Albeit a bit tagged from the previous night’s momentous event, the doorman persevered and became the solid sentry at the jazz club door. In addition to voluminous coffee consumption, I needed untethered jazz played loudly to counter my severe lack of sleep. I told the tenor and trumpet guys when they arrived to not hold back… fed them a tale about a group of nearly deaf jazz lovers who will be arriving any minute. “Screw piano-lounge music, play like you mean it!” Fortunately, the playlist was dominated by Sonny Rollins songs, which kept the adrenalin pumping. The crowd at the club was a gentle cohesion that filled the tables in front of the stage. As I watched the group’s tenor wail on a Sonny tune, I had an epiphanous moment. It was making sense. As the long day, which began with Nadia’s birth, transitioned to the next, it made total sense to be hearing a Sonny tune. It’s been said that the courteous Sonny Rollins, in 1959, to spare a neighboring expectant mother the sound of his practice routine, ventured to the Brooklyn-to-Manhattan Williamsburg Bridge to practice. Of course…. yes, of course… a circle has been completed, a bridge crossed.
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