Periodic Rituals

A ritual occurs several times a week in our house, for most of the last several years. As time moves closer to dusk one of us says the right word and everything stops. Dinner stops: the stove is turned off; food is removed from the grill and covered in aluminum foil; pans are removed from the burner and covered; bread is pushed to the back of the counter to protect it from the dog. Television is put on pause – TiVo is a wondrous thing. The Internet becomes non-existent, and the laptops set aside.

The kitchen priority changes a bit; wine is opened, and poured in specifically selected glasses. Sometimes its crystal from Prague, sometimes glasses with etched palm trees - each retaining its own emotional value. Depending on the status of dinner, there may be food to prepare. Crackers, cheese, and fruit are placed on a tray. With preplanning, we boil shrimp and place them in a bowl with side dishes of cocktail sauce. When all is prepared, we step outside to the front porch where rocking chairs, selected for their comfort, wait patiently to be used again. We arrange our food and drink on the small table between the two chairs, and sit and wait. We wait for a simple, yet infinitely unique event. We wait to view the setting of the sun. With our snacks or sometimes meal, and our wine or sometimes water, we wait. Our event is occasionally interrupted by the intermittent dog walkers, kid strollers, and the various waving neighbors as they pass either walking or driving. I know we must be an interesting site, especially with the shrimp, yet every once in a while a neighbor will walk by and comment on the sunset, appreciating the magic as much as we do.

Within a few minutes, the sky starts to change, clouds farthest away change their mood, shifting from white to orange, or pink, or sometime almost red with light purple accents. They change, shifting from animals to people: a bear, a horse, the majestic head of an eagle, or winged dove. Old men and women, young kids and balloons. They all come to help the sun mark the end of the day. They come, stay for a moment, then bid adieu, along with their newfound color. A moment passes and they dissolve into a single shade of dark.

My sister once mentioned that ‘the Boss’ provides the beauty in the sunsets, sunrises, and nature itself because someone, somewhere, finds it special. I always pause, for it is not only the beauty of the sunset I value, but also the time I spend with my wife. We discuss the passing day, with its humor, frustration, and sometimes astonishments. We talk about the future and what is next on the list, what are the goals, and how do we get there. We talk about homes in town and out, friends past and present, and family near and far. We talk.

Our sunset is over and we grab the plates and empty glasses and move back inside to unlock that which has been frozen in time. The burners relit, the meat placed on the reheated grill. Tivo allows the shows to move forward in time, and the Internet exists again. We continue as if nothing has changed. But something has: a day has past, marked with colors, beauty, art, and, in my case, a silent word of thanks.