I attempted to explain to my kids the other day that no matter how old you are, you still feel young inside. Whether you're in your thirties or your eighties, you probably still feel like a teenager. At least I do. I often feel like I'm playing house. I look around me, with David Byrne singing in my brain, "This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife." How exactly did I get here?
I remember a dozen years ago, I was out on a date with George. We were driving to Dairy Queen to get a butterscotch dipped cone. He shared a vision with me - he imagined us living in a small house, here in the town where we now live; it was the weekend, he was mowing the lawn, and I came out when he was done with a pot of coffee. We sat at a little table on the porch and drank coffee together. I could almost smell the fresh cut grass as he shared a vision with me that I wanted to share with him.
In our years together we've lived out different variations of his vision. Just this past weekend, while he was pruning the three small pomegranate trees we recently planted, I sat out in the garden, drinking a cup of coffee, watching him work. I didn't bring him a cup; he was already drinking a bottle of pumpkin ale he brewed last month. I felt at that moment that I knew exactly how I got here, that this is my beautiful life and he is my beautiful husband, and that we are living the life we were meant to live together.
I made this little wreath with the clippings from the pomegranate trees, and hung it on the wall in my kitchen.
Even though I feel like I'm still 14 or 15, my husband's family thinks I'm old enough and responsible enough to host Thanksgiving dinner for 16 people. I've been doing it for a few years now, so I think I can pull it off. The refrigerator is stuffed with food, lists have been made, there's furniture to move, linens to press and toilets to scrub. I'm all set to play house and hostess.
Happy Thanksgiving friends! May your cup runneth over with coffee and your belly and turkey be equally stuffed in the days to come.
Posted by Molly at 5:33 PM