There are stories
that deserve to be told. Once, twice, hundreds times. And these are the most
beautiful ones. These are the ones that simply happen and then quietly
sideline, waiting for being discovered, re-discovered and spread out.
One
of them is the story of the crab lovers who, true to the strict tradition,
gathered also this year, in San Francisco, on February, 3rd. And, since fortune
happens to knock on the door once in a while, the date arranged months in
advance was the same as another essential appointment, the Super Bowl,
featuring this time the local team, the 49ers, and the Baltimore Ravens.
That
nothing would be as usual was extremely clear since the very beginning, since
the guest started getting together, a few at a time, loaded with food, drinks,
resolutions and faith in their yellow-and-red guys.
The
rooms of the cozy Noe Valley Victorian house, venue of the long awaited event,
were soon full of smells and colors, children laughing and babies crying, cats
softly meowing and humans loudly inciting toward the TV set, unfailingly
broadcasting the game.
The
spacious kitchen, overflowing with snacks and bottles of wine and beer, was
soon fed with the intoxicating sight of big, yummy carapaces, with the unique
taste of the guacamole where, soon enough, chips and hands would dip, with the
words and the voices and the faces of old and new friends, with the excitement,
for everybody same and yet different at the same time.
The
garden, connected to the building through a small spiral staircase — secret
shelter to fairies and elves — ending up with a cute, little balcony, watched
and protected, with the reassuring tall trees and the welcoming short bushes;
while people and animals, beyond the windows, floundered and confided to one
another, noticing anything, suspecting of anything.
The
various ages of life, embodied by the parties there, faced the questions and
the answers floating in the air with different attitudes, yet fickle, every so
often; with grace, liveliness, curiosity and dissatisfaction being the most
important words. Everybody asked the others and himself, inquired into the
others and himself, criticized the others and himself endlessly, and ruthlessly.
On
the TV screen, meanwhile, from time to time neglected because of the rich
dinner, new questions and new answers had been following one other, yet
different from the ones the viewers would have liked to get. And so, in the
afternoon suddenly become night, spirits got high, mouths opened up, throats danced
while hopes, at some point, had to give in to bitterness and disbelief.
E.M., Santa Monica