"Live a good life, and in the end, it’s not the years in the life, it’s the life in the years."

Friday night at Centennial Park

By on July 29, 2019 in Columnist with 0 Comments
Mike Cassidy

By Mike Cassidy


Friday night, nothing to do, the wife suggests let’s go downtown and listen to music at Wenatchee Centennial park.


Seven o’clock.

What? By 7 p.m. I’ve perfectly fine with assuming the position in the comfy chair, with a beverage in my hand after a long week and something on Netflix.

But off we go, a cooler-than-normal summer night in Wenatchee, heading down Chelan Street, taking a left on Yakima Street and then another left to park right in front of the museum. 

Are we sure this is happening? Where’s the traffic, where’s the struggle to find a parking space?

But this is Wenatchee. Street parking is sweet parking.

We go around back of the museum where a beer garden is set up in the parking lot overlooking the pocket park. A buck each and we’re in, a wrist band adhered around our wrists. For another $5 we each get a token for a locally-brewed micro beer.

How do these beers with names like Wells & Wade Pale Ale taste, we wonder to the man doing the pouring at the keg.

“I don’t know much about local beers, I’ve moved here a year ago from San Diego,” he says.

What brought you here? we wonder. 

“Grandchildren” and a bright smile erupts on his face beneath his gray hair.

Wife has found padded chairs overlooking Centennial Park and the Seth Garrido’s Power Trio. 

What kind of music do they play, I ask her, not too excited about the “power” aspect of their name. I’m looking for an easy end to Friday.

“Just listen,” she says, and we do for the next couple of hours. A little southern rock, some Tom Petty (Last Dance for Mary Jane). I think I recognize a jazz standard, and then more rock from our youth. The trio introduces themselves as all from Wenatchee and not for the first time I’m pleased by the depth of local talent.

Corn hole boards have been set up in the narrow alley separating the museum’s elevated seating from the park. We watch grown-ups and then kids toss around the beanbags.  

Hey, you want a taco, I ask, and while she is undecided, I decide for both of us. At $2 a hit, a little more than I’m used to paying at a taco truck, but coupled with another stop at the beer garden keg, a perfect taste of Wenatchee on a slowly darkening summer evening.

The trio is winding up with a John Denver song (Country Roads) as museum volunteers collect chairs and tables. We lean against the fence, not willing to leave until the last note is played. Purple mountains against a neon sky. Kids playing below us, people resting against their bikes, others sitting on the park’s grassy knolls, a father swinging around his daughter in front of the stage.

The music is over, time to be off.

What do you want to do now? asks the wife.

Darn, I say, I guess we have to go home.

Get up from that comfy chair and enjoy the richness of The Good Life.

— Mike

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