trading thursday for saturday. and turkey for fish.

thanksgiving is my favorite, you know?

i'm not entirely sure why. maybe because it's so known. it's always the fourth thursday. it's always a half-week event. maybe because it feels like the beginning--because it ushers in, invites a season of such joy. 

i'm pretty sure it has something to do with the feel of the air, the holiday's hallmark colors, the falling leaves. the lack of expectations or demand of gifts. it is a holiday predicated on giving thanks. on taking the time to sit down, to dinner, as a family. it demands a dressing up of the dining room table and departure from the usual. 

the holiday is a trumpet calling us in from the fields to eat.

the funny thing is my love for it has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the experience (yes, yes, which the food is a part, of course). but i don't eat turkey (i'm a vegetarian) and even when i did, i didn't care for it. mashed potatoes don't really do it for me, nor does stuffing. but a good acorn squash? heaven help me.

this year i had to work the majority of the day. it was less than ideal but bearable. my parents came over in the morning to my clean apartment and we watched the parade while eating clementines, banana bread, and drinking our respective morning drinks (tea vs. coffee).

my real holiday happened saturday. my parents and i went to the theatre, took in Other Desert Cities-- such a beautiful, arresting play--the very finest of what theatre has to offer (the writing is so damn fine that i've seen it twice). we then sought out one of our very favorite haunts, One if by Land. there we saddled up to the bar and let the live melodies of the piano wash over us. and in a moment of throwing caution to the wind we threw out our original dinner plans to remain there. to sit at a beautifully set table, fresh flowers everywhere, and eat our way through the four-course menu.

people come to new york to see midtown. radio city and times square. the lights, the endless lights. they want to take a carriage ride in central park and see the tree. and i don't blame them for this. i understand the impulse. but i would argue that it is a relatively recent development in new york. i know, i know, it goes back to the fifties and beyond, but this is a city of such history. boston gets all the historical glory, but new york holds its own (just rent Gangs of New York to know the veracity of that--also because Daniel Day Lewis is a genius). 

this is all to say...give me the old new york. the fringe new york. the underground new york. with it's exposed brick and lit candles. it's easy to love a new york that's all glitz and bright lights, but it's so obvious. i want the underbelly, the hidden pockets, the tucked-away-corners.

(One if by Land is in Aaron Burr's old carriage house) and it is everything i love about this city. it may have made for a less than traditional thanksgiving and i certainly missed gathering around the table with so much of my family in colorado, but it was so special, nonetheless.

thanks-giving, indeed. for this, i give thanks.

it happened two days ago. the day before thanksgiving. a preparatory miracle, for the holiday.

i awoke and i knew. immediately, i knew. before my swollen feet had even hit the cool, creaking floor, i knew. it had passed, lifted, moved on.

or perhaps it had simply moved through.

this bout of blue was done.

it sounds so naive, doesn't it? so simple? you wake one day and it's no more. but that's how it was. that's how it is.

an energetic shift, a tilt. like moving your weight from your heels to the balls of your feet.

what struck me this go round--in the immediacy of the lifting fog--was the absence of fear that colored the last three months. that was the difference.

i awoke without fear. the kind that presses in on your chest, makes breathing difficult--a low grade panic you learn to deal with, resign yourself to.

but upon waking two mornings ago, i felt fearless, unafraid, filled by such faith. faith that all will work itself out. that i will find meaning, find purpose, fulfill a calling, be filled with such love as is written and talked about and dreamt of.

and in the presence of such faith, the other things fade. it's not that they disappear or have no place, but the focus shifts and they recede, find their proper place. it is the turn of the lens and the subsequent clarity.

order restored.

and the return of words. suddenly the delicious, glorious onslaught of words! welcome back, old friends. welcome home. 


i can't tell you for sure what caused the shift. whether it was the fresh flowers i bought this week, or the new haircut. i don't know if it was the popcorn and small glass of white wine i had the night before last at one in the morning after returning home from work.

maybe it was the moment a month ago when i literally felt God unfurl himself within my chest. great flaps of wings spanning the width of my shoulders.

the week in texas helped, i'm sure. walks on the bayou. walking, moving, energizing the body.

maybe it was the necklace that's meant to symbolize open-heartedness that sits flush against my chest. or the men's gingham shirt that i got from the gap and makes me feel sexy in a way few dresses ever have.

maybe it was the consistent and constant love of those who so kindly support me.

i don't know which of the small things did it, which of any of the things i've done day after day over the last three months caused the shift. perhaps it was the accumulation of all of them.

it's alchemy. magic. or just a moving through.

the trick is not forcing the shift. it's preparing for it. being ready so that you can catch it as it rushes past you. and then holding on as it takes off. a willingness to go along for the ride.

does any of this make sense?

hmm. maybe it doesn't need to. maybe some things are best left in that realm of half-sense, half-absolute-miracle.

the red dress.

did i ever tell you that i blame a red dress for the fact that i am so darn tall?

because i do.

and i blame charlize theron.

more specifically, i blame charlize theron in that red dress.

you know the one i'm talking about. you must.

hmmm. okay, yes, i see your point. now that i look at it i realize it's not exactly red (the footnote says bronze). but you get the point. 

i mean, come on, is she not heaven in that dress?

this spawned a certain love affair with ms. theron, such that, i took to googling. and what i remember is that i was particularly taken with her height. 

five feet, ten inches. 

glorious! huzzah! yes, i would be that height as well then. i was old enough to know that the chances were pretty good that i would be tall, so might as well really be. 

so i took a sharpie, pulled out a tape measure, and charted out the distance on the frame leading into my bathroom. 

growing up i would stand there. against the molding, mark how tall i was, how much progress i had made, and how far i had yet to go. 

and when all was said and done and all the proverbial cookies had crumbled (puberty and growth spurts and the joys of teenage-hood) don't know you, i stood right up against the frame, put my hand atop my head, stepped away to look where it had landed and...BLAM. 5 foot 10. 

some things are willed into existence. of this i'm almost nearly, just pretty sure, nursing a strong inkling that yes, indeed, that is true. 

the funny thing is. i'd give a few of those inches back. because this is what i know now: men are short. particularly those in drama school. particularly on the east coast. and the thing is i'm like anyone else: i wanna wear heals! i want to feel small and demure and lithe next to my beau! 

then again, this too is true: it's great for concerts, and...

oh, gosh, that's all i've got so far, it's great for concerts. 

i've been working on it though. of late. i've been working on pulling my shoulders back, unfurling the full width of my chest, holding my neck high. because for better or worse it's not just ms. theron's story, it's mine. and when i'm surrounded by family, and the tall women we boast, i know it's part history, part heritage, part love-story.

but do send your really tall guy friends my way, won't you?

life slice #5.

lying there, wide awake as he slept, she angled herself close, put her nose right up under his mouth. and there she remained, all night, fed by the sweet breath that sleep slipped out.

i believe...

in stemless wine glasses. in the feel of the bowl in my palm. i believe in white wine. sauvignon blanc, of the new zealand persuasion, imbibed barefoot in the kitchen--vegetables roasting in the oven.

i believe in men who can wear a sweaters. in over-sized oxfords and penny loafers. that cauliflower is the most interesting and versatile vegetable out there. that truffle oil pairs nicely with almost anything worth having (popcorn).

i believe in laughter and big, rolling tears--the need for both, the importance of of both, the beauty of both.

i believe all things aspire to music.

i am learning that a lease hardly ends the moment you are ready to leave. and so a shuffle-step ensues. of learning to live around those things that elicit frustration and unease. and that sometimes an expansive room and a jaw-dropping view are not enough to tether one to a place.

i believe in buoyancy. in the calm that comes from dusting. or reading. or long, hot baths. that we've all failed. and we're all flawed. and that happiness must be found on one's own. separate of anything or anyone else. because everything ends, eventually, everything ends. and most things, given enough time, enough space, enough heaven-sent perspective reveal themselves as blessings.

i believe that no gift is greater than that of sitting in silence and listening. really listening. and that we get to choose our friends. and as we grow and get older, discernment is vital.

i believe in peanut butter. an on an intellectual-level i believe in peanut butter in moderation. but on an experiential level i only believe in peanut butter in moderation when it's already too late.

i believe in the attempt. in the leap. and that things happen the very moment you think they never will--the very moment you give into that, accept that, make peace with that (easier said than done).

i believe in the return. in coming back. in coming home, wherever home may be.


image.