Remember To Breathe

A drive out to the high desert is almost always a good idea, but especially so when you’re headed there for a weekend-long dual birthday party, even if you’re only catching the tale end of it.

The people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet in Joshua Tree have been so incredibly gracious. They open their homes and their gatherings not just to their family and friends, but also friends of friends, and I’d venture to say friends of friends of friends. This summer, I met two such people who I honestly don’t think are incidentally married to one another. That time, they threw a last-minute party together, at 10 p.m., in their home, because they could. There was food and drink and warm and friendly conversation. We took advantage of their desert generosity until 4 a.m. and watched the sunrise in Joshua Tree National Park that same morning.

This past weekend they were celebrating their birthdays, 100 years of W&L! There was a music festival happening as well, so the weekend lent itself to some good times, I’m sure. Didn’t make it out in time to catch any of the festival, but caught plenty, just the same. W&L had commissioned an entire campground of sorts for their friends and family for the weekend, Rimrock Ranch. If you find yourself in Joshua Tree, California for any reason, and honestly I don’t know why you wouldn’t some day, check it out. The place is simply awesome.  Sunday night ended up much like the summer party, family, friends, friends of friends, and of friends, food and drink, and music and conversation and s’mores around the fire pit, and all on an unbelievably beautiful and cool, in every sense of that word, desert night. Again, the party slipped into the wee hours of the morning, but the celebrating wasn’t over just because it was now Monday.

Laurie, making s'mores.

Wally, Brad, Bernie, and Steve, making music.

I have two words for you, sound bath. Seriously, one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever done. W&L scheduled a private one on Monday afternoon for again, family, friends, of friends, whoever was still in JT from the weekend and wanted to bathe, basically. I know what you’re thinking, holy cow, SO California! Yeah maybe, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Or a bowl beat. It was really cool. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that. Or get yourself out to Integratron and give it a whirl. I’d recommend the latter.

The last stop on the birthday extravaganza train was lunch. Where else, but at a friend’s home. Not a friend of mine, mind you, but, like I said, it doesn’t matter in the desert. I know someone who they know, so that makes us friends. Quite possibly, the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen, custom-built by the owner, tucked into the desert like a mesa that’s been there for thousands of years, and filled with found treasures from all over the world. More food. More drink. More music. More conversation. Desert people know how to live.

Lunch was gourmet pizzas, made to order by two local chefs. They smelled divine. When the home owner’s son, who I had met about thirty minutes prior, found out I couldn’t eat them, without questioning, without hesitation, and without my knowledge, he went into the house and gathered a plate of fresh veggies and had the chefs grill them up, just for me, because desert people not only know how to live, they treat strangers and one another with such incredible kindness, and they don't have to be reminded to "remember to breathe". That sign is most certainly for the visitors.