I know I am like the rain.

True friendship recognizes no age gap. Its love does not readily admit distance, wane in the absence of a phone call, or recruit negativity. It fills dark, lonely, yawning nights with flashes of light and laughter. Its unconditional severity of relentless joy makes its recipients breathe easier. It reminds two people that they are more than a human shell. It necessitates us to recognize our spirituality because if we are lucky enough, we share with another that thing they call "kindred spirits".

How else is it possible to understand the message and depth behind a text said with only two words so that it might bring you to tears or create a hearty laughter that echoes in your throat?

How else can one simply look and know because your eyes told them so? To respond to a sentiment before you reach out to tell of it, to harness support, compassion, or encouragement in that very moment you falter; to find your footing on the other's cupped hands as they patiently wait to hoist you into your next great chapter.

How else can you find the freedom that comes with a vulnerability so raw? To lay your human experience plainly in the sight of another without the compelling fear that you should be judged for it.

And instead, you are welcomed with open arms.

Plain and Simple

Your fingertips hit each key expertly with the support of practice behind you and the confidence of skill within you. You effortlessly trill the keys and bring me to a sense of peace because I too have confidence in your ability to carry the song through to a graceful completion. The melody I am familiar with becomes exciting and serene all at once. The treble lends harmonic notes that curve across the staff without a care and the bass gives a sturdy ground from which they launch.

The key changes awaken emotions that bring me to tears. Even the dissonances yield into easy recoveries that bend into grand plies I want to pick up and hold tightly so that I may remember this feeling your songs give me. The power is found at once in that which you hold back. Instead of a relentless appeal to the senses you present a quiet gift that dances and twirls until the heartbreakingly beautiful keys at last rest, until it is again time to find oneself among them. 

I breathe easier, think more clearly, and truly find my heart's beat amidst these notes, your notes. 

It was seven years

The last time your family gathered in this house to celebrate Thanksgiving was 2006, so I felt it was a wonderful obligation to open the house to others on this day in honor of the spirit it carried for many years.

So we decided to deep fry a turkey, roast vegetables, and roll out a pumpkin pie. Nanny brought too much food to count and others brought a myriad of more dishes. Within hours the countertops were filled with glass pans that held stuffing, cheese, and carbohydrates made with love and anticipation of being together. We turned on jazz music and a muted football game, threw the curtains open and asked the sunshine to warm our house.

People arrived in groups with smiles and jokes. We greeted with hugs, poured drinks with laughter and wandered from indoors to out without a care. The children took to running in circles through the garage and yard, into the side door and alongside the kitchen, where I stationed myself and timed the last of the dishes cooking and reheating. We could not stop talking about the hummus appetizer, the Paleo gravy made with cashews. We said thanks, we ate, and we raved.

We drank coffee, threw the football, and sat talking.

The cutting, cooking, cleaning, and preparation for days like these are the art that is creating life. It cannot be in vain, for now that day is captured in each of our memories in different ways. We may not recall finite details but we will remember how we felt, we will remember the love and the joy. And the gift to possess these moments is the greatest for which we could ask.

We parted, full of food and even more, full of spirit.