When I was thirty-four, I leased my first home by myself. Before then, I shared places with my boyfriend in my early twenties and roommates after our break-up. My first solo home was a cute Victorian cottage near the downtown. I walked everywhere. I walked to the bookstore, the cafes, and to work.
When I first moved into my place, I didn’t have any furniture. I remember sitting on the floor of the living room visioning how I wanted the place to look and feel. Before the month was out, I found a Middle Eastern furniture shop. The owner, a young Persian Woman my age helped me pick out sitting cushions for the floor in bright silk covers of burgundy, aureate, and the deepest of ruby reds. A beautiful table formed the centerpiece where I ate and served my meals. For many of my guests, it was the first time they sat on the floor to eat.
On Sundays, I walked my Golden Retriever puppy Melanie downtown to shop for CDs. I would buy at least three to half dozen from the Jazz, Blues, International, and Classical sections. Back home, I would fix a decadent breakfast with more coffee, and play my cds entranced by music I wasn’t familiar with.
I remember describing my Sundays to Scott. At the same time, back then, he was visiting stores in Berkeley, and through-out the San Francisco Bay Area and Sacramento picking out records, cds, and listening to as much music as he could, especially the Grateful Dead and Neil Young. His passion was music. His tastes were so deep and varied, it’s hard for me to mention just a couple of names because there were hundreds if not thousands of musicians and bands he followed. He never abandoned it. I did over the years, finding other interests, reigniting my desire for listening to jazz and blues, and other genres when I met Scott.
Today, I listened to live Jazz, at a local cafe near downtown with my sister and my mom. It was so wonderful sitting outside in the sunshine, having brunch, watching the parade of dogs enter the outdoor cafe. I am grateful to live in a dog friendly town.
Listening to the music, I thought of Scott. Last year, he played Chet Baker for me. It was the first time I really listened to Chet Baker. I fell in love with the music, taking me back to a time that I felt free and independent longing for a partner to share my life with. And here was Scott playing jazz for me on a Sunday. I remember feeling grateful that my prayers were answered. Up to the day, he transitioned, Scott was playing music, I remember him placing his headphones around my ears, so I could listen to a piece of jazz he found, so excited to share it with me.
I am so glad live music is back in our town. I feel close to Scott when I listen to music.
As the music played, the cafe filled up quickly. We almost had to step over dogs to find our way out of there. I’ll be back. The coffee is so good and the food presentation is delightful at Cafe Frida.