THANKSGIVING...GIVING THANKS

I awoke to silence and savored it for a few lazy turns in my bed.  I arose to the sounds of Gounod's Ave Maria, brought to my sleepy ears by Bob's speaker and some algorithms that merged to create a  welcome morning playlist....mechanical yet so humane as to touch my soul nonetheless.  

Yo Yo Ma persists as the lists plays out. My first thoughts are of my 100 year old Memere's funeral, where I sang this very selection from the choir loft of Holy Family Church in Woonsocket, RI.  The ensuing revery leads me to the page where I must record the emotion, or perhaps the impact...YES, the impact of this music in this time, in this space of life.  

It is a Saturday so like and so unlike any other in my 67 years.  For nearly 44 years of marriage, this Saturday has signaled the start of a holiday week, and a day to rise, shine and shop.  Thanksgiving looms later in the week, this year on the 26th of November.  For so many years a list (or two or three ) occupied the counter of my various homes, most recently the one in our cozy apartment nestled in Bristols quiet southern stretches.  The LIST overflowed with potential purchases savory and sweet to be procured, packaged, prepped and served to crowds of varying sizes each and every year. The Thanksgiving grocery challenge proposed an exhausting and anxiety producing shopping excursion, often in more than one store and over the course of more than one visit.  Yet those trips, hazardous to my mental health and sanity as they often were, became the stuff of memory..todays memory.  

The playlist finds its own way down a course of selections, the current one a quiet piano interlude, detached and delicate...no challenge to my ears, just as there is no challenge to my mental peace of mind today.  There is no need to worry or hurry, to refine a list and cut coupons, to arrive early and return late.  There is no need to clear a large space in a small refrigerator for the bird which occupies so much of our traditional feast. There is no large shopping expedition to be experienced.  No one will cross rivers to us or encounter woods to travail...for THIS Thanksgiving Day will come and go as most different in my life...a quiet and solitary meal, with Bob and I the lone diners at our expandable and welcoming table.  Covid -19 has determined the numbers.  Daily regulations issued by the CDC and our Governor result in a non existent guest list. We submit to save lives, our own and those of our loved ones.  The raging virus claims people daily and stretches human resources to frightening degrees.  To eat alone will be our nod of submission, one that that does not even approach the level of sacrifice so many are living.

 Loss of loved ones, permanent physical and spiritual damage all due to this pandemic, human nature which drives us closer not farther from each other in troubled times...these are the components  a menu of human suffering, with a long journeys night still ahead.  Cause for gratitude, there in the smallest of the fine print but there none the less.  "We will see this through"...light at the end of the tunnel...vaccine on the horizon...pensive, persistent sounds ring from the piano now...cause for reflection, hope even.  

In spite of the pain that lone dinners may bring, worry that our minds may conjure, sorrow that our souls may feel, loss that our spirits may entertain...life does indeed go on... grandchildren still in the womb or simply hoped for- all innocent of the strife-will come and stir the hope that is missing, soothe the sadness that prevails.  

Thanks Giving for what is today, what comes up on Thursday, for the family in our lives that waits to travel, the holidays and the living past and yet to unfold, the blessings of peace if only in our hearts or our local community, the food still abundant and lovingly prepared, the multitude of human endeavors that continue to bring life and hope to those closest to us and to those whose names we do not know.  Somewhere amongst the garbled history and the shiny trappings of our existence burns a quiet flame of selflessness, and it is this that draws us to one another.  It is  this that makes stressful lives and hearts pause, assess and act to bring about good.  

Thanks Giving...what will the mechanical playlist conjure this year?  Will I pause long enough to let it fill my aching soul with the hope that comes from awareness?  Will I let the notes touch my heart and bring up gratitude?  If so, the day will be marked as traditional in the one way that cannot be taken from me.  I will count my blessings and Giving Thanks will be enough.      

Pain

       

SENSIBILITY 

Over the past two months I have been coerced by an angry body to face the limitations that come with negligence.  Each morning since the initial eruption of pain, I rise tentatively and quite frightened of the sensations to come.  Abuse, overuse, underuse...there are many diagnosis for the neglect of ones skeleton and fascia. The result can be a heavy load to bear as I face the pain that stops habits, good and bad in their tracks.  Restoration and recovery are my work now...no choice but to face the product of my mindless journey to this space and learn from it.

  

REFLECTION

If this pain were a color, it would be that gray blackish brownish hue that results when you give a young child a paintbrush and an array of tempera pots.  Layer upon layer of activity leads to an unknown and unintended destination.  The colors come innocently at first, as do the quiet twinges of sensation in my body, warnings really of what may be ahead.   Growing intensity and passion rule, as one experiments with a brush stroke here, a smash or a splay there, all of which satisfy some urgent purpose.  Pre-schoolers plod on insistently, without analysis or thought it might seem, to the finish line of their masterpiece.  In the end pots lay depleted of their contents, brushes once multi streaked and supple now dried and distorted by the ravages of colorful sludge.  The paper canvas is saturated and will accept no further assault.  The creator rests.

 So too the muscles and the joints of my body..saturated, overwhelmed and colored dismal - having grown ever weaker with the layers of abusive activity.  Over the din of aching and stabbing complaints, my body sobs at the heaviness of the hue that lays draped over my person and spirit.  

No masterpiece here, but perhaps the same enlightenment that occurs to the little ones.....

What happens when you___________________________

"Every good thing must ....."

Every good thing must...come to a new beginning

           January 13th and reason to write.  I am again in my favorite coffee shop and had a short but friendly exchange with the barista about her badly chipped mug and it's possible harboring of contaminants.  My sister would probably chide me for my invasion of the young lady's privacy as well as for my unsolicited advice.  Perhaps she's right, but sometimes I receive new affirmation and the gift of gratitude from complete strangers when I exhibit such "normal for me" behavior!   Today was one of those times, and no doubt further encouragement for my "stepping outside the lines" behavior.  In her defense, my sister is 9 years younger and far better behaved than me...perhaps the product of more experienced parenting by Pauline and Andre after three rowdy boys between us! 

            Alex, whose name I know because she asked my name and introduced herself with a handshake after my advice was given, is new at Empire.  She was drinking from what I could see was obviously a well loved pale blue mug that said "Hello Darling" in a comfortable script type font.  When I drew the chips and cracks to her attention and noted that they are a welcome landing for bacteria to grow on, she grew truly chagrined.  Soooo, I turned that frown upside down, as my motherly instinct directed me to do!  I told Alex she could repurpose that mug to serve as a planter for a succulent or ivy. Maybe I also told her to buy one at Stop and Shop (?) just in case she wondered about such a purchase in a New England January setting?  Yes...I did.  I also suggested that if she was not a plant person she could always use the mug as a pen/pencil holder.  

           Is it true that her generation has no call for those writing implements in an age of endless phone storage and communication possibilities?  She did not roll her eyes!  Actually, she thanked me!  She looked longingly at the mug again though, and I knew she would miss it as the vessel for sipping that she had become accustomed to.  I know this because my spirit recognizes like minded spirits, and I have been in just such place!   So, in "fixer" fashion that can sometimes be mistaken as nosy and smother mothering, I offered a new and optimistic thought based on a an old idea..."every good thing must come to an end" is what came to mind, BUT "every good thing must come to a new beginning" is what I told her.  Alex smiled, then asked my name, extended her hand to shake mine and introduced herself.  She said, " I like your spirit".  I smiled, thanked her and headed over to the  booth with my tea, affirmed and uplifted...oh and,  inspired to tell you!