a happy birthday as well. Roger's parents were mentioned many times. There were friends who were missing, who were absolutely there in spirit. The spheres expanded beyond the room, beyond geography, and very possibly beyond time.
To all of you who made it, and to all the other dear friends who were there in spirit: thank you for giving me, personally, so much joy in the planning and in the experiencing of that evening. I fully plan to keep one memory sector saved for that night, revisiting it from time to time, remembering as we passed the torch of friendship and love and music and connection between each other and onward to the next generation.
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