I think we all have those memories that we fight to hold close to our heart in the hope that the recall will bring back a joy or peace. I do not think that many of us have the ability to recognize it in the moment and let it happen anyway. Trying to condense that experience into a 'good story' also looses so much in translation but I'm going to try and explain the feeling second to the act.
We made lunch and the food was good but the company was better. The conversation seasons the food with something that makes digestion better. Talking, laughing, working through the latest issue of bullshit and crisis.
Finding ourselves board with nothing we transplant ourselves to the store for some necessary items. Stuff to get before the week pushes us to a place too busy to be bothered with real needs. It's cold and the chatting warms me from the inside out but ever watchful of the dreaded black ice. In case you didn't know- black ice is the most deadly of all the species of ice.
One necessary trip turns into an unnecessary one- we're going north to the Home Goods Mecca, we're going to Ike@. One never knows when the need for 6 steak knives ($3) or 125ct box of tea lights ($1) will be needed.
While I pride myself on downsizing and curbing my impulse buys, I bought a good time in a box! No, not that kinda 'good time,' we got projects! My beloved partner in crime says, "well, I'm getting one- it's only $10." Knowing she had me at "oh that's cute" we burden our already full arms with a candelabra. Doesn't everyone need one?!?
After a trip to the hardware store we found ourselves putting our projects together- giggling all the way! The quick bzzzz bzzzzz of the drill and the masterpiece is mounted from the ceiling with the greatest of ease. Proud and elated with the joy that it brought us in such a short amount of time- we travel on and push through the inclement threat of black ice to her house for the sequel. Drinking our wine and borrowed wine, high on the thrill of a project flawlessly executed. We giggled like school girls and found a good time at an entirely unexpected time.
In trying to translate this story to another friend over dinner, it looses something. It looses the fervor, the thrill of sharing a time with another. Singing our favorite song (at least 26 different times), dancing with our wine glasses, dressing in borrowed prom dresses so as to pay homage to the almighty new candelabra that lit my heart more than the room.
We were trapeze swingers- flying high as any savior.