There is something relentlessly warming- warm to my bones and soul- about sitting within the shared familiarity and care of much loved friends.  Something nurturing about smelling essential oils on their hospitable pit bull and leaving their bathroom with my hands reeking merrily of patchouli soap.  A welcoming recognition of the familiar in new surroundings, new digs.  The rug is different but exactly the same, the metal sculpted “I love you” hangs over a new doorway, and I have to do a bit of searching to help myself to a glass of the micro-brew or Pelagrino I’ll be fishing out of the fridge.  And that’s just the tables and chairs really.

What is the most warming is not the amazing food cooked up with plenty of olive oil in the beautiful large pans, nor having the plates ceremonially licked off by Tiger Lilly post meal, nor even the comfortable lounging about across the living room furniture and floor.  Nor is it the fire in the hearth, cell phone calls from adjoining rooms or the sweet story of the transvestite fellow who gladly put away his heels for an amazing woman.  What I’m most thankful for is the faces, voices, and self-revealing conversation.  The intimacy of shared thoughts and feelings.  The knowing and being known.  The intermingling of shared experiences and new things learned, of the dear unique and beautiful souls expanded before my eyes in that well worn warm palette of colors that has taken on new shapes and tones.  Well, yes some bright new color here and there too.

Oh Lord, I’m glad that this cannot be too good.  I’m thankful.