A deep breath

I've been wanting to add to my blog, but didn't know where to start writing at first. There's the obvious: the awesome weekend I spent with Trevor, Andy, Lulu and Alyssa. The latter three watched me play saxophone at Jilly Beans Coffee House in Hillsdale where for an hour I tried to translate my thoughts into music as I watched Alyssa translate hers into writing. Andy and Lulu had less chance of losing anything to translation, since they simply let their thoughts be thoughts.

Then we went to my mom's house and prayed together before eating together and sharing all of our thoughts in the form of meaningful, funny, and sincere conversation together. We taught my mom how to play "Settlers of Catan" and smiled when her naive strategy of building primarily on "3's" paid off as threes were rolled on almost every turn.

Trevor arrived, more conversation occurred, and one am crept up amidst our stories and laughter. Most everyone was ready for bed, but Alyssa said she was ready for exploring the town on foot. I thought she was joking, but when I realized that she was actually being that ridiculous, I decided that I would be that ridiculous as well. Such everyday ridiculousness is not something I have partaken in enough of lately, and our explorations reminded me of why that needs to change. A single degree stubbornly declared its presence from the bank's display board as we sauntered down the middle of windswept and deserted streets. Our conversation was like our breath in the cold air, exhaled into the night to drift, disperse, dissolve, disappear, and be recycled invisibly in the dark, once again to be breathed in and out -- so natural we hardly think about it, so cosmic we hardly can.

But you know what I'm talking about. At least I hope so. If not, go find out. Find your roommate, your best friend, your new friend, your spouse, your parents, your neighbor. Go do something one or both of you has never done; look at the world, and each other, from a new perspective. Talk about something you never talk about, ask questions, let your conversation be like breath on a cold night, a testament to life; when it drifts and disappears have faith that it will return, let it be natural yet mysterious, sometimes scary but often beautiful.

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The following day the group of us out for a while longer at my mom's; we joked and prayed and ate together again, then went out to my dad's. We put on skis and took the dog, Zorro, out with us. Some classic winter scenes ensued: crashing on hills, climbing on hay bales, laughing and taking pictures. Once everyone was good and cold we trudged back to my dad's double-wide rental trailer. Cheap trim clung precariously to the walls and stains accented the carpet. An ancient military-issue down sleeping bag was hung as insulation at the end of a hallway, obscuring the entryway to half of the house. So we gathered into the remaining area, sitting on mismatched furniture or slouching against the walls. This was the first time Andy had hung out with Lulu and Alyssa and the first time my dad had met any of those three. Yet the run-down rental felt like a home and the hastily formed group felt like family. My dad (Papa) pulled chocolate soy milk from amidst the modest contents of his fridge and heated it over the open flame of a gas stove. We listened to an eclectic selection of music and leafed through a book of Albert Bierstadt's incredible western art as my dad chopped a simple mix of veggies and spices into a frying pan. Given the meager supply of dishes, we put the meal on a single plate on top of a stack of books and sat in a circle on the ground. Again we prayed together and ate together, and the fanciest restaurants I've eaten at never cooked up anything as good as that stir-fry. For dessert we sampled handfuls of Ghirardelli's chocolate chips.

The evening continued and I loved how new friendships played out in a way that was so cordial, yet casual, comfortable, close. The conversation once again meandered naturally, inclusively, fluid enough to take the shape of each personality while retaining its original substance.

But you know all about that, I hope. Hence the conundrum concerning blogging about the weekend. Everything that is good when written or read or viewed is even better when lived. The details, the specifics, the topics of conversation of the weekend, were hardly important. They could have taken place in a thousand right ways. The thing that I suppose is worth mentioning is that we got out there into the unknown of new people and places and experiences and allowed things to happen in just one of those right ways. This entry is not an accurate account so much as a reminder -- a reminder to me that this is the stuff of life I find worth inhaling deeper than oxygen -- and if you agree, a reminder to us both to keep breathing deeply!