Like the new movie, Australia (more on that later), I think our Thanksgiving had it all: fantastic company, plentiful food and drink, good conversation, relaxation, thankful hearts, and the space to know and appreciate those around us. Mom and Dad Daigle drove in from Connecticut and it provided a wonderful opportunity to share our Chicago lives with those closest to us. Isn't it interesting how out of town guests give you new eyes in which to view old and familiar surroundings? Suddenly, our apartment and neighborhood evolved from a place to live into a place to explore. We showed off our Lincoln Square favorites, visited the Field Museum and sampled some of Chicago's varied cuisine.
And, yes... we saw Australia.
The movie, like our Thanksgiving, really did have it all: action, adventure, romance, you laughed, you cried, you get the picture. (And you won't be disappointed.)
All in all, it was a time to indeed be grateful... for dear family, for God's provision, for our city's endless entertainment and for the chance to pause to give thanks. Many thanks to you, Mom and Dad, for your generosity, curiosity and graciousness in spending a Thanksgiving in Chicago. We are truly grateful.
Last Saturday evening we participated in our first annual Sausage Fest, that is, a collaborative effort with friends to crank out approximately 50 POUNDS of potatis korv (potato sausage). That's right, 50 pounds (although it's still a toss up as to whether there was more sausage or bad jokes). This extremely entertaining and messy endeavor was hosted by our dear friends, Barbara and Nathan, and not only did they sacrifice their time, energy and equipment to get everything prepared, but also... their kitchen. Sausage making is not for the faint of heart, nor for those who cringe at the sight of dribblings on their stove... or floor... or cabinets. Barbara and Nathan had split up the grocery list and we each brought our allotted ingredients, and after all was said and done, we all had more than several pounds of sausage to bring home. Last night, Andrew and I cooked up our first few links, accompanied by horseradish garlic mashed potatoes, and I realized that we had been initiated into a tradition much cherished by our Swedish friends. And it was delicious.
*Photos and statistics courtesy of Barbara and Nathan.
After being away for a week and a half, I almost feel like I'm returning to another world. Breaks are good. Andrew and I spent about a week in New Hampshire, and before that, I was in Phoenix for a work conference. Our little vacation proved to not only be a wonderful time reconnecting with family and friends, but it also allowed us some time with ourselves. To rest our minds. To relax. To visit with others. To be hundreds of miles away from work. To escape the demands of daily life. To read. To (try to) abstain from email and blogs and phone calls. Instead, we could just be with each other and our families in the most basic sense. Whenever I have a chance to do this, I get a little closer to identifying the kind of life I'd like to lead: one that is perhaps a little slower paced, that is defined primarily by real, human interaction, and one that leaves room for the unknown and unexpected. Communing with loved ones coupled with a little self-introspection: not a bad way to take a break.
Octoberby Robert Frost
O hushed October morning mild,Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,Should waste them all.The crows above the forest call;Tomorrow they may form and go.O hushed October morning mild,Begin the hours of this day slow.Make the day seem to us less brief.Hearts not averse to being beguiled,Beguile us in the way you know.Release one leaf at break of day;At noon release another leaf;One from our trees, one far away.Retard the sun with gentle mist;Enchant the land with amethyst.Slow, slow!For the grapes' sake, if they were all,Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--For the grapes' sake along the wall.
In these times of economic uncertainty, it is good to pause and give thanks. While there are times when we enact some creative financial strategies (read: "borrow" from our meager savings) to carry us through to the next paycheck, Andrew and I do not want for anything. If there is any reason we would like to make some more moola, it would be to become more generous stewards, to extend the reaches of our hospitality, always ready and equipped to help. But, of course, the lesson here is to be good stewards of what we already have. Ah yes... we are learning. In any case, this weekend was a reminder of provision, of the harvest. We are coming to a close of the CSA season with just a few weeks left of organic deliveries. I will miss the anticipation of discovering our bounty and the cooking possibilities that ensued. Pictured below is what we received yesterday: delicata squash, swiss chard, tomatoes, peppers, arugula, basil, sage and endive frisee. Pretty, huh?
Our weekend also brought us to All Season Orchard for apple picking in celebration of Alli's birthday. The amusing irony in this trip is we had to walk through the annual Lincoln Square Apple Festival outside our door to drive out to Woodstock, Illinois to pick our own fruit (not to mention the fact that I hail from Londonderry, NH, home to 5 apple orchards)! But, as I've said before, any chance to venture outside the city and breathe some fresh air is a welcomed event. And so, our weekend of plenty was increased by a 1/4 bushel of apples (Gala, Senshu and Cortland), and even more importantly, by good friends, generosity, laughter... and juggling.
Over Labor Day weekend, we opted for one of those newly touted "staycations" and paid a visit to Milwaukee and then to St. Joseph, Michigan. We had been to neither and it proved to be just right for making the most of our long weekend. Our first stop in Milwaukee was the Miller Brewery, which, other than the free beer, left much to be desired. Actually, it was pretty embarrassing compared to other brewery tours I've experienced. I'm chalking it up to an "off day". In any case, at least Andrew got some good photos.
Michigan was our final hurrah of summer. Beaches. Sunburns. Swimming. Reading. Picnics. Perfect.
We bid Summer adieu, and while I will miss the long, warm days, Fall is my season and I beckon it with anticipation. I recently read a reflection by someone who thought Fall should mark the New Year. I couldn't agree more. There is a newness in the crisp air... a chance to start over... again.
It would be wrong to say that we, in America, have no rites of passage, but I find it challenging to see our lives demarcated by dramatic, cultural, coming-of-age events like they once did, or like they do in other cultures. Sure, we have things like First Communion, marriage and the birth of one's first-born, but these are common to many cultures. They don't seem to be as culturally specific as Dokimasia, which was the process in Athens by which a citizen's eligibility to engage in public rights and duties was ascertained, or the ceremony of Poy Sang Long in Myanmar and Northern Thailand in which boys between 7 and 14 take novice monastic vows and participate in monastery life for a designated period of time.
But I think I've stumbled upon a specifically American rite of passage since I've been married, one I was not expecting: the ability to cook Thanksgiving turkey. Indeed, the first question posed to me after I explained that Thanksgiving would be at my home was "Are you making a turkey?". And then, inevitably, "Is this your first turkey?", as if to count it among the many important firsts in our lives: first words, first day of school, first home. Don't get me wrong--I'm not knocking it! I felt that to successfully prepare Thanksgiving turkey was to be successfully initiated into... something. I'm still not sure what that something is, other than now I know how to cook a turkey (hey, at least it's useful). And I think that's good enough for me.
We had a wonderful weekend with my parents and brother--a weekend of feasting, relaxing, napping, and being showered by my parents' tremendous generosity. I am so fortunate to have parents, both mine and Andrew's, who give us room to grow, to explore, to succeed, to make mistakes, to make our lives our own. With each rite of passage that comes our way, no matter how big or small, they gently encourage us, sometimes by holding on and sometimes by letting go. And on this Thanksgiving, I am truly thankful for them.
(Happy Birthday, Dad!)
I'm realizing that ever since I was 4 or 5 years old and started going to school, I've always associated fall with beginnings and newness--new school year, new friends, new sneakers, new pencil case, new schedules--a new season. Logically, I thought those associations would end once I finished school, but I'm finding the opposite to be true. Somehow, those 20-odd years of schooltime anticipations have worn a deep rut in my expectations for fall, as if I had written them on a chalkboard 100 times. There have been a number of mornings, on my way to work, that I have longed to be cracking a new textbook or trying desperately to remember my locker combination. Now it must be understood that I'm not wishing to be back in junior high, high school or even college. And if I try to look beyond the hazy glory of new sweaters and unmarked notebooks, I will remember that all of this excitement usually wore off by mid October, when we all couldn't wait for Thanksgiving break. But that's beside the point. What I am finding now is that I can't escape the energy of fall--that anticipation of new beginnings. I'm energized by the change in season, the newness of cooler weather, new colors. While I may not be immersing myself in another year of academic assignments, I am inspired to start projects, take on new responsibilities, learn a new hobby (yes, mandolin), commit to renewing myself and changing some attitudes.
I do love fall. And for some reason, I've always felt some kind of ownership of it, as if it were my season. Perhaps it's because my birthday is in September, or because I'm from New England, which, let's admit, has the corner market on fall colors. Or maybe it's because when I was younger, my mom had our personal "color palates" analyzed, and it was determined that I looked best in fall colors. And now, as we prepare to celebrate our first year of marriage this weekend, I am realizing how fitting it is for our anniversary to be couched in the energy of fall. What better time to commit to the celebration and renewal of our marriage... this year and every year to come. I hope we will always harness some of that fall inspiration to remember, reflect, and be grateful for the gift we have in each other.
We were given some great advice from my pastor, Dale, who married us. During our pre-marital counseling, he told us that for the first year of our marriage, we were "off the hook", so to speak. For that first year, he explained, we need not feel pressured to take on new responsibilities or commit to new endeavors. For that first year we were to just be--be with each other, learn about each other, and learn what it means to start living out our vows. Great advice indeed.
And I'm realizing that it may not just be the advent of fall that is infusing me with newness and energy, but that it may also be the product of a year of nurturing our infant marriage. A year of intentional thought and planning regarding who we want to be as a couple and what that may look like. A year of learning how to love and support the other as we each explore who we are individually in this relationship. It's been a year--a year of getting ready to go.
So now I'm feeling ready, and while I look forward to what Year Two will bring as we continue to find our footing, continue to grow and shape our marriage, and as we begin to put some plans into action (no, this does not mean children), I will not forget nor abandon the lessons of Year One. Because no matter how inspiring the back-to-school sales might be, there must always be time to just be, to allow God to breathe life into our souls, into our marriage.
Happy One.
