My favorite place is sitting on a chair that faces Hoover Reservoir. In the morning we sit and listen to “Pray as You Go” and I write in my journal. In the evening we often watch the sun go down. We are usually quiet - just looking at the scene in front of us.
I’ve learned sitting at Hoover is different every day.. The water itself changes almost moment by moment. Sometimes it is like a mirror, other times there are little waves or ripples, or it can look like stripes or even a checkerboard . Kayaks come and go, fishermen wave, an occasional paddle board or pontoon appears. The watercraft big and small stir the water and leave streaks and lines on the surface.
We see and hear the birds - the gulls, the ospreys, the ducks, the cormorons, the egrets, the herons. The eagles. They come and go and startle us with their grandeur or amuse us with their sounds or amaze us with an unmoving pose on a rock.
The sky overhead changes with the wind and the weather. Sometimes mottled grey, other times bright(sky?) blue, the clouds resembling fluffy cotton balls or ominous mist. The birds float and fly, dive and soar and I sit and watch and see it all.
I think to myself that this is life: We are interconnected and we affect one another. Like the wind affects the water, and the water affects the boats. And all of it affects me!
And nothing stays the same - nothing. I call to John to come see a bird and it is gone. The sunset is going to be glorious I think and ten minutes later it has dissipated. I take a picture but it can never capture the subtle colors or the varied textures found in nature. This is my refuge.
Last Sunday I was so happy to share it with my family. Following our celebration on Saturday, we sat in a semi circle facing the reservoir and each other. Geoff and Vicky, Wayne and Gail, Tom, Audrey, Dawn and Jason, and me and John. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon conversation - talking about kids and grandkids, our health and a little bit of politics. We ate watermelon and savored the blessedness of the weekend.
I brought out the blocks of wood that contain advice for us - the septegenarian and octogenarian newlyweds. Each person reads a couple and we build a tower together. We laugh at some advice, and nod wisely at other suggestions.
Yes separate bathrooms are good
So is letting Margot play pickleball whenever she wants
And we appreciate the admonitions to Moisturize and to not to get pregnant
Maybe the best ones are the simplest: Listen, breathe,. Cuddle, say “I love you every day..”
When we are all done we admire the building that has been constructed and then Audrey starts the game of Jenga. It is the perfect game for us.
As each person takes a turn, they remove a block and then carefully, carefully place it on the building. We want to get it as high as possible. We work together.
We want the game to go on as long as it can. We want the structure to grow.
I look at the faces of my beloved family watching each person gingerly removing a block - they are smiling and anxious and we are all rooting for them. It is as if we cannot breathe for a moment as our creation moves precariously in the wind.
We go through one round and everyone gets to play. Then we start into round two. It becomes clear that it is harder and harder to find available blocks to remove. Eventually my brother removes a block but every time he goes to place it, the whole thing wobbles. His wife joins him and they try to hold it together but of course, it falls apart. There is much laughter followed by everyone literally picking up the pieces.
These are my people and this is my new home. We have found a respite this afternoon together savoring the blessing of a summer afternoon and each other. We each have lived through and carry the struggles of life within us - a failing business, cancer, family estrangements, broken relationships, financial troubles, addicted children.
And like the scene before us we know that we are interconnected and our lives will always affect each other. We will support and encourage each other knowing that nothing will stay the same. We are a family.
