Won the domestic lottery tonight--and sat home all night long, waiting for the doorbell and handing out sweets to pint-sized pirates. Read a Danish thriller along the way (The Absent One), listening to the happy sounds of two 15-year-old friends carving a huge pumpkin in the kitchen.
They laughed at themselves, giggled at the occasional mishap, recalled other Halloween adventures, and nibbled on pumpkin seeds roasted earlier. I paged through my thriller, wondering how on earth I got so lucky, so incredibly blessed. They went about their blissful business, oblivious to my musing. Collaborating. Enjoying. Every bit in the moment.
I've been obsessing of late, knee-deep in electoral maps, presidential projections. I turn to FOX or MSNBC, and five minutes later I feel dizzy, cynical, contemptuous of the whole lot. What I got tonight was a bit of pumpkin therapy: a couple of kids being kids, carving up a bit of peace and setting it on the porch for all to see. Making the neighborhood a little more radiant. Making me a little more grateful.