I never thought I’d be divorced.
This is what I said, on the eve of this past week’s summer solstice.
I said it to my buddy Kyle, whose response was basic and clear as day:
Well, no one ever does, I guess.
I was a little frustrated that I said such a thing in the first place. I think I was in a weak spot. A little buzzed on a couple of strong pints, and sweating like a sunuva-gun on a warm Mississippi night.
We were watching a bat swoop in and out of the porch light — snatching moths and various light-drunk bugs.
The crickets were loud. This feels like home. We both agree, silently.
My story has certainly changed. I am left with an abundance of free time to think. Sometimes, too much. There is the hum and rumble of my wall unit, keeping me cool as the humidity leaks through the cracks of this old building.
I think a lot about where I live. It was built in 1945, for soldiers returning home from WWII. It has these beautiful floors and the kitchen is precious and tiny. (And hot as hell in the summertime, apparently.)
I also think about the people who have lived here. Including those soldiers coming home wounded, physically and in other ways. I wonder how well they healed here. I wonder about their ghosts, and I wonder about a space designed to house people in transition. This certainly isn’t a place to settle down and start a family. It’s a bit too cramped for more than one big presence, even for a person as dramatic (albeit quiet), as me.
But what to do with this freedom?
I guess I’m having to restart that process a bit. I believe I’m young and have a lot of space to change and grow, in a few different ways. I talk to people all the time who have had at least four different professions. I suppose I have a little time to really figure it out. But not just professions. There are loads of those nagging philosophical questions and the South, is truly a different state of mind.
For the most part, I think about how I like the adult I am becoming.
Yeah, I wish I had those perfect things we always want in on too. I am okay, though. I don’t need much.
I had figured, long ago, that this would be my time to travel and see the world. To experience what the other worlds had to offer. Sometimes you can do that.
I got a little ahead of myself, but that’s okay too.
The ebb and flow of starting over feels okay. I think building a community takes some time, and I gots plenty of it. I still have the urge to see so much. I don’t know what our world will look like tomorrow, and especially not twenty years from now. I just know that I love this place, and its people and I want to see as much of it as I can.
I find myself looking down my hallway from where I sit and write, and see my cookbooks line familiar shelves.
I see my wine glasses, many of them used for holding more than wine. They are used for exploring depths and laughing too much and getting to those quiet moments where we raise them and look into each others’ eyes. Sacred vessels, in my opinion.
This is my constant.
The ability to connect.
Connecting, what I miss and crave the most.
Every day I discover little secrets about who I am. Why I have chosen food and drink as my medium to explore your depths. I think often, “Well, this is no surprise at all.”
So once again, I invite you to my table.
It is tiny, but substantial and we will eat and drink and sink deeper into each others stories.
Just give me a heads up though,
so I can put on the air conditioner,
open up the wine,
make a good soundtrack,
dish out somethin’ good,
and live into the truth that we are all sacred vessels,
poured into over and over again.
and full of the stuff that gets better with time.