This week has been a smashing of expectations with a dash of adventure, a modicum of thought, a zealous smattering of joy and friendship: the recipe of my days. I'm sipping mint tea and contemplating my lack of desired success in writing, resting, exploring the world, hiking, playing soccer, all replaced with intimate discussions with friends over dinner, a sharing of hearts, and the blessing of listening ears.
I dreamt, last night, of an airport visit. All my friends were there, even a few surprises from far off places, from locales beyond the oceans. I remember sitting there, realizing I hadn't slept in the airport for days, just waiting for everyone to arrive and celebrate, and all I wanted was ice cream. As I reclined in an uncomfortable position along several airport seats, my friends arrived, each one carrying different varieties of ice cream of all my favorite flavors. I was overjoyed, but claimed I could not blithely accept their kindness. No, I must serve them instead. So I leaped to my feet and began serving everyone ice cream, even those around who were not my friends, until the ice cream was all eaten, and none remained for me, and I smiled, though I still was hungry.
Then, a friend I've not seen for many moons brought me a slice of cake, and I joined in the celebration. I remember thinking that I could not eat the cake, however, for it would be insensitive before my gluten free friends. So I gave it to a hungry child waiting for his parents to come out of the bathroom. For some reason, I was in a giant kitchen, and not an airport, and I remember waking and thinking, "how crafty am I, sneaking that cake to that child so clandestinely."
Such was, I suppose, the nature of this week. Seeing people I've missed so dearly (for they've been busy in other states and places or just being married), discussing lives and the dreams that drive us, and praying for each other.
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