My 4th of July was spent exploring scenes straight out of the
Americana playbook, as well as San Francisco alternative hippy 60's
nostalgia. My friend and I headed out to
Woodacre, a small town in Western Marin, where our friends were hosting festivities from their fabulous home. We walked down to the
firehouse for the firemen’s pancake breakfast fundraiser (#1 on the Americana tour), where we mingled with locals and flirted with
Smokey the Bear (#2),
who told us not to play with fire (ahem). Then it was back up to
the house to get our friends’ classic cars ready for the town’s parade
(#3). I sat in the back of the car and threw candy to the children and
waved at familiar Marin faces.
We then went back to the house for margaritas and prepared for the big BBQ, which spilled out onto the street when local band
Honeydust
showed up in a couple of old trucks and we blocked off the streets, ran
power cords from the house, and rocked out all afternoon. Only in the
bay area, and specifically, a small town in Marin, would every car
turning into that street not only not utter a peep about the illegal
street blockage and turn around, but sometimes pull over and join in
the fun. Soon, little kids were running around in their underwear with
squirt guns, tattooed moms bounced babies on their hips, and bandanna
clad dogs ran around stealing sausages off plates. When the elderly
neighbor came out of his house, I thought he’d complain about the
noise, but rather, he disappeared back into his house and actually
re-emerged with a keyboard and tickled the ivories for hours along with
the band! Turns out he was a studio musician for many big 60's rock
bands. Hailing from the more uptight L.A. suburb
Pacific Palisades,
when I saw the firetruck pull around the corner and three uniformed
firemen (formerly pancake flippers) approach with walkie-talkies, I
thought surely the party was now over. Instead, they too grabbed plates
and mingled, and a half hour later, they were getting squirted with
water as we made vague promises to bring dessert to the firehouse
later. I’ve never seen a more good-natured town. It’s those rare
moments when I actually do love things about this country (or what we
are supposed to stand for), and remember that there are plenty of
liberal, openhearted people out there who can represent America as much
as rednecks, millionaire conservatives, and jackass administrations.
After the BBQ, I spent several immensely satisfying hours with the band
on the deck of our friends’ house singing to the acoustic guitar and
remembered how much I love to do that, and how seldom I do anymore. I’m
not sure how those guys were still standing after drinking and playing
all day in the hot sun, but around 9 P.M., they left to play yet
another show at the
4th St. Tavern
in San Rafael. Those still left at the party were guilted by that fact
into agreeing to stop by that show on the way home, which we did, and
listened to another entire set. We saw a few fireworks, then called it
a night, exhausted. Thus ended a very Northern California 4th of
July. A reclamation of sorts, for me. Oh yeah. Fun. Relaxation. Not
taking everything so seriously. I forgot about that. Happy 4th .
