It's January 6th and I'm back on the road. Currently, I'm at the beginning of a 6-hour layover in San Francisco. Then, I'll catch a flight to Shanghai (13+ hours), have another short layover with the whole band, and fly to Shenzhen. (I'll probably be arriving at my hotel in Shenzhen after midnight on Sunday morning, which is about 10:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, Arizona time.)
You see, then, why this is a perfect time to catch up on my blog! I mean, how else am I going to occupy myself for 6 hours at an airport? Plus, China blocks Facebook, Twitter, and Blogger, so I've got a neatly imposed deadline of departure this afternoon.
I started this post the day after Christmas and got sidetracked, so I'll just keep going with what I had and pick it up where I left off.
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It seems like Christmas 2010 was only a handful of months ago. I'm not really sure why, but I guess being gone for weeks on end probably has something to do with it...maybe it's because the amount of time I've spent at home since last Christmas is actually just a few months' worth?
And, as usual, this is the time of year when people are prone to looking back and evaluating the previous months. I can hardly think about the last 6 days or 6 weeks, let alone the whole year, without feeling overwhelmed.
I've been remiss in giving out thanks on this here blog to everyone I know who came to our November performances in Arizona. I tried to thank as many as possible personally, but know I've missed some. Mostly, this lack of thanks is a result of our crazy schedule and me barely even having time on tour to call my parents; partly, this is a result of me not really knowing how to go about thanking everyone properly.
I'd like to think I've matured as a writer since my last post-Arizona-shows-thank-you blog over two years ago, but when I go back to read it I feel just as stumped now as I remember feeling then.
I think what would really be easiest would be if somehow everyone to whom I needed to give thanks could be present at my house tonight. Everyone would be gathered in my backyard, and I'd stand up on some chair and just say, simply, "Thank you. Let's eat!" And then we'd all partake in a preposterously large feast of food I had cooked to show my appreciation.
Everyone would have arrived with empty bellies, brought their finest stories, and been forced to check any and all worries at the door. There would be outrageous fits of laughter throughout the night resulting in small groups of people doubled-over, clutching their stomachs. Everyone would be thrilled with the conversations they were having, but secretly envious of others down the table because it would appear as if they were somehow -- somehow! -- having even more fun.
All of the women in attendance would independently and involuntarily swoon over my mom's ability to out-Martha-Stewart Martha herself, and these women would be overheard saying crazy-sounding things like, "Wait, so you used a router to drill holes in hollowed-out gourds and then strung them up on a string of lights?! That's. So. Cute. I feel like I've died and gone to heaven!"
As the night continued, people would check their watches and realize regrettably how much time had passed. You know what they say: time flies...
Cue the smell of my mom's cookies baking in the kitchen. Ha! The night is still young.
There would be an impromptu jam session by the fire pit whose flames seemed to magically take direction from the musicians, sometimes crackling gently and often blazing with fervency. (Did I see hints of tiny, blue flames during that last ballad?) Those inclined to dance would do so. Others would tap toes, hoot and holler, read the fire-lit faces of those sitting across from them, and quietly wonder how they ever ended up at this crazy shindig.
Late into the night as the fire died down, there was no more food to be had, and people were exhausted from -- but not yet tired of! -- sharing and listening, everyone would be quietly taken aback.
People would feel inspired by the things they had heard and the new, lifelong friends they had just made. Laughs had been laughed and grins had been grinned. Everyone would know that no matter what happens, everything is going to be okay; after all, they were just part of this unexpected night and had witnessed and experienced how good people can be.
They would start to wonder how it could possibly be recreated. Could it be done again? With this food? With these people? How could one be perpetually surrounded by all of this? Perhaps one could become incredibly wealthy, buy a subdivision, and convince everyone to move in as to increase the chances?
There would be no end to the dreaming, because in that moment anything would seem possible.
Probable, even.
And everyone would be utterly, indescribably happy.
When I recognized all of this happening on people's faces, I would know I had successfully shared a glimmer of what I've felt so fortunate to witness and experience the past 3.5 years: the excitement, the company, the inspiration, the music, the amazement, the food, the good, the hilarity, and the overwhelming amounts of happiness.
And then, only then, would my thanks would be complete.
1 comment:
A lovely party!
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