Mo and I went to see James Taylor last night at the Hollywood Bowl after seeing him together in 1988 or so. I first hired Mo when I was 23. She was 18 and we’ve remained friends through the years. It was a stellar evening in our box seats with a little café table where we enjoyed an awesome picnic and a nice bottle of Petite Syrah. I cried through most of the concert. Tears of joy as the songs opened-up a vault of memories… appreciating all the moments which form the fabric of life and stitch together to form the person I am today.
On the way driving from Palm Springs to LA, I also had a chance to catch up with Marcia on the phone. When I was 15, 16, 17, Marcia would put a stack of records on the turntable… James Taylor, Carole King, Joni Mitchell, others of that era… and we’d lie around on the white shag carpeting listening in her living room. Her home was a place of refuge away from the chaos across the street at my house. It was safe. Peaceful. Dinner on the dot at 6. I’d often eat there before going home to eat again with my family. Appreciative memories. Her mom took me to the DMV to get my license on my 16th birthday. They were my village.
Memories of 17 anchor for me. It’s when I was the youth director for our Countywide 4-H summer camp playing guitar in front of 300 campers and adult leaders. It’s when I drove away in my green Chevy Vega to attend school at Cal Poly, SLO, full of myself as I jumped into the world.
Life is full of moments. Some I’m proud of, some bring me shame and heartache. And as I rolled through the “tapes” in my mind last night the tears flowed. And this morning, sipping a cup of coffee alone in my backyard, the tears continue to flow as James plays on Pandora.
Today, I’m appreciating Mo and Marcia. To both of you… just call out my name, and wherever I am I’ll come running. You’ve got a friend.