cocooned in a glass container

I was cocooned in a glass container on top of a hill, shrouded in clouds and mist. Eva Cassidy sang a bluesy "Wade in the Water." Looking out, the infinity deck was like a ship's bow and we were sailing through the storm.

Every other year is our all-family together, together Thanksgiving gathering.

2018 happened to be that gathering year, and I was spoiled; getting to stay in one of our favorite spots - the cabin above the clouds - that belongs to some friends.

Thanksgiving Day was a cacophony of activity. Cousins big and little did their thing. The littles running through the house, even though they were supposed to be upstairs. Tons of giggling could be heard, and of course, the requisite getting mad; just because that's what happens. Love and interaction does that. Family, even at young ages is messy, but I wouldn't trade or discard it.

Stories, old and new were re-lived. Some old stories were given new applications.

All isn't rose-colored and perfect like Hallmark movies. No, there's tension, apprehension and unfamiliarity. But, what I noticed was a good amount of grace and many genuine moments; conversations on serious notes, jokes and more laughter.

We held hands and were grateful for the enormous amount of food we had, while being mindful of the lack others experience.

Mostly, I was aware love. Not the type that's all tidy and honestly, not real. No, the word I'd use is authentic, because it came from the places that each of us are in - it came from life.

So, as I sat in my glass container, I was conscious of the value of family, as messed up and insanely crazy as it may be. Whether it's biological or figured-out, our gathering and being together is a true connecting treasure.

Happy post Thanksgiving, my friends -

Missy

If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

Comments

Good morning, lab rats!

One of my favorite movies is “A Good Year,” starring Russell Crowe. It’s a fun little romp through the South of France, filled with wine, romance and very poignant moments of clarity. Max, is a driven, pompous business man who is willing to use, abuse and finagle his way to the top, and then gloat. He is never satisfied with his accomplishments. "Good morning, lab rats,” indicates his ‘tude. Fanny, on the other hand, is a bicycle wielding, passionate woman. She is suspicious, short-tempered and very jealous, yet content with her way of life; minding the business of others. The storyline is obvious: opposites attract, love blooms and then blows up. Reflecting on the vast difference in their existences, this dialogue is uttered: Max: This place does not suit my life. Fanny: No Max, it’s your life that does not suit this place. Makes me wonder how many times I have said no to things because it didn’t fit into my prec...

wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

do you see a weed or a wish? Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl. Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state. However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning. It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen. Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm. The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella. Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs. We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed. pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being funny , how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and ...

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas. I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans. This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm. My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff. On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers. Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep. Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven! The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week. Yippee! I no longer needed to ...

Isabella Bird Miscellany

Search This Blog