Truth be told, I was feeling as blue as these ephemeral poppies when I realized that Steve and I hadn't gone to the trouble of getting each other presents for our anniversary this year; had a wee meltdown accordingly. However, the following weekend brought (thanks to Mom) another opportunity to go out for the evening sans enfant, and we decided to attend a charity event on Saturday night at Bowen Island Community School: a dance and silent auction to benefit a local woman, Rhona, who'd been the custodian there for many years and is now battling breast cancer. Those of you who attended our wedding many long years ago in Ontario will recall that our reception was held in the gymnasium of the community school on Amherst Island, and I felt as if I had stepped through a time warp as we entered the school gym on Bowen. The local band (get this) was even playing some of the same numbers as were performed at our party; no surprise, really, since we were about the same vintage as--or younger than--most of the people at the Bowen event.
One of the wonderful aspects of this dance was seeing all the grey-haired, long-haired ex-and-current hippies, dressed in their glad rags, swinging and swaying and laughing together.
Steve said, admiringly, "I guess on Bowen, the older you get, the crazier you get!"
"Bring it on!" I said, "I want to grow old here, if anywhere!"
Add to this the sensation of walking into a room where you immediately drift over to chat with friends: feeling part of a community, getting together for a good reason, celebrating life in context. And at the silent auction, we bid on (and won) a beautiful, locally crafted blue ceramic dish that we agreed would be our 19th anniversary gift to each other.
I've been thinking a lot in the past while (in light of personal and professional stuff going on around me) about people's decisions to quit and move on, versus staying and making it work. Staying and making it work is, sometimes, impossibly hard work. Maybe even crazy. Maybe I just lack the kind of courage it takes to go in a different direction. And yet I've come to believe that happiness is no less elusive for those who pursue it at the cost of others'--and that happiness is no less attainable for those who stick it out and work it out, for a good time and a long time.
As the band launched into its final number of the evening for Rhona, "We're Here for a Good Time, Not a Long Time," I couldn't stop the tears, though I brushed them away quickly, out on the dance floor--but this time the emotion was pure joy.
