10 years ago

Ten years ago today...

I'd recently cashed out on a tech start-up in Vancouver and remodeled my purple house in Austin. It featured a gorgeous center-island kitchen, which I'd designed using 3D modeling software. All primed and ready for dinner parties. Those would come, but later.


A friend was running the wine section of Central Market, so I leveraged his expert advice to invest in a Trockenbeerenauslese -- which, in ordinary life, I could never afford. This was a special NYE, one to remember. I'd gotten to know my friend at CM after buying a case of wine there every week for the FringeWare Fridays.

By this NYE, FringeWare had been "closed for cultural remodeling" for 9 months. It had become a victim of several factors, not the least of which was the fact that 4 out of 8 among our business partners had decided Y2K would be near the end of the world. At least, enough of a problem that they turned survivalist, acquired farm land out in Hill Country, stocked it full of weapons, ammo, food, and water. That nonsense, plus Barnes & Noble playing (less than lawful) shenanigans among our distributors, plus having to pay $6000/month out of my own pocket to make payroll during 1999Q1, had prompted me to return from a Beltane fest with a resolve to close the bookstore. And so we did. But I digress.

There was a party, a big party, pretty much the same crew from said Beltane fest. It was at a very swank house in North Austin. I brought my ice wine (a tiny bottle, but very expensive nonetheless) and shared it with people who had no effing clue about wines. Or life in general. It poured like liquid quartz, bequest from the gods. They drank like toddlers on kool-aid. I hung out as long as I could stand it, then relocated to the nearby home of my close friend and co-conspirator, Sheilagh. We talked long into the night, enough for me to realize what the hell was driving me to fell so damn lonely. My next long-term girlfriend, who was at that point a complete stranger and Sheilagh's new housemate, walked out and inquired about the late-model Mercedes parked outside, in a voice which only Southern women of Celtic origin can muster. By that point there was no alcohol in my system, hardly any blood. Just an urge to get into the E300 and drive to the coast. Alone.

I found myself in Corpus Christi later that morning, standing on the beach, staring out across the Gulf. Someone very close to me had been missing (who ironically had been in Corpus not so long before) but very present in my thoughts. Here I was missing as well, since no one particularly knew that I'd left on a trip alone.

A small tour of Corpus later, after crashing at some crappy motel, ignoring a flurry of cell phone calls, I wandered back toward Austin. Probably took a detour through Houston first, and I think I may have spent a night with a friend there, but that whole weekend was an emotional blur. Everyone I knew in Austin was pissed as hell at me for leaving without a word, which suited me just fine at that point. I was still irked by the NYE party. Plus the lack of appreciation for a fine Trockenbeerenauslese.

Ten years later, I've been married to a very different and gorgeous Southern woman of Celtic origin for nearly seven years. We have two beautiful girls, and moved them back to California after much bouncing across the country. The person who was missing is very much found. Sheilagh is ever the close friend. Meanwhile, E300 was sold off three years ago and I've done bike commute since.

I need to go get some more ice wine.