Skip to main content

Music in the Air

Paradox Hotel Reception
I awoke quietly, surprisingly rested, from a deep sleep to a peaceful October rain. After an eight hour drive, we arrived late that night, checked into our hotel, and went directly to bed. We had debated whether to make the trip for a wedding celebration hosted by friends who now lived in Santa Cruz, California. I’m so thankful we did. There was music in the air.

With Lori quietly sleeping I brewed the “perfect cup” of coffee and stepped out onto our patio. Sitting in a comfy chair I immersed myself in the experience; it was dark, the air was brisk, and no one stirred. Sipping my coffee I placed my fine ceramic mug on the side-table, a tree stump. The melody of soft pattering rain on the roof. The sweet scent of wet pines. As daylight diffused through the dark clouds vibrant fall colors exploded around me. Ahh, how beautiful. How relaxing.

We don’t see trees like this in Southern California, I thought. I do miss this.

I drained my coffee mug and decided to explore our home for the weekend. The wedding reception would be tonight by the pool. I had read the hotel’s website description; “The Hotel Paradox, an upscale boutique hotel experience that explores an urban forest set inside a beach town. That's the paradox of Hotel Paradox. Designed by acclaimed designers Orlando Diaz-Azcuy Design Associates from San Francisco, our hotel prides itself on genuine hospitality, and a design-forward experience delighting the senses.”

The description is very fitting. When you enter the check-in area your first encounter is a large horizontal Eucalyptus tree trunk, at least 12 feet long and about 4 feet high that serves as the reception desk. My early morning conversation with the desk clerk went something like this.

“How in the world did they get this tree in here?” I asked.

“Well,” said the desk clerk. “It took about nine hours during the remodel. They brought it in through the roof. It was estimated to take three hours.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, “It’s spectacular. It really sets the theme for the entire hotel.”

“Absolutely,” the young man said. Did you notice the lamp and the wall board in your room? Bark and branches from the Eucalyptus as well.”

With today’s newspaper in hand, I made my way back to the room. This is a novelty I thought, The San Jose Mercury News. The front page headline, 2014 World Series - Giants Fall to the Royals 4-11. How many times do you see a local paper as opposed to USA Today in hotels these days? What a treat. So, with Lori still sleeping I read the paper. The rain continued to fall. My wet feet and the growling in my stomach finally drove me back into the room.

“Lori, are you ready for breakfast? I’m hungry.”

When traveling in small U.S. towns I get this hankering for eggs-n-bacon with pancakes and home fries. I attribute this craving to remnants of my days growing up in the Midwest. You see, I have this theory about breakfast establishments; a trip to the local diner provides you a much better feel for the community. Plus, it’s a lot less money than dining in the hotel restaurant. So, of course, that’s where we ate. While at the diner I excused myself to wash the goo from my fingers.

These syrup bottles are always sticky.

To my surprise, posted in the men’s bathroom was that very front page of the paper with the World Series score and the schedule for upcoming games.

Hum, think they post this in the ladies room? Nah, I thought. This is my kind of place, real baseball fans.

After breakfast we braved the weather and went for a walk among the fallen leaves in the rain. The sights, sounds and the smells of autumn filled the air. We spent the morning exploring Santa Cruz; it’s quaint downtown, the historic wharf, and of course the famous Beach Boardwalk reminiscent of Coney Island. Attractions included the 1911 Looff  Carousel, The Giant Dipper 1924 roller coaster, an Arcade, complete with Space Invaders, Pac-Man and Frogger, and this day a chili cook-off contest.

Oh, by the way we thoroughly enjoyed the wedding celebration that night. The jazz ensemble, Hot Club Pacific, specializing in the melodies of Django Reinhardt, Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington, and Count Basie provided the live music. What a marvelous opportunity to reacquaint with old friends, make new ones, and dance under a canopy of stars in the intermittent rain . . . but that’s another story.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

When Fear Becomes the Default

In this special episode, When Fear Becomes the Default. Early Sunday morning, I was cycling past a small veterans’ pocket park in San Marcos. The air was still, the streets nearly empty. On one corner stood a young woman, alone, holding a hand-painted sign that read: “Be ANGRY. ICE agents are murdering people.” I pedaled past, but the words stayed with me. I knew the context—the footage and headlines from Minneapolis the day before, already ricocheting through the country and hardening opinions. Even in the quiet of the ride, the noise followed. Two miles later, I stopped at a red light. A black car with dark windows pulled up inches from my bike. My heart jumped. My first instinct wasn’t neighbor —it was threat . I found myself bracing, scanning, and wondering if the person inside was angry, armed, or looking for trouble. Then the door opened. A well-dressed young woman stepped out, walked to the trunk, and pulled out a sign that read “Open House.” She turned, smiled brightly, and sa...

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is  for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...

On the Fly–Taking Flight

In this special 500th episode,  On the Fly  is moving to a new home. Here’s why—and what’s staying the same. For a very long time (since April 2012),  On the Fly  has lived on  Blogger . Blogger has been a reliable host—dependable, quiet, and never complaining when I arrived late with another half-baked idea, a guitar riff, or a story that needed a little air. It faithfully archived my thoughts, my music, and more than a decade of curiosity. But the internet has changed. It’s louder now. Flashier. More insistent. Every thought is nudged to perform. Every sentence wants to be optimized, monetized, or interrupted by something that really wants your attention right this second. I’ve been craving the opposite. So today, On the Fly is moving to Substack . If you’ve been with me for a while, you know my quiet obsession: the A rt of Seeing . I’m interested in the moments we rush past—the Aversion Trap, the discipline hidden inside a guitarist’s daily practice, t...