Setting the table...

It's that time we sit ourselves around a table with friends and family to give thanks. Thanks for all the people and events that take place in our lives. I am thankful for all the people who are, have been (and may no longer be) in my life. I hope each and everyone of you know this, because it should have been told to you directly.

But what about those who have been in my life, yet I've never met?

This post is a thank you to all of them. It's the imagination playing towards a feast at a table of first introductions.

Envision it. A table set for twelve. In my cramped apartment, makeshift tables (of varying heights and shapes) would be placed together accompanied by non-matching chairs with just enough space to squeeze our forms into place. The china would be eclectic plates and silverware all found from the DI achieving miscellaneous patterns, with wine glasses of differing colors set to their side. Two Red Rock Beer growlers would be on the table, cleaned and replenished with ice cold water in the effort to maintain, but not exceed, a nice holiday buzz.

All the typical fixings would be present: Roasted Turkey, Mom's scrumptious mashed potatoes, my famous and fresh cranberry sauce, homemade white rolls perfect to dollop butter on top and eat whole. I'd prepare other dishes as well, on the off chance of dietary needs: Vegetarian lasagna, crispy Brussels sprouts in orange reduction, a fine kale salad, and of course sweet potatoes. And god forbid, lets not forget the dessert: Pumpkin Pie, zabaglione drizzled strawberries, and few pieces of chocolate to compliment the evening coffee.

At the table, conversation would begin awkwardly, but would build to a rousing chatter. Sitting around the table would be J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman, Amanda Palmer, Jimmy Kimmel, Tina Fey, Jack Zipes, Tim Burton, Francesca Lia Block, Ira Glass, Liz Weir, and Eddie Vedder.

Each would bring a unique perspective to the table, which I feel would compliment and balance one another. As a proper host I would thank them all for the times they have supported me with out knowing, directed and guided me without knowing, made me laugh or cry: Amanda Palmer would get the dinner started by finding the perfect moment to hasten my rambling gratitude by asking for the rolls to be passed. J.K. Rowling would start a deep conversation asking Neil Gaiman about his recent writings on the issues faced by Syrian refugees and would add her insights from when she worked for Amnesty International. Jack Zipes would bring their discussion to folklore and culture, and present a classic tale matching the holiday, while Tim Burton would listen and then twist the tale on its head, and Liz Weir would present a traditional Irish folktale that would take all our breaths away. Jimmy Kimmel would break the deep thoughts by laughing, and Tina Fey would bring a witty and natural insight to his laughter, which would make the whole table break into unstoppable laughter. The food would be appreciated, but the conversation would be the highlight of the evening. Francesca Lia Block would provide a verbal painting on the transition from Grunge to Indie to the full circle of folk music with Eddie Vedder. Amanda Palmer and Eddie Vedder would entertain the group with renditions of songs with the aide of a ukulele, while I cleared the plates and set the table for dessert. All the while Ira Glass would be connecting our stories to those he has met or heard about on his various journeys. And then I would see who wanted to match their Harry Potter trivia to the creator herself (all questions created by self of course).

J.K. Rowling would put me in my place, while I finished the last bite of pumpkin pie on my plate, and I would bow and smile at the same time. As the group would leave my small home, I would thank my newly met friends for a memorable evening. I would hug each and everyone of them for all they provided to me and all that will come. I would say thanks. Thanks to every moment, every wish I have had in my life, thanks for living and learning. I would close the door and know everyday is a new journey with the possibility of setting new stages to life: creating each and everyone of our stories.

It is the story that is important: the reflection, celebration and moments that make us feel alive.

Two Weeks...

The little reminders are stabbing. They take my breath away for a moment, and then the hollowness of the situation takes place in the stomach. But as his coffee cup, still and stationary on the kitchen shelf, says: nothing is ever black and white.

I said my peace and asked for his hand for one last dance. In the morning I turned from his goodbye, not from him. Of course it would be this way. He made his decision, and I made mine. He went for opportunity; I chose conviction. His actions set distance; My words took the affinity to a close. Both free from communication, free from sight, free from ties--not from thought.

If only it could have been black and white.