Adam Kibbe

You get enough people together in one place, and it may be directly demonstrable that local gravity increases. By inference, it seems it might have — enough stuff fell down. There was one partygoer who went down like a ton of bricks a foot shy of our dining table with no apparent obstacle or slippery surface to blame. Iím sure drink contributed, but the moment still had its surreal aspects. And then one of the new glass shelves slipped loose from its all-but-invisible metal pin supports, taking out the shelf below, and both seeking the lowest local level, the tile floor. One shelfís edge chipped, and two pieces of art were beyond repair, but for tempered glass laden with objet díart, the lack of carnage was remarkable. The whole night, in fact, was remarkable.

It was one hell of a party. 25 of our nearest and dearest, food and talk and drink in constant motion, our house brimming with life and energy. Our house — returned to itself and then some after nearly six months of construction. Cleaned, rearranged, primped and decorated, candles in every beckoning niche, lights done just so. Luminarias outside to guide in our guests. But the best decoration was our friends themselves, smiling faces and hugs all around, here to feast on Lindaís catering, the roomís unveiling, and on each otherís rich company.

Though some amongst our number would count themselves fogies, the local contingent didnít shuffle off for home and bed until midnight, and then a second wind swept across those remaining — ourselves and our friends from Connecticut, guests for the night. I think it was the toast we gave to the room and its builders just as Michael was leaving — perhaps ten of us holding aloft shots of Herradura Reposado tequila and voicing our pleasure in what weíd accomplished. That bottle, newly opened just then, did not survive for long, and over the next couple of hours, all of my other top shelf tequilas met the same end, the way blazed by salt and lemon. As we danced in our own glow in the new room to Michael Hedgesí brilliant acoustic covers of Dylan/Hendrixís ìAll Along the Watchtowerî and the Beatles ìCome Togetherî, we noted the passing of 2:30 a.m. As we wrapped up some reminiscing photo viewing, we saw 3:30 come and go. But then we finally went, too. Barely tired, but ready.

Perhaps the most significant fall of all from that night is this, that of the veil of secrecy that recently wrapped The Room, which can now be let slide to the ground. Is The Room done? Almost. A finishing touch or two when I get to them, some grading and a patio in the Spring. But it was certainly christened, loudly and well.

So whatís it look like? Go see the pictures. The first five are by day, then a few by night, then the party. Not scads, and the pictures are snapshots. I thought to use my tripod and tricky fill lights, but then I thought, ìNah, itís just a room.î Much has been made of it already, I decided I neednít puff it up more. I wish Iíd taken more at the party, but I was too busy mixing drinks and diving in and out of conversations. Dan The Man let me mix him a martini, which you can see in his hand as he holds court with the two women whoíd praised his sartorial splendor, as well as his ability to set himself off with the right backdrop (he was leaning on our stainless steel fridge at the time). The night was full of such beauty, far beyond the wavelengths of light which a camera sees. But I hope you can see some of what I see, and thanks for following this saga with us.