THE RHYTHM OF CELEBRATION
27thJuly, 2020
I write the date and it looks like it should mean something; an anniversary, surely, of something worth remembering. But no; it’s just another day in this year of our pandemic; a date without resonance or rhythm. But then I think, oh, but that’s just me… for many people it is a birthday, or the day they were bat mitzvah-ed ten years ago, or a 40th wedding anniversary or the day they graduated high school last year or 20 years ago; the day a house was bought, a citizenship acquired, an award given or that Phd., finally completed.
Since March 2020, the days have come and gone like autumn leaves torn from branches and scattered by the cold winds of winter. And I wonder if the absence of celebration from our lives is part of what is contributing to our lethargy, our sense of “why bother.” Celebration is such a large part of what gives meaning to life. It is the change of tempo that underscores the rhythm of our endeavours. Yet like so much of the last 20 years, celebration became outsized and overstuffed. The simple, yet joyous, candlelit cake and ice cream, games of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and hunt the thimble, which brought indescribable joy to the children of my generation, gradually became influenced by media and celebrity. Bobbing for an apple became laughably embarrassing compared to a roller rink party, which quickly became passé with the advent of safari paintball parties for the boys and mani-pedi-spa parties for the girls, and so on, until we finally arrived at the ludicrous tent parties where every kid has their own luxury, themed tent to sleep in…indoors!
Could someone please tell me why any parent who can afford a $100,000 party for their kid’s second birthday shouldn’t have to donate an equal amount toward the eradication of child poverty? I know, I know; in a perfect world…
Well, we’re all certainly aware now of how imperfect our world is and we along with it. And yet we must continue to celebrate the small things and get back to celebrating in small ways.
Last Friday we celebrated our friend Luana’s birthday with a simple dinner for four; Luana and her husband, Gianni, plus Joel and I. It was a perfect Tuscan evening; an occasional breeze, golden light, the table set with an old linen cloth strewn with petals picked from their garden. Dinner was a simple meal of shaved zucchini dressed in pesto, caramalised baby onions, beef carpaccio in a delicate bolognese sauce and for dessert a chocolate almond cake from a local patisserie with dollops of coffee ice cream from the village gelateria. We’ve been friends for 25 years, weathering hard times and celebrating the good, so the evening was laced with memories and laughter as we watched the sunset illuminate the landscape from within, the hills glowing with a gold so vibrant it seemed to pulse. As the light faded, Gianni lit candles in the glass jars he’d hung from the branches of the surrounding olive trees.
Yes, we switched the numbers on the cake...a little wishful thinking
I wonder how many of us have been forced to cut our expectations down to size and in so doing have rediscovered the gift of intimacy?
Joel and I were fortunate to have spent last week with dear friends and their 18-month old son with whom I am deeply in love. As a result, I got to celebrate small things through his eyes: the passing of a stone back and forth, swinging together, walking round and round the outside of the house, marveling at a line of ants, giggling every time a step was encountered, and watching him climb onto every chair as if each were a throne.
One late afternoon, we drove to the Maremma where a horse-drawn carriage was waiting for us. What joy to watch the little boy’s face as he looked in amazement at the two big “clip-clops.” So much more impressive compared to his little plastic one. The husband and wife owners rode us through the ancient national park, a journey of some 45 minutes that took us through wild flora and prehistoric rocks and grottos, all of which managed to be both eerily still and bristling with energy.
We came out to an isolated beach where we all bathed and the little fellow discovered the thrill of gentle waves greeting his feet. Then we sat down to dinner composed of ingredients from the carriage owners’ land, all the while watching the sun set over the sea. We sat in silence on the ride back through the wild land, watching the sky first turn gold through the silhouetted trees and then a deep throbbing red that seemed to last an eternity, all the while listening to the horses’ hooves as the carriage rocked us. It was the rhythm of a lullaby. It was the rhythm of life at the right pace; slow, measured, yet timeless.
Like all good things it came to an end, but the rhythm didn’t. It thrummed deep in us even as we drove home in that ruinous vehicle we call a car.
Of course, we can’t go back to living in the distant past, but neither can we go back to the recent past. Yet in this strange twilight perhaps we can rediscover some of the good stuff we’ve lost. Along with all the heartache, hardship, loss, anxiety and uncertainty, this is a time to reconsider what is really important to us; what really gives us deep satisfaction and lasting memories. Is it the glitzy galas or the petal-strewn tablecloth and the rhythm of the clip-clop that lulls a small boy to sleep?
Stay safe and well.
I leave you with this poem by Wendell Berry, kindly sent to me by a reader.
The Peace of Wild Things - Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in meand I wake in the night at the least soundin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,I go and lie down where the wood drakerests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.I come into the peace of wild thingswho do not tax their lives with forethoughtof grief. I come into the presence of still water.And I feel above me the day-blind starswaiting with their light. For a timeI rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
With love,
Maggie
