Punkin celebrated her first holy communion a couple weeks ago. The church ceremony was beautiful, the kids were bedecked in flowing gowns and awkward suits, parents and sponsors and relatives were beaming, all craning to see "their" kid up there at the altar, all doing what they did all so many years before. The weather went along with the picture as well, stormy one moment, wildly beautiful the next, a day suited up with rainbows and wind squalls and piercing sunshine. A grand, holy, and remarkably peaceful afternoon to go along with such a sacred community event.
After the church ceremony we made our way over to my Estranged One's parent's home, the one perched on the edge of the golf course. Lovely place, nicely appointed, comfortable. With no irony intended, it was populated with pretty much the same people who were there a year a half ago, the same ones who happily shared my email box so readily with MEO. Someone in that room shared letters that I wrote to you, but there was no sense of embarrassment at all. It was Punkin's day and nothing would mar it. The food was grand, wine flowed, but I found it necessary to "disappear" every so often. I would step outside, watch the sun edge towards the mountains, look at the various bands of migrating birds swoop and dive among the trees. I could only take so much inside that house, the house that started, and ended, it all.
I have to admit, though, overall it was a very nice time. I put myself out there, kept myself from getting too involved with my feelings, with anyone outside of the kids. I kept it light. They were no longer my people. It was a party and I know how to do, how to work, parties. I kept the wine moving along, helped with dishes, made conversation. I have that part of life down pat.
But then, this is where you fit in. I shared you with the room that day, unbeknownst to anyone but me. I brought along a stack of music to the house, some country, a bit of light jazz, a Cajun compilation, but before dinner was served, while the wine was being uncorked and consumed, while the hearts and minds warmed up before supper I put on Norah Jones. Come Away With Me. The room suddenly became warmer, more congenial, more upbeat, happy. The sounds of jazz piano soared above our heads and added a certain sense of class to the event. I stood off for a moment, thinking, yes, M, you gifted me with that album and now I am sharing it with everyone. Hearing those familiar chords, that thrilling voice, I was filled with the just baked warmth of our friendship, with that joy,that light, you would always bring into a room just by being there. By putting on Ms Jones that afternoon I pretty much introduced you to the family, shared that light and happy glow I always get these days whenever I think of you.
Thanks for coming along, M, for sharing in the joy and happiness of my daughter's big day.
Your WHMB
After the church ceremony we made our way over to my Estranged One's parent's home, the one perched on the edge of the golf course. Lovely place, nicely appointed, comfortable. With no irony intended, it was populated with pretty much the same people who were there a year a half ago, the same ones who happily shared my email box so readily with MEO. Someone in that room shared letters that I wrote to you, but there was no sense of embarrassment at all. It was Punkin's day and nothing would mar it. The food was grand, wine flowed, but I found it necessary to "disappear" every so often. I would step outside, watch the sun edge towards the mountains, look at the various bands of migrating birds swoop and dive among the trees. I could only take so much inside that house, the house that started, and ended, it all.
I have to admit, though, overall it was a very nice time. I put myself out there, kept myself from getting too involved with my feelings, with anyone outside of the kids. I kept it light. They were no longer my people. It was a party and I know how to do, how to work, parties. I kept the wine moving along, helped with dishes, made conversation. I have that part of life down pat.
But then, this is where you fit in. I shared you with the room that day, unbeknownst to anyone but me. I brought along a stack of music to the house, some country, a bit of light jazz, a Cajun compilation, but before dinner was served, while the wine was being uncorked and consumed, while the hearts and minds warmed up before supper I put on Norah Jones. Come Away With Me. The room suddenly became warmer, more congenial, more upbeat, happy. The sounds of jazz piano soared above our heads and added a certain sense of class to the event. I stood off for a moment, thinking, yes, M, you gifted me with that album and now I am sharing it with everyone. Hearing those familiar chords, that thrilling voice, I was filled with the just baked warmth of our friendship, with that joy,that light, you would always bring into a room just by being there. By putting on Ms Jones that afternoon I pretty much introduced you to the family, shared that light and happy glow I always get these days whenever I think of you.
Thanks for coming along, M, for sharing in the joy and happiness of my daughter's big day.
Your WHMB
