Clippings

Well, now I know how it feels to be a princess. The morning began with a champagne breakfast and then on to the task of ironing wrinkled formal wear. We were escorted from the five-star hotel in a limousine where we met the now famous Chuck Russo of Table to Table and his lovely Cuban bride, Maria. Sitting together in staggering disbelief at our good-fortune and shock at the falderall which just kept on a-comin’ ~ we were treated like royalty by our new friends at Markham Vineyards. They threw us a party which was nothing short of regal. First a formal interview with a top shelf production crew from the big city (included a makeup artist!) followed by a gourmet luncheon held in the twinkling wine cellar, including tours, toasting and tears. I only wish my own Mama and my late but beloved Gagy could have been there. And of course each and every student, gardener, teacher, appreciator of the beautiful Bartlett Arb who voted for our project ~ I wish each and everyone of you could have taken in this extraordinary event. I spoke about the flooding project for further Mark of Distinction promotion. But what most moved the crowd was the gratitude I couldn’t help but express for giving back to my small community something that had been lost long ago: HOPE. Kenny and I chose to perform a song (Acre of Land) for the distinguished group who had traveled from all parts of the earth…well, …New York, Chicago, Portland, specifically. We used borrowed guitars so I was forced to retrofit a homemade capo from a pencil and rubberband. Ah, God provides! As well as Markham’s events coordinator: Vickie Andreassi. Thank you Markham Vineyards…Bryan Del Bondio (President for your kind words) Kim Nicholls, the vineyard’s wine maker for the tour and conversation about how understanding our genetic code helps us know our true essence, to Pete & Meghan & Anna from Terlato International who first came up with the Mark of Distinction concept and the vision to see its far-reaching purpose and result, and the efficient and resourceful folks at Marina Maher Communications on Manhattan Island, specifically, Jessica, Amy and Kanchan.

In short, today was one of the greatest days of my life. Two in one year ~ as was April 19th ~ the day when Songs From the Garden was officially born. I turn 50 this year on Thanksgiving Day. I was also born on that holiday. Things happen in threes you know. Today my heart is so full of abundant gratitude. I will continue to exercise it and cause it to grow for I must make more room for abiding thankfulness before November 27.

This morning we experienced the only frustration we’ve known this trip: acquiring a rental car. With that tedious and time-consuming negotiation finally under my Philmont belt, we took off for the Golden Gate Bridge, destination: Muir Woods. Words cannot fully describe the wonder and jaw-dropping glory of being among such mammoth beauty. Anemones, woodland fern, wild cucumber vines frame the monument…coastal redwoods which are the oldest living organisms on our planet, dating over 3000 years old and 300 towering feet tall.

The afternoon found us entering the Napa Valley which is when Kenny quietly said, “My wildest dream was still not big enough to hold this day.” Indeed, this had already been the vacation of a lifetime and yet, tomorrow had not even begun. We drove up to visit my shirttail relations, Priscilla and Francis who live in another sort of paradise, an open, inviting cabin on the side of a mountain with a room with a view, and a porch that calls your name. We also scored a used guitar, just in case, and our first taste of famous California vino.

Since we were still operating on Central Standard time, we arrived at the SFMOMA like early bird chickadees. Good thing ~ as the Frida Kahlo exhibit was as compelling as any art show gets. The lines were crazy as we were leaving. Me with my heart in my hand and Kenny with a new coffee table book. Next stop: Golden Gate Park’s Arboretum and my first view of the Coastal Redwoods. Something smells enticingly good about this big, busy city. It’s Eucalyptus! In the air, clearing out sinus cavities and generally making the world smell clean and organic. Until I learn that tragically this elegant shag-barked Eucalyptus tree was introduced to coastal California some century ago from Australia and it has now been classified a noxious weed! Highly flammable due to the oil and tragically invasive. Yowzer.

The breadth of plant material that can live in Northern California is beyond imagination and reason! Flowers bloom, trees bloom, weeds bloom, rocks bloom. The public arboretum is a breathtaking fairyland for this horticultural neophyte. Window boxes are busting out all over and blooming  bouganvilla grows thick across nearly every threshold. San Francisco is infused with colorful, tropical delight. I know that we are no longer in Kansas.

On the way to the Giant’s game we scurried through famed Haight-Ashbury for some local color and strong coffee. Kenny loved seeing the new stadium and added a ball cap to his growing collection. I on the other hand I was near frostbit and happily paid the $15 cab fare back to the hotel at the end of the evening instead of negotiating the BART back across town. Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. True that.

Kentucky and Robin head out to Napa Valley to receive the Markham Vineyard Mark of Distinction Grant.

Leaving out of Wichita Mid-Continental Airport happened without a hitch and connecting in Denver was miraculously effortless. As we arrived in SFO we were greeted by Kevin, the limo driver and a cavalcade of culture and climate. Kevin was holding a sign with my name on it as we came through the terminal. It was at this point I knew, for certain, that this was not going to be your run-of-the-mill vacation. (Kevin has driven Barry Bonds around town in the same limo in which we were now perched.)

Kenny immediately spotted the new Giants’ stadium and I was titillated at the thought of staying at Hotel Boheme, a quaint one-of-a kind relic of the beat poet generation. Alan Ginsberg used to hang out in the vicinity and the lobby was directly atop the Stella Bakery. Of course, I took his as a good omen.

After a cable car ride through Fisherman’s Wharf and clam chowder & sourdough bread at the fabled Fog City Diner we drug our shin-splints back up Columbus Avenue to gather our strength for Tuesday.