2 posts tagged “thanksgiving”
I am back from another magical romp in the woods.
The children self organized and made the campground their kingdom. While they ran about feral and free, we adults did the important work of cooking, tending the fire and napping. This morning after breakfast we sat around the campfire all of us, strumming guitars and singing. A pastoral Von Trapp family moment twisted only by the children's choice of songs. (I couldn't help but wonder what Child Protective Services would think about the fact that all of our children know this Johnny Cash tune by heart). No matter.
I am unpacking now. I carry the camp chairs in and put them away for the season. They smell like smoke, smoke from the glorious fire, tended by Eric, a blacksmith-wanna-be stoking a furnace fit for smelting. We sat around this fire as the night grew chilly, laughing, telling stories, nursing stout and tequila, sneaking brownies the children never knew were baked, sneaking cigarettes they never knew we smoked.
The little children have been tucked into bed in the Tent-Mahal, lulled to sleep in by the whispers of a father who's own children have grown too old now to be comforted by the cadence of his voice. Teenage fears are not easily chased away by fairy tales but here in this tent at this moment, he is a hero to seven wee ones, a hero with the power to keep the darkness at bay. Covered with children and sleeping bags he is able to relive a memory and to relieve those of us who are too weary of nightly stories, who just need a beer and some quiet. It takes a village...
The little ones are sleeping now. Soundly. The smoke blows in our face as the wind shifts direction and so do we, moving around the circle, shifting positons to talk, to pour a drink, to play. We laugh and sing to homemade music, two guitars, one harmonica. Red wine. Tequila. A few contraband cigarettes. Shake thoroughly. Instant bliss.
One by one sleepy people get up and drift away to our tiny tent city. They drift away until it is only three of us, the roaring fire turned to bright cooking coals now. My dear friend and I lay on our backs in the dirt and gaze at the seven sisters twinkling overhead. Another friend fingerpicking a guitar, Texas blues for the girl with boots, bending strings that connect right to a piece my soul.
And then it is just me, I sit at the fire, shifting the coals around, encouraging them to cool now. I breathe in the smoke, feel the soot settle on my face. I sit in the space of gratitude watching the embers. I am thankful for this trip, for the laughter, for the new people, for the joy my son felt when running free, for the easy hike, the communal dinner, for my dear friend and her family, for all the families together, for the music...for the sweet sweet music.
I lay back, the seven sisters on the other side of the sky now. I can't help but feel that everything is exactly as it should be at this moment. That I, sitting alone by the fire, am exactly where I need to be. That I can relax here in this space. That neither the past nor the future really matter all that much. That the now, these warm coals, this autumn wind, this feeling of rightness is what matters. I think this feeling is called grace. I touch it and wrap my fingers around it. I tuck it into my hair.
I hear my friends stir, shift in sleeping bags. I wish them deep sleep and sweet dreams while I stir the coals. Then, minutes or hours later, I pour water on them and watch the steam rise.
I am so gritty, so grimy from this trip. I have finished unpacking and slip into a warm shower, before I head out to pick up the take-out we will have for dinner tonight. Before I throw in the laundry. Before I check my email.
The smell of smoke wafts through the bathroom--it is washing out of my pores and running down the drain. I want to stop it and capture it. I do not want to let the smoke go. I want it to cling to my skin forever.
After weeks of feeling needful and restless, I am sitting in a space where I truly can say we are living the good life here in Silver Spring. This weekend was pure magic, stirring up a little cocktail for my heart: two parts gratitude, one part joy, shaken with giggles and good conversation and poured over three straight sunny days with no humidity.
I have so much to be thankful for in this little weekend respite.
Thank you for a community who welcomes us with open arms, for friends who love expansively.
Thank you for a child who wakes up with delight because it is a "Max and Mommy day". For cuddles and hugs and a boy who can't wait to be with me all day. For giving me the patience to love his games again...
Thank you for little boys who love each other so dearly that they jump in the pool with arms wrapped around each other. For children so patient and kind that they invite the two year to their picnic. For freckled face, long legged, wild haired children who feel the freedom of summer soaking in their skin-who laugh with abandon as they sneak away to play magical imaginary games in the backyard...
Thank you for ice cream trucks and drivers who will come back AFTER supper so we can save our tummies for dinner but not have to say no to opening a popsicle right then and there...
Thank you for friends who don't want us to go home, even when it seems we have moved in with their family. For friends who invite us to lounge at their pool and and allow us to help cook dinner. For friends who will step in and help out with that little boy of mine when it clear he has stopped listening to me...
Thank you for armfuls of lilies and a friend who is so wise and generous that I want to give the whole bunch to her. Thank you for the look of delight on her face when I walk in the door....
Thank you for Cold Stone Creamery and for waffle cones and for the magical ability to eat it without getting a drop on my new white shirt....
Thank you for moonbounces and the look of sheer bliss on Max's face as he spends two hours leaping through the air. Thank you for the brilliant neighbor who decided to rent one for the blockparty...
Thank you for an ex-husband who cleans out my chimney a second time--just to be sure...
Thank you for spontaneous, homemade music and the sound of a cello floating in through a window. Thank you for the Yo-Yo Ma CD I just found exactly when I was in the mood for cello. Thank you for a wild courageous friend who sang in public for the first time, inspiring bravery in my heart..
Thank you for chewy chocolate cookies and cold milk eaten at 3am after a night full of dancing...
Thank you for Harry Potter and for the fact that noone has told me what happens at the end of book 7.
Thank you for lemonade with fresh crushed mint. Thank you for mojitos with fresh crushed mint.
Thank you for the dear soul sister who sends me emails full of inspiration and ideas when I am feeling stuck.
Thank you for sleep, so restful and deep with technicolor dreams. And more mornings that come offering a bit of hope even when it is Monday.
May I be able to touch this feeling of gratitude when work drags me down, or when it starts to rain, or when I am feeling headachey or tired or grouchy. May my memory of this contentment be with me when my patience is tried tomorrow or when the bills arrive in the mailbox or when sleep alludes my tired self. My this peace linger when I am cut off in traffic, when rude people say hurtful things or when loneliness comes to visit. I ask this in the name of all that is good and warm and sparkly.
AMEN!
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