January 07, 2010

We inhabit each other's lives.

This morning I set out to make a Daddy Sandwich in the off-to-school clattering of the morning. As we were discussing the choice between this and turkey, I heard this voice, "Whose daddy likes that? Our dad doesn't eat peanut butter." I had one of those deep diving moments of gratitude when I realized that this daddy is my friend Krissy's daddy who has been gone for fifteen years. And who I never knew. But because of Kris and her big, juicy family and her cool husband, with his own version of the Daddy Sandwich, I know this sandwich as if they were from my own address. (My father loved many a tasty bite, but my sandwich memories of him revolve around braunschweiger and I just can't walk that road.)

My thoughts then, drift to the adoptions of our friends and friendships and their moves and manner. My son almost always touches on revere when he eats a peanut butter and honey sandwich like the first our friend Seth made for him when he was four. It became our confidence. I heard over and over as I prepared lunch, "Is this like the one Seth maked for me?" My own culinary arts certification and practices became irrelevant in this venture, because it was in their home that the discovery of this perfection had been made.

I often find myself rearranging furniture to suit the mood during the gathering of friends because Jemma brought that freedom to recreate as we go, in my visits to her home. She also urged me to collect the heart shaped rocks I find on the beach. I don't know where I picked up the thought to tuck a seashell into the garden pot to give company to the flower. But I light the candles near the garden's white flowers because Mary did that first. I use a very specific method of binder clips, rubber bands and sticky notes that keeps me in the presence of my friend Anna and her marvelous organization. Early, early morning is my quiet time, more of Krissy and perhaps a little of my Gommie, who I watched each day in study. And conversations often start with "Hi beautiful girl" because Aunt Nancy gave me that grace in each of our encounters.

We are creatures of relationship. And without trying to hard, I am grateful to see the inhabiting of my life.

1 comment:

Suzi said...

I love this style of writing. It GLOWS! It has an Alexandra Stoddard feel to it, but it's uniquely Vicki at the same time. The use of words and the word choice is simply gorgeous, no, luxurious. I just read the posts on Christmas baking. I start every baking session with such high hopes and end it exhausted. This rejuvenated my passion by putting meaning behind the action. It's not a chore, it's a labor of love for the act and for those who will enjoy the cookies. BEAUTIFUL!


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