This morning I made a dash through the rain to the supermarket, Olivia in tow, for some last-minute Thanksgiving items. As I was hefting the grocery bags into the trunk and lifting Olivia out of the cart I heard a voice behind me saying "Happy Thanksgiving!"
I swiveled around to reply "Happy Thanksgiving" and saw a woman, somewhat serious expression on her face, standing by my elbow. She handed me a $20 bill then curtly said "God Bless You" and quickly marched into the store we'd just left.
Which made me wonder "Do I look indigent?" Apparently that's what driving a Corolla in South Park does for you, gets you the sympathy of strangers.
My Mom cooked all day and baked two pies for today's dinner. Aaron worked a 13 hour shift before dinner; we were fortunate to have him at the table at all. Everybody is healthy, we have a roof over our head, more than enough for thanks.
A few days ago I flew to NYC to see a reading of one of my Dad's plays. Much of the immediate family came in to the city as well to be in the audience. Also in attendance were two friends I hadn't seen in something like 20 years. One had survived cancer himself only to lose a son to it a short time later. The other has made a really nice life for herself and seems have it all. I was at a loss of how to sum up where things were at for me, how to cover 20 years in a few minutes.
Yet, with both, it didn't matter what I have been up to, only that I was there. Like with family we all just wanted to know that the other was intact and happy in some way. It was lovely and restorative to see my friends, my family, and remember that sometimes all it takes to find gratitude is showing up.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Now What
My dear and beautiful friend Maurine, who I've been friends with for 18 years, had a big birthday last month and the tribe held a birthday bash for her in California. I wasn't able to go so, to participate in spirit, Maurine sent me a blank scrapbook page to decorate of my own devising and return to her, as all the attendees had done.
Well what a project, let me tell you! I thought I knew exactly where my box of photos was, but after a hunt in the garage-- and the attic and a couple of closets-- I was stumped. Aaron finally found a large Tupperware bin of photos (In the garage! Where I'd already looked!) that he hauled out for me and I spent the better part of a day sorting through them.
First I sorted them into large categories "Family", "Foreign Travel", "River Trips", then into tighter categories. But what was really fun was throwing a bunch of pictures out. A whole wastebasket full of people I don't know anymore, people I don't like anymore, landscapes I didn't recognize.
And of course many, many pictures of Maurine, Jon, Lori, Rosemary, Carol, Susan and I. All of us (except Jon)wearing wedding dresses at a Palm Springs hotel, sequins and lime green prom gowns on a river trip, clown noses and wigs at a theatrical performance. We all look so young and yet somehow Maurine hasn't aged still, no wrinkles, all smiles.
I thought I would enjoy being reminded of people I hadn't thought of in a while, but what was most enjoyable was seeing who had endured, what I could still connect to. I have one photo album that has black-and-white pictures of my grandparents and parents through the years and then my brother and I. Switch to color in my early childhood. It made me really happy to think of adding my own kid to the album, an enduring thread.
Oh, and throughout the bin I found some great pictures of Maurine. One in particular that has to go in the scrapbook is of her from the back, leaning over into a raft in an unattractive orange swimsuit, with a big smear of mud on her rear end. Because as Oscar Wilde noted "good friends stab you in the front."
Well what a project, let me tell you! I thought I knew exactly where my box of photos was, but after a hunt in the garage-- and the attic and a couple of closets-- I was stumped. Aaron finally found a large Tupperware bin of photos (In the garage! Where I'd already looked!) that he hauled out for me and I spent the better part of a day sorting through them.
First I sorted them into large categories "Family", "Foreign Travel", "River Trips", then into tighter categories. But what was really fun was throwing a bunch of pictures out. A whole wastebasket full of people I don't know anymore, people I don't like anymore, landscapes I didn't recognize.
And of course many, many pictures of Maurine, Jon, Lori, Rosemary, Carol, Susan and I. All of us (except Jon)wearing wedding dresses at a Palm Springs hotel, sequins and lime green prom gowns on a river trip, clown noses and wigs at a theatrical performance. We all look so young and yet somehow Maurine hasn't aged still, no wrinkles, all smiles.
I thought I would enjoy being reminded of people I hadn't thought of in a while, but what was most enjoyable was seeing who had endured, what I could still connect to. I have one photo album that has black-and-white pictures of my grandparents and parents through the years and then my brother and I. Switch to color in my early childhood. It made me really happy to think of adding my own kid to the album, an enduring thread.
Oh, and throughout the bin I found some great pictures of Maurine. One in particular that has to go in the scrapbook is of her from the back, leaning over into a raft in an unattractive orange swimsuit, with a big smear of mud on her rear end. Because as Oscar Wilde noted "good friends stab you in the front."
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