Everyday, watching my son dive under white capped, rising, churning waves, the brunt of the crash passing over, I am reminded that we can flow in all kinds of conditions.
Always, there is a path of least resistance. It is our choice to take it or not.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Already, I am tuned in strongly to all I have to be thankful for. Externally, this is obvious. Daily magenta sunsets, baby turtles flapping their way to the sea, whales blowing a powerful hello, 75 cent pork rib tamales, with potatoes and carrots, steaming in the own juices. Warmth… I have a beautiful lot to be grateful for.
~ You are full of grace ~
Though this year, what lies internal receives my greater focus, my greatest thanks. My keen self awareness is host of my party this year.
We have not been invited to any Thanksgiving gatherings. I feel us still carving out our place and relationships here. As well, our foundation of American culture within our little, slightly complex, non-coupled, co-habitating family is less than united. An American, a Frenchy, a bright young sun, newly living together in Mexico.
Who knows what the day will bring. Always, looking out to see/sea, I am comforted by the expanse, my sense of opportunity.
Last year, opportunity did not seem to be knocking and so, I invited her to invite. I posted on FB that our family was seeking a Thanksgiving connection. I was slightly shy to do so, but in other ways it felt good. Of course, I received a lot of love. It was cool. We were welcomed by a neighbor-friend to a cozy, delicious gathering with folks we otherwise might not share time with. Our hearts and community expand asking, receiving, giving thanks.
They were not sorry for having us either, “Seven” is a great conversationalist, and I brought these…
The apple tart was requested by “Frenchy”, asking that I please keep it simple. I did. Though I added pear, I used no cinnamon, nor lemon zest. It was tricky to curb my inclinations, but it felt good to get outside of my view. Give even more less a try. It was, of course, fabulous! Great butter crust, thin bed of homemade apple sauce, layers of thinly sliced Cortland and Empire apples, red pear. For shine, I brushed the top with warmed seedless raspberry jam.
Ah, and then the Foccacia Pugliese, from my Nonna to my Papa to me. Yeast, salt, potatoes (cooked and milled), flour, water, olive oil, tomatoes, garlic, rosemary, salt, salt, olive oil, olive oil, salt. Ha!
Who knows, who knows, the waves they come, the waves they go… Today may be flat, tomorrow raging. Let us dive, grab a line, hold hands, float alone…
Keeping simple. Fluid. Awake.
Keeping holy and slow…
Buen Provecho, Grateful Ones. Buen Dia de Grace.