Having a Gentle Good Time

I've got a million things running through my head tonight...most have to do with gratitude. Unravelling and unpacking them seems important. Is nothing simple anymore? I revel in the interconnectedness of people and lives, but also tend to overanalyze. Writing it down helps, even if it's all sunshine and rainbows. I am just loquacious. And it's never bad to spend time and energy sharing how grateful I am.

Sunday night: I am happily tired after time with friends.  K had had a rough few days and was unsure if he wanted to be around people--my husband, who thrives on social interaction, who sings and hums almost all the time, and who is the most optimistic person I know. Red flags went up everywhere and my heart quivered. He has been my rock--in our past, sometimes unavailable--but to see my sunny honey teary-eyed, expressing his sadness made me want to help him cheer up but also give him space to talk. We spent some time talking, and decided we would keep our date with friends.

We took a little road trip, about 90 minutes due west , into rolling green hills, along a couple of lakes, meeting everyone Saturday afternoon. I have rarely seen the big sky so blue, the varieties and textures of green so vast. Getting out of town, just the two of us, on a mission of happiness, turned out to be what we both needed. The only trips we've taken together in the past four or five years have been with family;  mine. [To digress a little, the past two summers our vacation time was spent with my dad, who took us, along with my sister and her family, on cruises to the Caribbean. This is not bad, nor am I complaining--although my dad was sick on both trips (lung cancer and all its complications, along with chemo), we still enjoyed our time. Bittersweet, naturally, but memory-making.]

So we set off after my yoga class for our trip. Barely twenty minutes into drive, K turns to me and says, "This is what I needed. To get out of town, with just you." He chatted like a madman for the entire 90 minutes, and in a flash, we convened at our lovely friend's house. She, brave woman, hosted five of her closest friends for a grown up sleepover party. I'd been to her house before, but no one else had. She proudly took us on a tour. K was back to whistling :o)  The six of us wandered on foot around this tiny town set up along the railroad, as many towns are out here. Huge grain tower thingies, a one street downtown, the backs of old brick buildings reveal faded, painted advertisements from years, years, ago.  The "downtown" deader than the proverbial doornail [note to self: look this up], but we gaggle of gregarious friends more than made up for it. The minute we gather the laughter begins. We wander into a park, a playground. I surprise myself by running up to a horse-on-a-spring; you know the kind I mean? The little playground teetery animals that rock back and forth? WELL, didn't I just hop on it?!? Seriously, in a previous life, even inebriated, I don't think I would have done it. It felt really silly and really good. I cracked myself up. My other friends were on the swings and then the jungle gym. God, how liberating!!! The wind, not gentle by any means, blew the sun down on us, swayed the birds in flight,  and I caught a glimpse of my husband laughing. At me. My heart quivered again, only this time it felt slightly different.  We all hit the grocery store, took entirely too long to buy entirely too much food for two days, and then sauntered back to A's house. Dinner on the grill--simple and summery--bratwurst, hot dogs, peppers, portabello mushrooms. For a group of dedicated foodies, we delighted in this very fun meal. At about 11:15 pm, my friend A suggested a walk. A WALK?!? I am usually wiped out, in bed, lately just tired from life. Again, I surprised myself by saying yes. Yes. It was magic. The wind still blowing, the air still warm, and in the dark, I had no idea we were walking up a fairly big road--it seemed a small street under a veil of milky darkness. We didn't get back until after 1am, giddy, sleepy, and I, feeling so carefree. Something about a breeze at night, walking through deserted streets, gently talking, ambling through botanical gardens...the Universe seemed to hug me.  The world was spinning wistfully.  I loved the calves in their pens who came toward me when I called and their big, cool noses nudging my hand. I loved my friends, I loved the night, I loved my sleepy happiness...and then?

I slept. Gloriously. No anxieties, no fears, no sadness. You know how huge this is, to fall asleep contented, and awaken, contented? Oh, my god.

The rest of our visit was low key; gentle. Having a gentle time is a wonderful thing. Time spent feeling content is a great, great gift. At the risk of sounding stupid, or crazy, before my father got sick I had always thought that "content" equalled "boring." It wasn't until I spent last fall with him, quietly watching television, sharing a smile, a hug, or a take out pizza, that I realized the world was so much more intimate than I ever gave it credit.

I will always revel in outrageous fun that makes my stomach ache with laughter, with glorious food in all its nuance, in dramatic scenery that steals my breath.

Memorial Day honors our military servicemen and servicewomen and all they sacrificed for our country. We attend parades, city band concerts, speeches; we share stories of our parents and grandparents who may have seen combat, lived during wars or conflicts.  While I may do some of this,  I will spend at least part of it, this year, honoring my parents, quietly, gently, for all they sacrificed.