We’re making more room for celebrating. There’s enough going on in the world that needs little reminding of how cruel it can be. So we’re having moments to toast to good times, blow out candles, dance here and there, and laugh. Laugh so hard that …
I am not an optimist. When I tell folks that, they rarely believe me. Surely, you jest. But, but, but you’re so happy…
I’ve always armored myself with a fair amount of pragmatism and pessimism, steeling myself as much as one can for the other shoe to drop. It’s also been a reminder of what’s in my control and what is not.
During this morning’s family book club, we zigzagged from the Harlem Renaissance, the Met’s new show, oppression, delicious food and cooking, Gaza, men and women of letters, celebrations, slavery, storytelling, undeniable brilliance, legacy, homelessness, family traveling together, music, leisure, joy, and more. This web of words is usual for us, pulling and tugging on threads to make sense of the tensions and alignments of it all.
There’s always a post-reflection for me: what an excellent point so-and-so made! How does that argument jibe with mine? What will I carry with me? I’m always buoyed. Our club is filled with those who see the sun behind the storm and spring after a dreary winter.
Not long after our rousing conversation, I stepped outside to capture some images of our beautiful magnolia tree just as a neighbor walked up with words of praise. “It’s nothing short of magnificent,” he said. I agreed and let the word flow from my lips. Magnificent. We continued, “I was worried that it wouldn’t blossom after our freezing weather and late snow. But here it is, looking more beautiful than ever.”
And out of these flowers, came this delight. Imagine a vanilla cake soaked with magnolia syrup and brightened by tart berries, tangy fig powder, cool cream, and bright basil from the kitchen garden.
