As usual, we drank a toast to each other's health and happiness. I then made a toast to the date, 11-13-11 and what has always been two lucky numbers I never fail to play in Vegas (my father having been born on the 13th of another month and that making it a special number for all his children). Of course I raised a glass in a silent toast to G on his natal day, which, auspiciously for him, happens to fall on the 13th.
One of my friends present had finished reading one of my stories and I asked them what they thought of the main theme, only to find out that, though they had really loved the story, they had missed some of the nuances entirely. I ended up thanking them for taking the time to read the tighter revision of a draft I had unsuccessfully sent out to a few people a few years back and let the subject drop.
When I got home I decided to post some birthday wishes for the Muse, making it just under the wire and hitting the "post" button at 11:59 p.m. Pacific Time. After that my curiosity got the better of me and I wondered if there was anything about Gerry's birthday and how he had actually spent it, on the web and found my way to a link to a twitter on an Italian site that mentioned he had been seen at Cafe de la Presse in San Francisco. Experiencing a very quick moment of deja vu, I started laughing.
Is all of life merely a coincidence or is there an orderly way of things that we sometimes stumble upon by sheer serendipity? I often wonder. To me those little moments of deja vu are often regarded as "messages from the universe" with insight into a question I need answered or a problem that has plagued me. For one who once wrote a novel on "timing" and its importance in people's lives and the scheme of things, I found this little moment a sure sign that it was time to kiss this particular story we had been discussing tonight over dinner, good by and send it out into the world one final time to sink or swim, as it will. Nervous as I have been about doing it, it is time and so I shall.
As for the Muse, I wonder if he encountered any ghosts last night in said establishment. The eatery, which was remodeled several years ago and appears entirely different from its earlier version, was that kind of place, among the many, for me. San Francisco itself always conjures up so many lovely memories and serves as such a wonderful backdrop on which to place a story.
I hope he's enjoying his visits to one of my favorite cities while working nearby, and wonder if he took a ride down Powell Street? The new and improved Gerry, with all his cardio workouts, could easily make the trek up on foot now and the ride down is so much more fun if only one didn't have to make any stops along the way.
I'll never forget one very irate Pakistani taxi driver, doing a Steve McQueen "Bullit" type of car flying thing, purposefully jostling three of us in the back seat and another up front, after picking us up from a club, where we had gone to keep partying after a wedding and lavish reception in Sausalito, and he telling us, in his broken English, that "GOD does not love San Francisco!"
Of course we (and most other mortals) didn't share that notion and we just all rolled our eyes at each other and grinned! Life was good in the city by the bay. It still is!
The song is still a little out of tune, but I think the words are mostly right this time.