The long haul riders started to show up on day three. Some of the names you may recognize are, Bob York (Primetime), Tigger & Long Tom. Bob pulled his new trailer and brought a couple of his buds with him. Tigger came all the way from the great state of Texas with his Bro Long Tom.

We had more than enough help setting up for the registration. Everyone jumped in and gave a hand.

I am still waiting for some more shots of the wedding, but here is what I have so far. Be sure to check for the rest of them.

THE ESMERALDA CHRONICLES:
TRUE STORIES AND OBSERVATIONS OF
 A SAN FRANCISCO CABBIE
by Michael Rosa

ONCE UPON A TIME

 Once upon a time a pair of young artists leapt off of a cliff.  Hand in
hand they  embarked on one of lifes great adventures -- the cross country
trip.  Two New York City kids with nary an experience in the wild, but with
plenty of street smarts on an existentialist journey across America and the
boundaries of consciousness.  He twenty one, she nineteen  they were ready
for whatever awaited them around the next turn, confidence was not an issue.
I was one of those kids.   My recollection is we traveled well together,
laughed a lot and pretty much stayed stoned and happy.  There were just too
many cows and trees -- in fact that's all there seemed to be out there in
1971 America, as we, like the pioneers, headed westward.
 The VW bus with tye dyed curtains served us well.  The Grand Canyon was
kool and there was that giant rat in Santa Fe. Finally,  we made it to
Oakland California where we were greeted by her Uncle,  Harold Paris.
Harold Paris (1925-1979)  a renown artist and UC Berkeley Professor was a
major influence on his niece Renee. She adored him and when I saw how he
reacted to her I knew the feeling was mutual.  I learned a lot from Harold
and will always remember him fondly. He taught me a lot about life and
helped free me from the bonds that had tethered me to the earth -- my
creativity soared.  I felt alive and happy, not trapped as I had felt in New
York. It was OK to be broke, write poetry or play music. It was ok to look
at the clouds all day and let my mind wander.  "If the art  is truly good
you can hide it in a drawer, someone will come along and open that drawer
and free the art." ...Harold Paris 1971.
  Somewhere around the end of 1972 she left me in San Francisco and returned
to New York. It was a career move for her, I reasoned.   She had continued
with her acting studies and felt like it was her time to fly.  Two weeks
after returning to New York she met some guy whom she eventually married and
divorced. She was right about returning to the Apple to pursue her career,
landing parts in Lords of Flatbush,  Woody Allen's The Front and others.  TV
came next with recurring roles on Welcome Back Kotter and Kojack. She did
well. I,  became a San Franciscan.
 The earth tones of the Painted Desert pale by comparison to what the sun
had done to her.  Skin now golden, the blonde hair now streaked, her brows
had turned white and appeared softer -- she radiated happiness. I was
drunken with the spirits of her. The painted desert looked like a blank
canvas upon which she had been painted.  I was in Love.  Old stuff I thought
reading the paragraph with an Editors eye.  She really never quite knew how
I felt about her, we never used the L word. We were too hip for that, we
were -- In Like.
 The airport lot was empty so I pulled in and was waved through by the
starter.  My fare to the city was thirty something, dressed casually and
carried the mandatory cell phone and laptop.  After cordial conversation
about the weather here, how unseasonably hot it was, he mentioned having
just been to Florida where it was REALLY hot.  I laughed knowingly since I
spend a lot of time in Florida and said,  I'm heading there next week, my
girlfriend and I  are discussing ending our trial separation.  "Oh,  how
long were you separated?" he inquired.  Twenty seven years I answered
truthfully.  "A twenty seven year trial separation!" he looked at me
searching for a clue.  Yeah,  she wanted to try everything before settling
down, but I grew impatient .  I smiled at my new friend in the rearview
mirror and explained  how I had done an email search and found  her Mom's
email address and sent an email that started the sequence of events. "You
should be on Jerry Springer or something"  he said as we parted company at
the Clift.  I drove away thinking whatever happened to good TV.
 On August 23 Renee Paris will arrive at SFO and on August 24 we are to be
married.  We will be stopping at the MacArthur Bart Station to view Harold
Paris' Sculpture which is on permanent display there and ask for Harolds
Blessing. Then Off to Yosemite to retrace a small portion of our original
trip to California.  When I told a friend of my good fortune he said, "Every
so often even a blind squirrel finds an acorn".  Right now I feel like
Rocket J Squirrel...mtd




MICHAEL ROSA
mtd@ricochet.net
SF TAXI#885 'ESMERALDA'
THE ESMERALDA CHRONICLES:
TRUE STORIES AND OBSERVATIONS OF
A SAN FRANCISCO CABBIE