|From the blog "pineapple pieces"|
There was food and drink and conversation. There was a lemon tart for Joe and an apple pie, wrapped carefully in foil, for Jaime to carry back home. There was the satisfaction of feeding others and the quiet task of cleaning up after the last guest sailed out the door.
Monday following the concert felt hollowed out from the noise and the laughter and the music and the excitement and the crowds. Warren commented that we both needed an evening off. He had pushed long and hard on this concert project. I had my own full slate of tasks, some of them intertwined with his.
We were both tired, tired, tired.
There were leftovers in the refrigerator. Warren had shifted the percussion room around for the party and could now reach the fireplace. He built a fire - our first of the season - while I pulled together plates of food. And then we spent the entire evening camped out in front of the fire.
An evening of reading. of fire, of dessert, of quiet. An evening of restoration. I was cold, exhausted, loved, and cared for, all at the same time.
Warren read. I read. Occasionally I would look up from my book and stare into the flames. We both munched on almond biscotti.
As the fire died down, I moved closer and closer to the hearth. By evening's end, I had my feet on the hearth, close to the fire. I poked the embers and watched small flames flare up, then subside. Finally there was only one cold blue flame deep in the heart of an ember, struggling before finally dying out.
It had been a successful week, a brilliant concert, and a happy celebration of food and friends afterwards. It had filled me up and drained me at the same time.
Monday night held the crackle of the fire, and the hush of turned pages. There was quiet and renewal. There was companionship and understanding.
And there was love.