Samhain                                                     Thanksgiving Moon

May the Thanksgiving Moon shine over me and my gal.  She’s set out on Federal Highways, Interstatials to Denver, the back of the truck packed like Santa’s sleigh, only in this case it would be Tevya’s wagon with dreidels decorating its wooden sides.  As always, I travel with her as she stays home with me, our lives entwined, sometimes entangled.  This sounds bad in a psychobabble way, I know, but it shows merely and oh so much the degree to which we have become partners, not dependent on each other, no, but relying  on each other.  Love.  What it is.

As she drives south in Minnesota, then into Iowa, heading right at Des Moines and left at the moon, across the bridge across the wide Missouri and the often shallow Platte outside of Omaha, past the home of the Cornhuskers in Lincoln and under the silly arch for the pioneers somewhere near Kearney, she carries us along.  We are now the older generation, the ones closest to the final passage.  We are Grandma and Grandpop, bearing responsibility for our family as we both wish our families had done for us.

I’m thankful for classical music and seasonal subscriptions.  If the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra had been locked out, we never would have met.  Strange.  How many couples will go undiscovered with the pitiful display the Minnesota Orchestra has put on these last few months?

So much in our lives happens by chance.  No intentionality behind it.  Life shows up and we either greet it or miss it, that’s the way it is.  Opening ourselves to the fates, who weave our lives on some misty mountaintop somewhere, makes this the adventure of a lifetime.