i am a fan of happy endings. i would guess that’s something on which we likely agree. i mean, who doesn’t love any sort of happy ending – quiet or gushy – any part of the happy spectrum.
and so, in the past couple of weeks – with people we love close-in struggling with serious issues – i want to linger in the happy ending. perspective has slapped us upside the head a few times over these weeks and, teetering a little on shaky ground, we are holding firmly to happy conclusions.
on days when hikes generate deep pondering or the dinner table yields questions about uncertainty, googling about things we know little, we tend to list to an evening of a little couch-sitting and a movie of choice that will – most definitely – have a happy ending.
this could be a hallmark movie. or it could be my big fat greek wedding, which makes us laugh every single time, dozens of times later. it could be about time or love actually or the proposal. it could be sweet home alabama or ps i love you or the family stone. the fuzzy purple zippy dvd holder is the keeper of our cherished movies and we can pick pretty much anything from it and sink into the couch cushions, sighing.
we don’t feel like we are sticking our heads into the sand. we don’t feel like we are fancying escapism (though who doesn’t?!). we don’t feel like we are pollyanna-ing our way into the lull of sleep. we are painfully aware of the precariousness of it all.
instead, we feel like we are reminding ourselves of the possibility. we are immersing in the potential of goodness. we are restoring that place inside from which we draw strength that we might pass on to others, the place from which we can hold others close, lift them up, ask the universe for grace and their healing.
we are taking a deep breath and seeking the happy ending. remembering that they do exist.
the table is staged, ready for diners. linen napkins rolled, silverware inside. water glasses turned over and candles unlit. waiting.
block 37 on state street in chicago has at least a dozen eateries, a highrise group built post-2005 of dining restaurants with napkin rolls, bakeries with cupcakes and sticky donuts, coffeehouses and grilled cheese spots. all waiting for eaters. there are shops and there is a residential development, multi-use skyscrapers.
eighteen years ago today. block 37. the yamaha concert grand was on an outdoor stage in the sun in a tree-canopied park when we arrived. boom mics. monitors. staged. ready. waiting.
it was the tour of hope, a giant oncology event sponsored by bristol-meyers squibb. lance armstrong, a cancer survivor and chosen sports hero for those moments, was biking – with an entourage – across the country to raise awareness about cancer and survivorship and hope. and we were there to be part of the rally. the piano and boom were waiting for me.
in the way of not-knowing-when-important-stuff-is-happening, we meandered through the people getting ready for the arrival of the posse of bikers. we sound-checked, we did early photo shoots, we sipped water on a perfectly-perfect early fall day.
it was the day i met him. a dear friend who i’ve only seen in person once in my lifetime. scordskiii became the rock in my world as the years went by and, were we to sit and visit over coffee or sushi or a glass of wine, i suspect the conversation would be easy and constant, filled with reminiscing and laughter, not just a little wonder, and hushed moments in awe of it all. this would be a good thing. eighteen years is a long time.
we are slowly coming out of the cave. slowly. ever-so-slowly. we have actually been to a couple restaurants now. and this day – last week – was one of those times.
the tables at the restaurant were ready and we walked in to find david’s dear friend waiting. they have known each other for decades, though – since they live far apart – they haven’t had opportunity to see each other much. no matter. it is the gift of true friendship. the moments when all time sloughs off and, in awe of this magic, you return to the organic core of your relationship.
we had fried wisconsin cheese curds. it was a farm-to-table restaurant. we were surrounded by relics from farms and warehouses, all dating back, maybe even a century. we sat and sat, talking, sharing. people came and went around us, though no one was seated close.
i glanced at the other tables when we stood to leave. the napkins were rolled and the water glasses were turned upside down. and the dining tables were waiting for the next time people would sit and ponder life, its questions, its challenges and joys, the next time people would share a little space together. the next time people would look at the face of a dear friend before it was time to go.
when packages arrive here, you get either a phone call or a text from the ferry dock. you are told that a package will be arriving and that you can pick it up after 4:45 at the ferry dock office. it’s pretty exciting, especially when you don’t know what it is. you arrive, curious. if you are in the back room of the dock office, you are likely surrounded by amazon prime boxes, because amazon prime is definitely a thing here on island. with a $53 round trip ferry price tag for the two of us to go shopping off-island, paying zero for delivery on items you can’t buy here anyway makes total sense.
last week we got a call. it was the thursday of a for-various-reasons-really-rotten couple of weeks. david had been having high fevers for over a week and we had to go off-island to a clinic for some bloodwork, which eventually revealed that he picked up lyme disease in the previous weeks here. exhausted and shocked, we attempted to stay patient and treat his painful, confusing and somewhat scary symptoms while we waited for those results. jen and brad knew we were waiting and they knew we were having some heftily trying days.
we left for the ferry dock at 4:30, our pace slow, watching for the sweet leggy deer that wander into the road. david went in to get the package. he came out with a big box, from wine.com, with the words: “fact: your day just got kind of awesome.” six bottles of our favorite friday-night-potluck wine were inside with a note of love. you can bet that as early that evening as was acceptable, we opened one of those and toasted our dear dear friends and our gratitude for them. kind of awesome.
we have wonderful friends at home. we consider ourselves very fortunate. 20 was just up here for a couple days, replenishing groceries for us, sitting and talking and having the kind of conversation only people who have known each other for years have. it was kind of awesome. the up-north-gang is coming this week and we can’t wait. they will bring snacks and laughter, hugs and listening ears, perspective and big heart. they asked for a list ahead of time, of things we might need that we don’t have access to. our days with them will be kind of awesome. back at home, our friends help take care of our home, assisting us from afar. michele and john mow our lawn, loan their bike to my girl, ask how they can help. linda and jim make us food and pour generous glasses of wine at the drop of a hat. dan brings a new dehumidifier. kind of awesome. there are too many people to list. there are too many people to thank. which is, in and of itself, kind of awesome.
today, with a deeply sombered heart, i am aware of a young woman who is losing her grasp on life. with the thinnest of thread she clings, struggling against a plethora of sudden medical emergencies. i don’t know the whole story. i just know that this young woman, with a huge life force, may be moving on to a different plane of existence. and it very well might be today. today. i think about that. today. toDAY.
every day we have the opportunity to help make someone’s day kind of awesome. we can choose that or we can choose to perpetuate something different. we can gift someone with kind words, kind deeds, or we can be, well, rotten. we can ignore people’s hearts or we can tend to them.
reverse threading 