Skip to main content

Bringing Back Mocktail/Cocktail Hour

As you consider the routines that will make this time of pandemic a little more pleasant, how about cocktail hour?

I grew up with parents who always observed the ritual, whether it was a glass of cold tea or their favorite Canadian whiskey and seltzer. The drink wasn't important, it was their time to catch up with each other and share the details of their day. Weather-permitting, they'd sit outside on the deck my dad built, talk and decompress from the day before heading inside for dinner. Retired, they continued the tradition (though it often came earlier -- "Time for our 4 o'clock," they'd say.)

We've begun having this at our house. It serves as a boundary between the school/workday and home time. Kids and parents, we sit out on our patio with our drinks of choice and a little bit of a salty snack. Conversations just naturally happen when we're not in front of the tv or other screens. Being all together in one house (which makes it all too easy to interrupt each other when we're working), we've even started holding on to chat topics during the day, saving them for the evening. Even the dog joins us, as she quickly learned that it often means a stray chip will be tossed to her.

I think it's helped us stay a little more connected with our reality, too. There's the overarching reality we have to face: we are, literally, in the midst of a global pandemic that requires us to curtail much of our normal life to help protect the lives of ourselves and others.

But cocktail hour lets us get in touch with the other reality. That right now, we are not sick. We are together. We can enjoy things. Things like a cold drink, a salty snack, and chatting about our day.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Me and My Collar

You may run into me on a Friday, in my neighborhood, so it's time I let you know what you might see. When I was doing my required unit of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), my supervisor suggested that any of us who came from traditions where a clerical collar was an option, take one "collar week," to see how we were treated, as opposed to wearing regular professional clothes. After a couple of days, I joked to the Catholic priest, "How do you manage the power?" In regular clothes, I would walk into a patient's room, and it would take about 5 or so minutes of introductions and pleasantries before we could really get down to talking about their feelings, their fears, the deep stuff. With most people, as soon as that clerical collar walked in the room, with me attached, they began pouring out all the heavy stuff they were carrying. I was riding the bus back and forth every day, and though not quite so dramatic, the collar effect was alive there, to

Beloved Community: The Now and Not Yet

Rev. Christine Robinson has a great little post up about the phrase "beloved community" and why it's problematic to use that to describe a church. Like her mom, I can get cranky about the whole thing, but my crankiness lies in the misuse of what is, to me, such a breathtaking and profound concept. Martin Luther King, Jr., someone whose words I study in great detail, is the one we often think of as originating the term, but he learned about it through the writings of Josiah Royce. Josiah Royce (right) with close friend William James.  Royce was a philosopher, studying Kant, Hegel. I imagine he would have enjoyed Koestler's theory of the holon , because he saw humanity as being both individuals and part of a greater "organism" that was community. As King's belief about Beloved Community would be rooted in agape , Royce's philosophy stemmed from what he called loyalty, and by that he meant, "the practically devoted love of an individual f

To Love the Hell Out of the World

To love the hell out of the world means to love it extravagantly, wastefully, with an overpouring abandon and fervor that sometimes surprises even yourself. That love flows out of you, sometimes slow and steady, sometimes in a torrent, sometimes filled with joy, sometimes with fierceness, or anger, or a heartbreaking pain that makes you say, "No, no, I can't take this anymore. I can't do anymore. It's too much ... too much." But it's too late. You've opened up your own heart, your own mind, body, and strength, and yes, it is too much. But there's also so much love that comes crashing down on you, gifts from the Heavens in the form of the smiles and cares from others, a giggle burbling up from a toddler's fat little belly, the soft, sweet smell of star jasmine catching you unaware, not knowing where it came from ... but it's here. And you're here. And just to live, just to exist, swells your heart with enough gratitude and love that you mu