☆ A Thanksgiving lesson
A forest walk at twilight. Amber storefront lights. A rare find in a curio shop. Piano keys. Peter Coe Verbica muses on navigating what is lost, what is found, as we kick off our Holiday Season. An Opp Now exclusive.
You’re appreciated. That’s the long and the short of it. That’s the purpose of this message and what I’m trying to communicate.
For whatever reason, the holiday season can stir up the blues. Measuring up. Missed loved ones. Workload. Civilization itself transmogrifying into something entirely unfamiliar. Slide guitarists have a cure for such malaise. They take tough moments and chew on them like a Kentucky cheroot. Being musically challenged, I turn to words. Try and talk them out of the trees as if they were robins.
We just had our piano tuned and I suppose during the holidays humans can use some tuning, too. All of us have our strategies. We may slow our breathing. Take a walk. Ride a bicycle down to a pond’s edge. Sit alone in a chapel or temple. Read a Victorian mystery. Open a sketchbook. During these interstitial moments contentment returns to us like an old friend. Whispers in our ear, “Be happy with where your feet are on this planet. This space-time continuum.” Some call it Zen. Others simply label it common sense acceptance.
I had an episode recently which reset my perspective. Winter days shorten as the earth tilts away from sunlight. Days darken quickly. My wife and I usually walk in the woods, but one evening, we found ourselves in town, standing like marionettes in front of a small shop. We stepped into the store to enjoy the warm refuge of its amber light. While inside, we inspected a collection of curios, examined ornate gates stacked against the walls, and enjoyed the vintage watercolors.
Dodging a porcelain garden seat, I came upon a table topped with Chinese boxes. Each of the containers featured a hand-painted tile with a vignette: A woman holding a candle. Children running down a set of stairs. An old man with a lantern. Chrysanthemums in bloom.
The owner explained that the boxes were made from tiles broken during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. What would possess a society to destroy such treasures, I wondered. I bought a box for each of my four daughters. Not just for the beauty, but also for the lesson.
Follow Opportunity Now on Twitter @svopportunity
Opp Now enthusiastically welcomes smart, thoughtful, fair-minded, well-written comments from our readers. But be advised: we have zero interest in posting rants, ad hominems, poorly-argued screeds, transparently partisan yack, or the hateful name-calling often seen on other local websites. So if you've got a great idea that will add to the conversation, please send it in. If you're trolling or shilling for a candidate or initiative, forget it.