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Love and Tears

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This wedding was in a castle in Southern France. Perhaps I didn’t cry enough. Perhaps I held back my tears too much. The pain in my throat...perhaps it was love, trying to get out. Perhaps love trying to get in. The anticipation of what was to become a most amazing and inspirational wedding ceremony, hung in the pre-ceremony air as if we all knew. Even the birds, the wind, the light, the stone walls, floor and ceiling. Just like all weddings, you kno w what to expect. That’s when the pain starts. This wedding though, was different This wedding was for my niece, Hannah Long. This wedding was attended by all my brothers, “The Boys” (Jeff, Jay, Jon and Joel). Yes, we’ve come a “long” way from California, 1964, when our Dad died in a car accident, leaving my Mom to raise 4 boys in Montana. This was the first time “The Boys” were ever out of the US at the same time, let alone in the same country. This wedding was only my Moms second grand kid’s marriage. This wedding was attended by my wife...
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That Time I Met Richie Cole

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  At this Jazz jam session in Boulder Colorado USA, Mark Diamond would always introduce each player before they came on stage. Being from Fort Collins, for me, he would typically say something like, “tonight, we have a special guest, all the way from Fort Collins, (an hour drive from Boulder) Jon Long on Trumpet”. I remember on Nov. 3, 2013, at the Boulder Outlook, a hotel bar, after Mark and crew finished a smoking set, and I’m next to sit in on “the list”. I’m sitting there, valves oiled, trumpet in hand, “known” songs ready to call, nerves under control. Then, Mark says over the mic: “Tonight, we have a very special guest”….me getting ready to go up and play, banging my valves, blowing warm air in my trumpet, walking toward stage…..”world renowned saxophonist”….wth?!….”RICHIE COLE!!!” What?! I go back to my seat in the darkly lit bar, sheepishly abandon my trumpet and sip on my wine. Then get a 3 song set of killing bebop in stereotypical Richie Cole style, super fast b...
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The Last Time I Went to an Indian Hospital

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 For my Mom who asked for a thorough account of my experience. I remember the last time I went to an Indian hospital. It was today. Here's the story as I weave in and out of real-time and past tense, since I'm not that fast of a typer on my phone. On the way, I saw an elephant painted like a gypsy, Hindu signs on its forehead, led through the busy rubble filled streets and gutters by its owners. Cars, bikes, carts, kids, goats, dogs and cows competing for the same path thru the rubble as if it’s on a regular. This is just a typical Indian street in the middle of Coimbatore, a typical Indian city. Nobody seemed to notice the elephant but me, on my way to the hospital. This visit is the 3rd to a hospital in India on the 14th day of my 6th trip to India in the past 2 years. 3 days to the hospital in over 160 total days combined in India? That's about my average in US Indian hospitals are nothing like you would see in the states, not even in Montana. The crowds of the stre...
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