Rabbits Foot

My mouth is burning. Pulsing like red coals in a fire. But I’m not in agony. I’m not panicking. The endorphins have kicked in. They’re soothing without being neutralizing. I can feel both the fire and the relief in a delightful extended balance - just like I like it. Oh, and the honey stout in front of me is contributing some delicious caramel notes.

I’m at the Rabbit’s Foot Meadery. It’s a Friday evening, and I’m introducing some co-workers to  mead produced down the street from our office. It’s been a good Friday. This is my second visit in the same day. Why two visits? A better question is why not two visit? I guess I’m just turning into their biggest promoter. I took a friend to the meadery after lunch. When I got back, some co-workers asked how my day was going. Soon I was back again introducing more folks to the mead.

Mead is probably the first alcoholic beverage that the human race ever made. And it all starts with honey. If you want wine, feed grape sugar to some yeast. They’ll go into a diabetic frenzy that results in that lovely brain-changing chemical called alcohol. If you want beer, grind up some grains and feed those carbs to the yeast. For mead, feed ‘em honey.

One problem - yeast can’t eat honey. It’s a preservative. I was told you can preserve an apple by submerging it in honey. I’m dying to try honey apple slices! Yum! Honey pear slices? Even better!!

But if you add some water, those yeast get a foothold. And then you can make all kinds of good stuff. Most of it sweeter than…honey. Honey wine. No grapes, just fermented honey. Honey cider. The hard kind. Infuse some fruit puree to get your flavor of choice. Honey beer. Let those yeasties munch on both honey and grains.

What does the capsaicin burn have to do with mead? Well…there was a food truck, you see. “Chutney Mary’s.” Fusion cuisine, because that’s what all food trucks do in the bay area. Asian Chicken Tacos, Chicken Wings, and Shredded Pork sliders on Hawaiian buns. With choice of hot sauce. On a scale of 1-10, we picked the 15. It was made from Habaneros and Ghost Peppers. Actually it was just a 9.5, but Californians are soft. (Well, you are.) Still, hot enough to get my attention.

And then it all came together. The bartender pulled out a special mead for us to taste. Golden and translucent. With a giant red ghost pepper floating in it. An exquisite balance of heat and sweet honey.

So why is it called the Rabbit’s Foot? The owner was home-brewing mead. After several failed attempts, he finally got a batch that looked like it was working out. Golden clear. The next day it was cloudy and discolored. For no good reason. Well. His daughter had dropped in her lucky Rabbit’s Foot to help him succeed. Yeah, ruined the batch with contaminants and coloring. But he decided that if he ever opened a meadery, he would call it the Rabbit’s Foot. And so he did.

2013 Wailing, Dancing, Love

"You turned my wailing into dancing;...

Lord my God, I will praise you forever." Ps 30: 11-12

What a year 2013 turned out to be! It certainly shook my foundation at the start. I was betrayed and rejected in my deepest relationship. But throughout the year incredible joy came my way. I got closer to God. My friends and family loved on me. I met new groups of wonderful people and had amazing adventures. It was actually a great year!

My top experiences from 2013:

• Cambria trip with my church Neighborhood group in February

• Visits to friends and family in Texas 

• Paris vacation with my Mom in May

• Reno bus trip with line-dancers in October

• My friend’s first stand-up performance (which I opened for)

• My brother’s 4-day visit in November

• Christmas party with line-dance group in December

The year started with my wife telling me she didn’t want to be married anymore. She didn’t miss me while I was away (for a week). She loved every minute without me. Actually, she never wanted to get married in the first place. (So why did she?) She just got caught up in the whole marriage thing. For the last 12 years she was just deceiving both of us. 

I never saw it coming. OK, a few days earlier something didn’t seem right. I sent her a note reminding her I would do anything, change anything, try anything. I was committed to her and our marriage. Her response? “Oh good, you’re just as unhappy and want out too.” (What?)

The next few weeks I woke up sick to my stomach. Every day. I really wanted to just drink until I was buzzed enough to drown the pain and shock. OK, that’s a bad idea and I knew it. Instead I went running. Physical activity got rid of the shakes. Cool air and the beauty of the river calmed my mind. Giving God an earful reminded me of His love. And yeah, I sobbed, bawled, and wailed - especially looking through 15 years of photos.

My only community in California was my wife and her family and friends. That was all gone. I had to build new community, and fast. Enter meetup.com. It’s a database of social groups. I jumped in and attended a running group, a French language group, and a board-game group (the latter meets at the Yahoo! cafeteria, which I think is cool. Nerdy, but cool.). I saw new-release movies with a movie-goer group and spoke Spanish with a Spanish-speaker group. I sampled delicious restaurants and hiked beautiful trails with a foodies and hikers group.

My family and friends in Texas were a huge support. I flew to Texas a lot. I took my buddy’s kids to try sushi for the first time. The 10 year-old boy and I explored a cave in Cedar Park. I joined in his birthday celebration: an all-nighter of movies, video games, pizza, and root beer. (OK, I crashed out at 2.) We went for runs and we walked the dogs and we talked about how school was going and what they wanted to do when they grow up.

My Austin friends encouraged me to find a church community. I visited Garden City Church and was amazed right away. I had three friends before the service started. A few days later I was in a neighborhood group. Soon I was on that retreat to Cambria. I helped people move. I helped a church buddy reach his goal of trying standup comedy on stage. Within six months, I was a member, I was baptized, and I was serving on the sound set-up team and the greeting team. I belonged.

My church group constantly encouraged me as I worked through my emotions and had a few meetings with Marianne. The most powerful advice they gave me was around forgiveness. “Christians are the most forgiven people, so we can be the most forgiving.” 

Divorce wasn’t the only change. Besides that there was:

• Moving to Mountain View

• Finding a new church home 

• Trying new social groups 

• Buying a car

• Getting a new team at work and a new organization to support

• Getting a new manager and a new VP

The other group of wonderful people God led me to are the local “dancemonsters.” Remember meetup? There was a listing for a Monday Night line dancing group that meets at a Mexican restaurant in downtown San Jose. I hesitated. Who goes out on Monday Night? Is downtown San Jose safe? How do you dance at a restaurant? (Fun folks in their 20s through 60s. Yes. They have a dance floor, duh.) It took eHarmony to convince me to go.

Wait, what? Yeah, I joined eHarmony. Don’t judge. It’s the internet age. After a week of it I realized…I had to meet more people in person. On-line dating is like on-line job searches. You read through a lot of job/relationship postings. You write a resume/profile. You fill out applications/questionnaires. Then you wait to be contacted for an interview/date. I never got a good job online, why would dating be any different? So I committed to go to the next line dancing night. On a Monday. At a Mexican restaurant. Best. Decision. Ever. 

I had no idea I was walking into such an amazing group of friendly people. Or that they were going to welcome me in so warmly. After the lesson they kept encouraging me to get on the dance floor and try the other line dances (the easy ones, anyway).  That led to a Reno dancing trip and Friday nights at the Saddle Rack country dance club. (And some Saturday nights.)

2013 is done. I’m single again after 15 years. That sucks. I miss sharing experiences with someone special. But I’m thankful for God’s blessings. I love my friends from dancing, church, work and Austin. Thank you for everything you did for me this year! 

(I'm excited about 2014. I’m taking vacations to Argentina and France and I’m working on Spanish and West Coast Swing.)

Reno!

“Buy the ticket, take the ride.” (Hunter S. Thompson)

This weekend I took a party bus to Reno and back to dance for 7 hours. It’s the high point of my year. And I almost didn’t go.

I’m not proud that I hesitated. Looking back, I can’t believe it. I was afraid it would be boring on the bus. I was afraid I would be worn out afterwards. Sleep-deprived all week. 

Two weeks ago a young lady at the line dancing group invited me. She invited me again last week. Right in front of the trip organizer. And still I hesitated.

I told my buddy at work that I was thinking of taking a party bus to Reno to go line dancing. He said “no part of that sounds appealing to me.” Maybe I felt contrarian. Maybe I felt risky. Maybe the muse of Mr. Thompson grabbed me. Regardless, it was “challenge accepted.”

Saturday morning I got up before it was light out. The white load that I left in the dryer last night wasn’t dry. I needed it. Panic. I guess I’ll wake up my housemates. 

I drove half an hour southeast to the bus rendezvous with the sun rising in front of me. Gorgeous. And there were people there! The extrovert in me totally woke up. The young lady arrived and said “You’re already loving this, aren’t you.” Yes, I was. 

The bus seated 50 passengers and had 6 seats reserved for snacks, booze, and jello shots. Not to mention the overhead bins. One guy played the role of flight attendant. He mimed a safety announcement about seatbelts, exits, and oxygen masks. My friend was reminded of the new Virgin America flight safety video.

The organizer had activities planned for the whole 5-hour bus ride. I’ll call her the organizer. We got little goodie bags. They had raffle tickets, hug coupons, and bead necklaces. A few had lotto scratcher tickets. The games began. If you caught someone saying the word “drink” they had to give you their beads.

As soon as we got seated on the bus I could tell everyone was reverting to adolescence. The crazy t-shirt contest got started early, with several gals putting balloons under their shirts for an extra-busty effect. One of them had fake quintuple-D inserts covered by a thin t-shirt that read “wet t-shirt contest winner”. She accessorized with a viking helmet and fake blond braids.

An hour after departure, the fruit punch was passed around. It was frozen, and spiked. Hard. An hour later it was time for jello shots. Then we stopped at the Walmart in Vacaville. That’s french for cow-town. Or Italian. Had I already had that much to drink? The viking was riding in a Walmart shopping cart, standing up, like a voluptuous dragon boat. 

Some ladies bought sippy cups for their fruit punch. I asked what they were going to use them for. “We’re going to drink out of them.” I won beads and lost friends. “We thought you were a nice guy.” I guess not.

We stopped for lunch in old town Sacramento. It’s a touristy spot. The coffee shop had a chocolate chip cookie dough mocha on special. I got a double. 

We got back on the bus. We played a game where we learned interesting facts about people, like the couple that was in prison for 4 years. (They were in WWII internment camps.) We learned people’s nicknames. Boo Boo and Amberlicious were good ones. 

Pretty soon we were headed up into the Sierras. There was snow. There was the Donner Party memorial. There was a bathroom break. Then we were pulling into the parking lot of the Grand Sierra Hotel.

Amberlicious handed out bottles of Shock Top beer to me and Boo Boo as we wobbled through the lobby to check in. It was 4 pm. Or maybe it was 5. I was back downstairs in time for dinner at 6. Not that I was hungry at all. (Remember, 6 seats of snacks) 

I roamed around the casino after dinner. There was a booth where you could play tic-tac-toe against a chicken. It was behind plexiglass. For its safety. There was a little metal privacy shield so you couldn’t see which move it was going to peck. That chicken played for the tie every time.

The time to dance was approaching. I changed into a Nordstrom shirt, dark Levi’s and my 15-year old cowboy boots. We went to the “Wet” bar which had sheets of plexiglass with water pouring down them and waitresses younger than my boots. The latter were dressed in shimmery blue, clingy mini-skirty dresses, evoking mermaids. 

Here’s how the next 5 hours played out.  Take over the 10’ by 10’ dance floor, line dancing to the latest pop music the DJ was spinning. Go to the other side of the casino and realize the country band was really blue-grass, and we couldn’t line dance. Or hear. (I shoved napkin bits in my ears,) Go back to the Wet bar for shots of some blue drink, and request the Beastie Boys. We could no longer line dance there, either. Go back to the bluegrass side, find everyone had gone to their rooms, drink some water because we were getting dehydrated. Go back to the Wet bar for another shot and request Sir Mix A Lot. 

It’s approaching 2am. It reaches 2am. It becomes 1am. Daylight saving time is over. We go upstairs to check out the designated “game” room and get threatened by security for being too loud.

My friend wanted to go downtown to try other dance clubs. After a while she started singing “I don’t know why you don’t take me downtown.” by Lady Antebellum. So me and another guy agreed to go. He's the coolest cat in the Cali-Nevada region. We leave the hotel lobby. No cabs. A college kid was standing there saying his ride had left him behind. I walked over to the parking lot and found all the cabs waiting in the dark. We took the kid in our cab and dropped him off in the suburbs, then turned around the opposite way to get downtown. Instead of a navigation system, the cab driver had a screen playing rock music videos. Is that legal?

We arrive at the Eldorado casino downtown and look for the Bullion club (or something). It’s closed. So we go to the Brew Brothers club because they have a…DJ. The dance floor is bigger and less crowded, but the 3 of us aren’t going to be line dancing there. So we club dance. My buddy gets in a dance-off with some kid. Behind them a dude gets knocked out cold in the fastest fight ever. And some girl starts yelling at me and giving me the finger while her boyfriend pushes her out of the club. We stay until the last song ends at 3am.

After a cab ride home I’m in bed by 4am. I wake up every hour to drink a glass of water. I’m downstairs by 8am, just inches away from a hangover that I’m holding at bay with a bottle of Powerade. 

We leave at 9, and I just enjoy watching the mountain scenery, until I start to doze off. Lightly, so I can wake up before anyone pours hot sauce on my lips - which I would actually enjoy - or draws something embarrassing on my face. 

We stop at the outlet malls in Vacaville and a few of us get lunch at Freebirds, which carries a surprising amount of emotional attachment for me. With an entire steak burrito in my belly I start taking my dozing seriously until we get back to South San Jose. 

I say goodbye. I tell everyone I won’t see them for a while. I’m going to skip the Monday line dancing so I can recuperate. I should go home and do laundry. I don’t. I go to church and just barely make it in time. Then I go out with a church buddy to a bar for dinner.

The next night was Monday, and I couldn't wait to see everyone again. So I didn't wait. Buy the ticket. Take the ride.

Food, Friends, and Murrrder!

How’s that for a title? Here’s how it went down. Thursday night I ate dinner with five church friends from Mountain View. One of them is moving back to the East Coast, and had a craving for Ethiopian food before he left. So we carpooled all the way down to San Jose, where we enjoyed a delicious Ethiopian meal, family-style. No utensils, just our hands.

The topic of mead came up over dinner. Mead is “wine” made from fermented honey. I mentioned the Rabbit’s Foot Meadery in Sunnyvale. So a few of us went there Friday afternoon. OK - I left work a little early; it was the beginning of a long weekend after all. I hadn’t been there in a month and I was missing my Death By Raspberry. That’s Raspberry cider + Raspberry mead + a dash of Raspberry Chocolate Love port.

Saturday I was double-booked for the evening. Mountain View friends invited me to a townhouse-warming event with do-it-yourself yakitori. I had no idea what yakitori was, but it sounded like food, probably Japanese, so I was in 100%. It looks like yakitori is Japanese for kebabs. I was excited about the scallops, intrigued by the chicken hearts, and easily sold on the spicy japanese sausage. On a stick. The scallops couldn't hang on the skewer, but they were delicious anyway. It was all really good.

Next up was Sunnyvale for build your own taco night. One of the guests that night was a very friendly pug named Frank. That’s right, just like in Men In Black. Except he was doing a great job keeping his cover; didn’t say a word. The hosts are heading off soon for a vacation to Italy - which makes me very envious.

So that’s the deal with friends and food. What else was there? Oh, yeah! Murrrder!

My Wednesday night church group put on a murder mystery night. It was a western theme, and the 20 of us had to act out parts and discover who committed the murder. (No guests were harmed in the making of this event.) I was given the role of a fine, upstanding US Marshal. As a bonus, I got to check the pulse of the victim, declare him dead, and then perform a few speaking parts related to the instructions, the evidence, and lastly the revelation of the murderer.  As a bonus, I actually guessed the culprit. I didn’t pick up on any of the clues; I just had a hunch about the guy. Isn’t that how it works in real life?

If all that wasn’t enough, I also went to Spanish conversation night on Tuesday, got my car washed for free and signed up for French wine tasting on the beach next Saturday. All in all, a really fun week. And it was just capped off by a rainbow! (Double rainbow!!)

First Flight on My Way to Paris

My flight to Paris started off early. Too early. My iphone sleep monitoring app woke me up right on time at 4am, although I wasn't out of bed for at least another 10 minutes. My bleary red eyes were not pleased that I was leaving at 4:30. But when you have a 7am flight out of SFO, you do what you have to. 

Thankfully my ride was there on time. It's a true friend who will give you a ride that early. Although it's one of the rare times he gets to drive 101 to SF with no traffic.

I was certain I'd forgotten something critical, but I had no choice except to leave and make do later. I  had to go to the check-in counter because I was checking a bag. With my recent platinum status,   my bag was on its way in less than 30 minutes - hopefully to Paris - and I was through security, with my hopes of an upgrade to business class crushed. 

Now I was getting hungry, which meant sniffing around all of the overpriced, unsatisfying options for food. I settled on a breakfast sandwich and also picked up a muffuletta to have for lunch on the plane. The breakfast sandwich was pretty good - with thick slices of applewood bacon (I have no clue what that means, or how it magically emerged 5 years ago.) Then I got to the end of the sandwich where the eggs were cold. Ugh. I ate it anyway. Every last bite. 

I spent the remaining hour calling people at work, trying to fix the one item I left unfinished yesterday. Then I headed onto the plane, with no last minute reprieve from coach. That was fine; I'd already spent money on meals that would be unnecessary if I got upgraded. 

The awkwardness began before I even boarded. I was one of the last passengers to line up. It seemed like the agent was annoyed, although I'll assume he was just distracted. When I said good morning upon showing my boarding pass, the response I got was "yeah", like " yeah, whatever."

I looked forward to my aisle seat. I was flying a 757 with a 2-3-2 setup, so 4 aisle seats per row (44%). I sat down and said hello to the young blonde woman in the middle seat next to me. She quickly admitted her English wasn't very good - although it was - and we switched to her native language, French.  Of course I refuse to excuse my currently terrible accent and pronunciation. 

Onward to discomfort. The plane was stiflingly warm - did it just land from the Sahara? On went the overhead air vent. The seat was shockingly uncomfortable. I couldn't even get back relief using the blanket for lumbar support. (What is a lumbar? Was Dr. Lumbar the guy who discovered how to make seats that create backaches?) Soon the temperature plummeted to standard airplane arctic levels. Off went the overhead air vent. And we were off. 

After beverage service they started a movie that was not the one listed in the airplane magazine. (Could I subscribe to the inflight magazine for home delivery? Then I could sit on my uncomfortable couch and read it with an extra belt on.) By this point the mademoiselle has her eye cover on and is in full REM sleep, including sudden head drops every two minutes which are violently overcorrected, without her showing any signs of waking herself up. Then the movie started. It was supposed to be some awful mother-son comedy - which I would have watched, and I just now realized would have been appropriate for this trip. Instead it was about retired musicians living in a nursing home and it was so boring I nearly fall asleep during the opening credits, violent head nods and all. 

But wouldn't have lasted long, since there was soon a cacophony of sound effects to keep me alert. A woman 5 rows back was sneezing the loudest "Ah!-Choo!s" I've ever heard, not bothering to muffle any of them, even when there were five in a row. There were children who begin screaming, either because they were denied the parent's iPhone - which is the 5-year old version of crack cocaine and the only thing that will possibly make them happy for the rest of their lives, ever! Or they were hit by their sibling, or hit themselves, or hit their sibling, and required the world to know how unjust their life-shattering pain was.  My padded headphones only slightly muffled these piecing sounds.

Next up, turbulence. Not severe, but strong enough to get my attention. It made me a little queasy since I was playing a game on my iPad. The real annoyances were the repeated stern reminders that when the seat belt sign is on everyone is supposed to be wearing theirs, which requires them to not be walking down the aisle headed to the restroom. 

After I passed through emotional, physical, and auditory torture, it was time for the visual assault. With the movie over, programming  switched to The Office, known for "grimace comedy". It's my most detested show. And it was on 7 screens in my field of view, ensuring no reprieve. To make it worse, it was a lice episode, with folks shaving their heads, or shampooing with mayonnaise (is that a real remedy?). There was even a bright yellow hazmat suit. And plenty of close ups of grimaces. (Not the Ronald McDonald character, who would only be a slightly better option.)

You know what? In spite of it all, I can't wait to do it all again.