Creek PartyPosted: July 19, 2008
This morning I picked up my writing for the first time — my essay titled “Sisters.” It was supposed to be critiqued by my writing group July 1, but instead of meeting at 6:00 in the cafe at Barnes and Noble that Tuesday evening, we were all at Williamson Memorial Gardens for my husband’s service.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to write again. But my husband was my biggest fan, and he’d want me to keep on. Besides, I’ve lost a big part of my identity, and I don’t want to lose my writing side. I need to pick it up, move forward with it. And besides, this blog is supposed to be about writing.
I never dreamed I would be at this point of my life in my 50’s, but here I am. Now.
Yesterday, I saw something I’ve never seen before — someone else marking her 50’s in a different way.
Yesterday, Currie, Colleen, Susie, and I spent the afternoon in Leiper’s Fork, an upscale artistic community a few miles southwest of Franklin. We ate lunch at The Back Porch, and we all had homemade cake for dessert. Then we visited antique shops and spent some time in a gallery and bookstore with a collection of old books, and a few new ones. We talked to the owner about having a booksigning there. Then the owner, Annie, told us about a party she was going to that evening — a Creek Party. Someone was having the big 5-0 birthday party, and they were giving it in the creek behind the house across the street.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll show you.” She took us over there where they were setting up, and we stood on the deck at the back of the house and looked down through the trees at the creek. In the middle of the brown water was a long table covered with a white tablecloth hanging down in the water, candelabra sitting on top. There were chairs and small tables and other pieces of furniture in the middle of the creek. “Sometimes they’ll put a bed out in the water,” Annie said, “and people will lie on it.” All the guests would wade in the creek to get refreshments, sit in the water, recline on floats, sit on the bank. There were candles in the trees, and I could imagine the flickering lights reflecting in the rippling water under a full moon on a summer night.
It hit me that life goes on, like the flowing creek. We stand in it and drink of it, celebrate it, linger a while and let it flow around us, but even while we stand still, it keeps on moving. And that big moon keeps on doing what it has always done, regardless.