He has moved on. The man who sold his wife’s oil paintings out of the fancy big rig at the intersection on Adobe Road. She had a bright Vegasy style; Tigers, Clowns, Princesses. They had been burned out of two different houses, here and the town of Paradise. She lives on a boat in Rio Vista. All the best to you. Sometimes I turn toward Ernie’s Tin Bar here, mostly I go straight. The surfboards came off the car just below, I previously survived a late ride on the back of Chris Myers’ motorcycle. The Leonardinis are selling the tasty Pinot vineyard for 4.5 million. There are two one-acre cannabis grows to the left down there.
The first fire is devastating. Some of the stuff you have had forever. But that second one, son of a gun, the things you spent all that time shopping for new, the pictures friends sent you and that happened to be on the cloud. The Adjustor shows up again.
Chris is in Heaven now, hopefully not having a Tequila and OJ. Cause a whisky glass and a woman’s ass made a horse’s ass out of me. Arggh, Puddle Pirate. He had so many funny expressions from the Coast Guard. Finished 75th out of 77 at the private high school in Hong Kong with a C+ average. Mom didn’t know he had been hired tending bar at the Old Bath House. She came over to say hello in the morning and there he was in his tighty whities, crashing on my floor until he found a place. He must of looked good because she mentioned it for a while. Only bartenders were allowed to wear a beard in those days.
I picked up an early Haruki Murakami called Wind/Pinball. When I read 1Q84 I was tending bar Friday through Monday nights at San Rafael Joe’s, surfing Tuesday, pouring and giving tours at Sebastiani winery Wednesday/Thursday. We have moved on from our first tenant Emmy’s Spaghetti Shack and the good one Hopmonk has settled in.
Kelly encourages me to try and get in with Young’s Market selling wine or liquor. He is part of a specialty division with largely Spanish speaking clients.
Our hero is living with identical twin women he can’t tell apart and doesn’t know their names. An earlier girlfriend was missing a pinky on her right hand, another referred to his penis as his raison d’etre. His drinking buddy is The Rat and the bar owner is J who is Chinese. He tells the story, Trotsky escapes the penal colony on a sleigh with four reindeer. I ask Lindsay if he’s trying to appeal to the mythology of the Northern White Male. She says Trotsky just understands marketing.
On deck is Jennifer Egan. A writing class in prison. Just epic.
I came to Ernie’s after passing my Series 66 in the City. Ernie and the only farmer there were not reluctant to talk about their scorn of Trump in front of me. Thomas says Ernie will knit at the bar when it’s not too busy, but he didn’t.
If you take a cell call you owe the whole bar a round. Erik from Southern likes to put his hand on his phone like he’s going to answer it. The whole place begins to look at him, some salivating at the expectation of a free beer.
A very different form of Fire Drill last night, all about wellness for ourselves. The sight of a crowded room of Firefighters doing yoga is something, especially when we all make that sound. She says we are good breathers. Deeper dives into removing toxins after a firefight, healthy eating and IV cleansing, a natural doctor with loads of chemistry knowledge. Inspired, I take a sauna after working out, careful getting out, I’ve seen some bad stuff happen. I have new ways of breathing to lower my stress level.
A heavy rain sounds good on my helmet. On a Tree Down call, I am directing traffic. The guys went to turn the career people’s big truck around and seem to have gone out the other side and left me. I finally let the civilians go ahead in their cars. Michael comes along in his truck, and we soon nearly hit a bicyclist coming up. Another call comes and I am back in 3359. Jerry says the cyclist was determined.
“That’s one word for it,” Matt allows.
“He shoulda stayed on the stationary bike in his living room,” I add.
“Coulda taken it out on the driveway if he wanted the full experience.” Matt makes me laugh.
Only eight days until the winter solstice, it is 30 degrees at the Stewart No Relation Ranch. There is no one around me getting dressed, yet it smells distinctly of good weed. I think these people burn it in their woodstoves. Surprise I am the only one out at the Channel enjoying waist to chest high waves, sun low in the sky. I realize my hands are warmer in the water than in the air. Eventually another plucky soul joins for inside waves as I am exhilarated and satisfied, a highlight of a left to take for the memory bank.
When I drove the limo for Ted and Burt I took five Japanese businessmen to the Lodge the back way through the Del Monte Forest. I could hear them getting increasingly agitated amongst themselves and one finally spoke up,
“Sir, do you know where you are going?”
I think they thought I was going to whack them. They were so relieved to see their hotel.
Now four days till the solstice and we surf cold fun waves at Dillon. The bakery is so good Anna just gets back in line again. Michelle is surprised there are so many other crazy people willing to surf, eleven.
The girls show me how to play Spikeball on the beach. I get a rejection letter on the way home and turn to celebrate with Lindsay who is now published, she is asleep. I wait at a turn out for Oliver, he doesn’t see enough room and backs up enojado, a funeral placard still on his dashboard. It’s been a week, I guess a form of mourning.
Peter Stewart is a Financial Advisor and Sonoma Valley Volunteer Firefighter. He has written three novels and is currently enjoying the short story form. He has a strong sense of place, from living in the Mayacamas Mountains and being a surfer in Northern California. He is the father of twin girls, and his own father was an Impressionist painter, who passed along his powers of description. Peter's restaurant career and love of cooking shape his unique viewpoint.