Holiday

There was a time, back in the 70s, when my parents had a Memorial Day party every year.  It was their holiday.  All of the neighbors would come over for a barbeque.  One of the other neighbors had the 4th of July. And someone else had Labor Day, etc.

They were basically block parties, I guess.  And each holiday had a different host.

Very American Dream.

A lot about my childhood is fuzzy. My memory is, in general, good for shit.  Much of my childhood is one big haze. But I remember those parties.  Fondly.

Not that I ever wanted that.  The suburban thing. But the community of it… They’re good memories.

Anyway, I was talking with friends yesterday over brunch about a note I’d received not too long ago from a reader. She (the reader) was struggling, it seemed, to be and stay happy even though life hadn’t turned out the way she wanted.  The day to day was easy enough.  But holidays, birthdays, milestones left her with a sense of emptiness.  An acute sense of things not being “right”.

I understood and know that sometimes I fall victim to that same emptiness.  Luckily, with me, it usually doesn’t last long.

When it comes down to it, I don’t really know anyone whose life turned out the way they thought it would.  Even the friends who seem to have everything they could possibly want.  Life’s funny that way, I guess.