And so, Gentle Readers, we’ve come to one of those moments. If you’ve been counting, as have I, this is post number seventy-five. A three year parade of every other Tuesday, posts, ticking around and around like a baseball card in the spokes of a bike wheel. One after another after another. Should there be banners and fireworks and flag waving and please oh please oh please, oh hopefully cake?
Well sure, but if so not because this is anything really extraordinary. If so only because I happen to like all of those things very much. Especially so for the cake and most especially for lemon cocoanut cake.
In other words, Ladies and Gentlemen, if this blog is about anything at all it’s about celebrating not markers but moments: being aware of them and appreciating them. Little moments, small memories, tiny observations.
I found myself on a very long journey yesterday, white knuckled fingers gripping the wheel from the helter skelter suburban sprawl of Orchard Lake Road and the interminable spin around the roundabouts to the the straight shot of Route 80 marking the hours, the milage, the minutes from the ubiquitous Ohio rest stops to the Delaware Water Gap to the heart stopping Mario Kart swoop through the New Jersey Highway system to the truck-choked George Washington Bridge and finally home. But it was a good trip.
It’s a five hundred mile road race I would undertake for only the best of reasons. An important moment and an important number. I was blessed to help celebrate my parents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary.
Thanks primarily to the efforts of my sisters, the support and love of husbands and grandchildren, the celebration was quietly perfect, as elegant as a flute of Veuve Cliquot. The evening itself was a simple and special. This for my quietly remarkable parents, people who love the people they love truly and deeply. They do not focus on special events but rather are concerned with making small moments special. That, I think is one of their great gifts and perhaps the secret to their many wonderful years together.
For me, anyway, that’s the lesson from my parents. it’s always been about the moments. It’s about truly paying attention.
And when I thought about it, as I did as I stared down the straight shot of Route 80, squinting into the sun and trying not to be edged off the road by tandem trucks, I realized that in fact every one of these small bi-weekly missives have in fact been just that: an effort to pay attention, a collection of moments.
Gathering them all together, whether I’m remembering my five-year old scurry up to the top of a sand dune or stopping to watch a tenacious bee reviving with a proboscis dip into a dot of honey, I’m giving myself a great gift. I’m simply stopping to think.
When I look back at these seventy-five writings what I find is this phantasmagoria of moments, held together with the bi-weekly thrum of the posts. If I look at the collection, as I surely will do soon, I’m certain to see patterns that I never knew existed. And with luck, in those patterns I’ll be able to see beyond just what I think I’ve been remembering, what I was certain I was seeing. Won’t that be something!
Like a cornucopia of pulsing, luminescent stars spilling across a velvety sky, my parents’ lifetime of connect the dot moments have knit us all together for always. We know how lucky we are.
So as I continue with these posts, I too want to see what’s beautiful, remember what was fizzy and fun, and connect with those that I love and those I’ve yet to meet. For ultimately what else is there?
Therefore, as far as I’m concerned. celebrate any moments that suit you at any time. And of course, for those of you so inclined, that does in fact mean cake. Champagne, although optional, of course is always good too.
Thanks for coming along with me. As ever, with love, C