The Common Class

There were two Bentleys in the driveway and a classic convertible parked in the street.  Aside from those glamour queens, the obligatory BMWs, Mercedes, Lexus, and other sundry desert chariots were all scattered about.  I would have driven my Camry (I love that car) but the party was only a block away.

‘High season’ had begun once again in Palm Springs.

Snowbirds, seasonal visitors, and other part-timers were returning to the desert and ICNO was having a party.  ICNO, the Indian Canyon Neighborhood Organization, was hosting is annual get-acquainted party for the neighborhood.  They sponsor one party in the fall and another in the spring.  It is always hosted at someone’s house in the neighborhood and is great fodder for stealing decorating ideas, catching up on neighborhood gossip and renewing acquaintances with other seasonal players in town.

This fall, it was hosted in a newly remodeled four-level custom designed home owned by two gentlemen from the coast.

I always look forward to these parties because of the folks who attend.  A lot of them are nearby neighbors and some are active on the ICNO board as I am.  Then there’s usually an eclectic assortment of newcomers rubbing shoulders with the old regulars who have been around since Frank Sinatra stalked the golf course with a martini and close friend under both arms.

The thing I appreciate most about these parties is the lack of rarified air so typical of many West Coast gatherings.  This is not a West Hollywood party where everyone is angling to hook up or a party in the canyons where movie deals are made around the swimming pool.  It’s not like the gathering of those closed societies down valley in their cloistered gated communities.  ICNO could be like that but never has been.

What sets these neighbors apart is an almost total lack of pretentiousness.  These accomplished folks are comfortable in their own skin.  Yet despite their financial success, they are charming, engaging, and fun to talk to.  Most have fascinating backgrounds and abundant stories to share.  It’s like meeting other seasoned life travelers who just want to share their travel adventures.  No one is there to impress.  In fact, the ones who try to impress soon find themselves odd man (or woman) out.

It’s an interesting dichotomy to observe since I have several relatives who now ‘have money’ but lack the panache to pull off what these folks can.  These associates-by-marriage seem to have forgotten where they came from.  They were born rural but feel they have outgrown their roots.  They have this subtle need to either be showy or consciously put down those around them who are not as financially well-endowed.

One would think in those circumstances modesty would be the order of the day.  One hasn’t arrived because she was never on the journey.  With a jump-start from daddy, it was not affluence earned so (at least in my mind) it would seem best to be a little humble.  As for the other relative who did make it on his own, I see no reason to put down those back home with less affluence.  Both these folks seem to have forgotten the core values that are an intrinsic part of their common class roots.

Sharon's Mom's House in Wabasha

This summer, Sharon spent a great deal of time in her hometown of Wabasha, Minnesota.  She had to help sell her mother’s house, move her mother into an assisted living facility, help coordinate her mother’s estate sale and handle a laundry list of chores directly related to her mother’s care.  This entailed dealing with the locals on a daily basis.

Wabasha is a small town.  Everybody knows everybody else’s business.  They either knew Sharon or knew of her:  where she went to school, what she did afterwards, and where she is now.  There are few secrets in a small town.  Sharon was constantly on display… but it hardly mattered.  She treated everyone as she always has…with respect and common courtesy.

In many ways Palm Springs is a small town little different from Apple Valley.  While it’s true Palm Springs has as many Yoga studios as Apple Valley has daycare centers, there are enough similarities to see that both worlds run on parallel tracks.  On one level, there are different cultures, tastes, and lifestyles between the two cities.  Yet on the other end of the spectrum, there are many similarities.

 

The movie star Alan Ladd once had a hardware store in Palm Springs and used to make home deliveries.  Bob Hope used to stroll down Main Street to get his ice cream downtown.  A precursor to the rat pack hung out at Chi-Chi’s nightclub and burned the midnight oil at Canyon Country Club.

 

Canyon Country Club, the precursor to Indian Canyon, had a storied history.  Over the years, numerous movie stars and noted celebrities made their homes there.  Now it’s a curious mixture of gay couples, retired folks from the coast, Canadians and east coast transplants who do not like the Florida scene.  They’ve all come to enjoy our golf courses, spectacular mountain scenery, and the whole Palm Springs atmosphere.  Indian Canyon carries on that tradition of open hospitality and egos left at the door.  There is comfort level here among neighbors equal to that back in Apple Valley.

The ICNO party was a great success.  We renewed old acquaintances, made new friends, and planned for a very active ‘season’ back in the valley.  Sharon and I are very fortunate.  We have been able to straddle these two worlds and live comfortably in both…without losing sight of where we came from.

Saint Joseph Revisited

In my never-ending quest to find out ‘whatever happened to’…in Palm Springs, I decided to venture back to my favorite Starbucks for another predawn sojourn. When I was first began visiting this desert hamlet years ago I would usually get my fix there in the early morning hours.

This Starbucks is located in the Warm Sands neighborhood.  A resort playground noted for its popular gay enclaves and a plethora of tourist motels. This particular coffee corral has become a popular mecca for the more adventurous travelers to Palm Springs, colorful sometimes-questionable characters, desperados from the coast as well as local notables.

Palm Springs Starbucks

The crazy people parade starts promptly at 5:30am and continues well into each day.  But it’s the early morning hours that are usually offers the most entertainment. All-night revelers, secret liaisons re-emerging into the daylight and happy hippy couples of every description end up clambering for their morning nitro in front of the sometimes amused, seldom shocked and often heavily tattooed baristas…of both sexes. Actually, that goes for the customers too.

But it was really Saint Joseph who had caught my attention during my early morning explorations years ago.  He was interesting enough that I wrote one of my earlier blogs about him. It was entitled Saint Joseph of Starbucks.

  Back then, I used to arrive at the coffee-induced assembly area just after 5:30am.  Yet no matter how early I arrived, St. Joseph was always there ahead of me. Sitting at the same table in the same corner and waiting to council, Saint Joseph was ready to advise and administer to the daily needs of his flock.

The only variable was his daily entourage and a host of visiting dignitaries who shuffled by for their coffee fix yet always found time to stop by his table-office for a brief exchange of wisdom before melting into the night once again.

Joseph is an older gentleman probably in his mid-seventies.  He is always cheerful, ready with a smile and a laugh. He has a pleasant demeanor that never varies with the seasons or time of day. I don’t know if Joseph is married, gay or straight. But that hardly matters especially in a place like Palm Springs.  Joseph is a counselor, advisor, cheerleader, friend, listener, and seeker of the good in everyone he meets.

For many people, Joseph is their early morning elixir for what ails them on that particular day.  Unlike the old men who gather at coffee shops around the world to blather on about nothing in particular and expose their ignorance with Monday morning quarterbacking, second-guessing politicians and berating the government, Joseph is articulate, thoughtful, and intelligent.

  On this particular morning, I found Saint Joseph in his favorite corner chair surrounded by the usual gang of suspects.  Their conversations still vary by the day. One time it might be the local news sprinkled with criticism of national politics. The next might be the weather; summer is hot, the rest of the year is wonderful. The conversations are open, honest, and usually bent toward the left, which is not surprising considering the community that hosts them.

The cadre of visitors varies each day but some of the old regulars stand out in my mind.

There is the young woman who lives in her wheelchair.  She moves around by using her crutches as walking sticks. She has the sad eyes of a fawn that has just lost her mother. She has many friends at Starbucks and she relishes their company as they relish hers.

Then there is the muscle man, built solid as a rock who walks a tiny white toy poodle.  The dog is his trusted companion and he loves that animal with an affection that is palatable.

A day laborer stops by often.  He always wears a knit hat even in 125-degree summer heat. And he always seems to be moving from one job to another.

There is always the same man in some corner with his flashlight, scanning the pages of the LA Times and NY Times because the damn lighting is so bad inside.

By 7:30, Joseph is gone.  I have absolutely no idea where he goes. It might be to work, back home or another coffee shop. But it doesn’t really matter. Joseph is sure to be back the next day, same place, same time. There will be the same flock of casual friends who look forward to his ready smile, quick wit and easy to swallow dose of friendship. For many folks, that’s all that’s needed to face another day and their reality, if only for a moment in time.

 Further up the road in the Uptown Design District a new coffee shop is drawing a lot of attention.  But it’s in rather staid contrast to the eccentric gatherings at my Starbucks south of downtown. Developed by a local designer and developer, it’s called the Ernest Coffee Co. and Bootlegger Tiki bar.

 The space first opened as a Don the Beachcomber restaurant years ago.  Over time, it has gone through a variety of incarnations. This latest incarnation reflects the hip and trendy vibe that the design district now encompasses.  It pays homage to the Tiki culture of the 50’s while advancing the newer image of a hip Palm Springs gathering spot.  By night, it’s a colorful Tiki bar. During the day, it’s a gathering spot for locals and tourists alike.

I like the coffee there and the relaxed atmosphere. There are cool sculptures outside and many of the buildings are mid-century modern. It’s the new façade of Palm Springs that’s been carefully crafted and honed. It’s a warm and welcoming place to get my morning jolt. Everyone there is smart and beautiful and ‘with it.’  They wear glam on their backs and in their attitudes.

But it isn’t me.

 For all of its trendiness and hip vibe I still find the place lacking.  I guess I’m more drawn toward the jagged edges and dark shadows that lurk around my other caffeinated den of iniquity. That place has become my library of colorful characters. Any one of them can ignite my imagination with a mad scramble to jot down notes of comments made, inappropriate dress, unwarranted advances, and conduct unbecoming.  

They’re all auditioning for a place in one of my novels.

They just don’t know it yet.

Picking Up Strays

Thanksgiving and Easter can often be orphan holidays.

Most of us expect to be home or at least with family on Christmas and maybe over New Years.  However, often Thanksgiving and Easter lapse into those holidays that find families apart perhaps because of time and distance.

The LaComb family entourage spends time on the coast either around Thanksgiving or during the Christmas holidays depending on their own individual family obligations.  When the whole gang is here for Thanksgiving like last year it’s a whirlwind of family activities, assorted adventures and very little quiet time. But when they’re not here it’s an entirely different story. It is still a family gathering but of a different nature.

It isn’t the holiday per se that makes the day different.  Or the drinks and ordure’s ahead of time. Or the meal or the games we often play afterwards. It turns out that Thanksgiving and Easter are no different here than Christmas or New Year’s Eve back in Minnesota. It’s still a wonderful gathering of like-minded friends and acquaintances. They’re just not family.

 It’s a new tradition for us born out of Mother Hen’s need to entertain and the joy it brings to others who don’t have a place to call home on that special day.  It’s become what we do when regular family members aren’t around.

It’s like the lost generation in Paris who gathered for comfort, companionship, and mental stimulation.  It’s like a folk gathering in Greenwich Village or a poet’s corner in North Beach. It’s a modern day version of the Triangle Bar on Saturday night. We’re all ex-pats from different parts of the country brought here for a variety of reasons and simply trying to spend quality time with like-minded souls.

Strays are often a part of that equation.

More often than not, someone will know somebody or a couple here in town that doesn’t have a place to go for Thanksgiving or Easter.  They then become a part of our extended family for the day. This year in addition to our regular group of friends was two new couples. One had just moved here from Minnesota. The other couple was visiting from Chicago.

That’s when Palm Spring’s own version of Martha Stewart west gets to dress her table with relish…literally.  There is Rosenthal China, Waterford Crystal, antique silver settings, antique salt cellars, individual silver butter knives and place cards with crystal bowls. She would say presentation sets the mood. It’s light, festive, warm, and welcoming.

For that brief afternoon, we’re all gathered among friends or newly made acquaintances sharing a bountiful meal and enjoying one another’s company.

When the day ends and we all disperse back to our regular lives, we’ve been enriched by that shared experience and the joy of giving.

I recently found out that young people nowadays have a new name for Thanksgiving.  They’re calling it ‘Friendsgiving.’

I like that.

It’s a fitting description of what we do here in the desert.