Easter Dinner
Footprints on the sands of time
Bless us O Lord, and these gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Our friend Preston lives in an apartment that used to be a church. I was here for the Super Bowl and St Patrick’s Day, and now I’m back for Easter dinner. The apartment is full of people not originally from New Hampshire. Preston is from Minnesota. I’m originally from Connecticut. Manuel is from Peru. Thea, Indiana. Nick and Meredith, Delaware. And Chris V from Texas.
Everyone brought a dish. I brought gourmet rice with sautéed onions, tarragon, Amish butter, and Baja Gold sea salt. Simple but it slaps. It pairs perfectly with Thea’s lamb dish. Nick and Meredith brought a roasted chicken, plus honey-glazed carrots. Chris V made a homemade tiramisu. “That’s the real reason I’m here,” I joke.
This friend group formed through the Catholic Church. I’ve spent the majority of my life as a hedonic secular techist worshiping at the altars of capital and thrills. I have a scar on my neck, and one on my hip to remind me.
Manuel says a prayer. “Thank you Lord for a beautiful Easter. Bless our friendship. And bless the people who are hungry for food, and hungry for you. Amen.”
The setting sun shines through the large westward windows.
We bring out Chris’s homemade tiramisu.
“The sweetness level is perfect,” I say. “What are the ingredients?”
“I don’t think I can give that away,” says Chris. “I want to maintain my friendships.”
I laugh and slap the table. “The cream is high quality.”
“Well, son—” he laughs, “Son is a Texas thing. That’s hand-whipped cream. Mixed with mascarpone. I make about a cup of coffee and soak Lady Fingers in it.”
“Lady fingers?” says Manuel, with his Peruvian accent.
“They’re little cookies,” says Meredith.
“Oh okay, I was worried for a second.”
The table erupts. The level of laughter makes me a year younger. Things are always funnier when people are laughing around you.
The sun has set. The candles keep us lit. Our faces look timeless. This is how it was for thousands of years, and this is our preference.
We talk about the upcoming solar eclipse. Chris is concerned about cloud cover. He tells us he’s been doing trips up north to view the stars and develop poetic intelligence.
“I’d like to read a poem if y’all don’t mind,” Chris says, “it’s a short one.”
He reads The World is Too Much With Us by William Wordsworth.
The name Wordsworth reminds me of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I heard a Longfellow poem shared at a church service two years earlier. I search Wadsworth in my phone notes and there’s the note from 2022 with the poem title: A Psalm of Life
I’d never miss an opportunity to read aloud to a group of friends.
I feel chills as I read.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
We each of find a poem on our phones and share it aloud. Thea reads The Peace of the Wild Things by Wendell Berry. Nick reads Smoke Rings From My Pipe by Malcolm Guite. Manuel reads I Like You When You’re Silent by Pablo Neruda. And Preston reads The Gods of the Copybook Headings by Kipling. All phenomenal.
If there’s a good use of smart devices, it’s this. Without them, we’d be reciting poetry from memory or coming up with it in the moment. Actually, that would be good too. I suppose that’s what prayers are.
Manuel and Thea got engaged last night, Holy Saturday. And Nick and Meredith are expecting their first child soon. It dawns on me that I’m an adult now, these are my friends, and I’m happy about that. Maybe the world doesn’t suck after all.
“All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had. And God's grace was so powerfully at work in them all that there were no needy persons among them.”
Acts 4:32
The candles have melted three hours' of wax. I’m ready to retire. I polish the last of the tiramisu, and pick up the table's empty plates. The dishwasher is full. The platters are empty. The rice is all gone. Before I can slip away, Preston tells me to sit back down. Nobody’s told me to sit back down in a long time. For a split second, I feel a wave of panic as it appears my autonomy is in question.
“What do you need,” I say.
“One more prayer,” someone says.
Ah, phew.
We hold hands and Preston takes us home.
What I’m Reading
writes essays, including 40 lessons from 30 years is an incredible writer. Some of his essays are 45-minute reads, and it’s all high quality. I recommend Depopulocalypse III.’s essay All It Take is All You Got made me rethink my investment strategy. I’m reading the book, The Chronology of Water: A Memoir and my own book, All Outcomes Are Acceptable.
Music
Poem
To feel the flow of energy in my body,
To feel the sun on my face,
That’s my ego,
That is me.
I stare at the evening sky,
I hear frogs chirping,
And birds fluttering,
Budding trees abstain from blocking my view
For the time being
I see the soft mountains
And lights of the city
There’s a man walking
He lifts a camera
I continue to write
There are white cracks in the gray-purple clouds
And you reader, can see this tonight,
And know that I am with you,
Sitting on a rock on a hill.
Looking over the river valley,
At God’s evening tapestry.
“Just one photo,” I beg myself,
“Okay,” I say. “Just one.”
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Thanks guys. Have a great rest of your day.
This was an absolutely beautiful post. I don't know of many people these days that can write poetic nonfiction in longform anymore. The subtlety of how you describe fellowship, laughter making you a year younger...I feel like I'm there.
What a beautiful post, thank you. I'll be diving more into your writing. Just subscribed.
Beautiful!