Sunday Stories: Don't Push the River

A quick hello from not-Laguna Beach and not-Ireland, but where the Universe led us, where the aspens are yellow and the wee maples have turned scarlet red, to celebrate 25 years of marriage.

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Greetings from Lake Not-Wobegon…

Maury and Stritchie and I just arrived at a lake in the mountains of SoCal where we are spending our 25th wedding anniversary this week. It’s not what we had planned, but if we’ve learned one lesson in these plague years it’s that plans are laughable and when we follow the Universe’s leading, we wind up in a much better place/time/experience than we could have orchestrated ourselves.

So, here we are about two hours from and 8,000 feet higher than home, in the autumn cool of the mountains, with a huge hearth, an uninterrupted lake view, waterfowl aplenty, and so very many antler chandeliers. It is placid and we are contented.

Here’s a picture of the front yard:

Tomorrow, we will fish and hike and sit by the fire and read and write and play Scrabble and cribbage and make cozy meals and remember the last quarter century of married life together and give the deepest, greatest, most joyous of thanks.

The fire is crackling. I’m about to make lobster marinara for late dinner. And Bruce Cockburn is serenading us from the music robot surround system.

SUNDAY NIGHT SOUNDTRACK:

Circles in the Stream, dear Bruce’s 1977 live double-album.

ALL THE DIAMONDS by Bruce Cockburn

All the diamonds in this world
That mean anything to me
Are conjured up by wind and sunlight
Sparkling on the sea

I ran aground in a harbour town
Lost the taste for being free
Thank God He sent some gull-chased ship
To carry me to sea

Two thousand years and half a world away
Dying trees still grow greener when you pray

Silver scales flash bright and fade
In reeds along the shore
Like a pearl in sea of liquid jade
His ship comes shining
Like a crystal swan in a sky of suns
His ship comes shining.


The author and her husband, Maurice Possley, October 18, 1997.

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