It sounds rather melodramatic, but I wonder if we - as humans - go through the process of lots of little deaths throughout our lives. Each little death chisels us, fashions us, shapes us, creates something new out of the old. It is each little death that shapes who we are and how we are in the world. It is each little death that prepares the way for each breath of new life and each glimmer of hope. It is with each little death I realize the gift it is to be alive.
So we celebrate. We celebrate because there is much to be celebrated. As our fingers are pried away from the false securities to which we cling, away from our buffered selves, away from false pride, we celebrate whatever is coming; not because there is a guarantee it will be better, not because we have some sort of assurance that this will all pay off, but because we are declaring that it is all worth it, regardless.
We are foolish, and we are fools. This, I think, is what it means to be a person of faith.
We celebrate the only way we know how: with food and drink.
"Buy boutique tonic water tonight. We are celebrating."
Gin and Tonics a la Big Carroll (I think)
This recipe is (maybe wrongly, I'm not sure) credited to a man whom I never met. I have heard so many stories about him from his children and grandchildren that I can almost hear his belly laugh and, thanks to them, I have tried his recipe for a gin and tonic, over long conversations on a summer porch, with lazy dogs lying at my feet. Gin and tonics, for me, say "summer" as nothing else does. The ordering of ingredients is important.
Handful of Ice Cubes
2+oz gin (I prefer Tanqueray, but, as you wish)
tonic water (as expensive as you can manage)
lime wedge (use 1/4 of a lime; don't skimp!)
Place a handful of ice cubes in the bottom of a glass. Pour 2oz gin on top, followed by tonic water and squeeze and drop the 1/4 lime into the glass as well. Now, float a splash of gin on top. Drink without stirring. Better yet, find a friend with a good porch, show up with a bottle of gin, expensive tonic and limes, declaring that they have no other plans for the evening but to tell stories and fire up the grill.
So we celebrate. We celebrate because there is much to be celebrated. As our fingers are pried away from the false securities to which we cling, away from our buffered selves, away from false pride, we celebrate whatever is coming; not because there is a guarantee it will be better, not because we have some sort of assurance that this will all pay off, but because we are declaring that it is all worth it, regardless.
We are foolish, and we are fools. This, I think, is what it means to be a person of faith.
We celebrate the only way we know how: with food and drink.
"Buy boutique tonic water tonight. We are celebrating."
Gin and Tonics a la Big Carroll (I think)
This recipe is (maybe wrongly, I'm not sure) credited to a man whom I never met. I have heard so many stories about him from his children and grandchildren that I can almost hear his belly laugh and, thanks to them, I have tried his recipe for a gin and tonic, over long conversations on a summer porch, with lazy dogs lying at my feet. Gin and tonics, for me, say "summer" as nothing else does. The ordering of ingredients is important.
Handful of Ice Cubes
2+oz gin (I prefer Tanqueray, but, as you wish)
tonic water (as expensive as you can manage)
lime wedge (use 1/4 of a lime; don't skimp!)
Place a handful of ice cubes in the bottom of a glass. Pour 2oz gin on top, followed by tonic water and squeeze and drop the 1/4 lime into the glass as well. Now, float a splash of gin on top. Drink without stirring. Better yet, find a friend with a good porch, show up with a bottle of gin, expensive tonic and limes, declaring that they have no other plans for the evening but to tell stories and fire up the grill.
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