Hearing the radio DJ's talk about Groundhog Day this morning did get me thinking about the movie, the one with Bill Murray where he lives the same day over and over until he gets it right. And in the spirit of Friday Fragments, and 5 on Friday, I thought it might be fun today to think about what days I'd like to live over.
My immediate thought was the two days my girls were born, and while those were two of the happiest days of my life, there's really no need to experience childbirth again, right? As I thought about it some more I realized the days I'd like to live over were ordinary days. They were cozy slices of life as opposed to grand occasions, and they were filled with love and laughter and family.
I'd love to relive a Thanksgiving dinner with my dad at the head of the dining room table. I'd be about nine years old and he'd be carving the turkey in that elaborate way he liked to carve a turkey, and there would be a shrimp cocktail in a fancy glass on my china plate.
I'd be seated beside my brother and across the table from my sisters, and we'd all be dressed in church clothes, because Thanksgiving meant no play clothes at the table. My mom would be in her chair, closest to the kitchen because moms since time began are assigned that seat. She would light candles and have 1969 bouffant hair and a soft smile.
I'd love to relive the magical space between day and night, that after dinner early evening ritual we established with our golden haired toddlers. Where mom and dad would sit on the floor beside the tub, and listen to the sounds of sisterhood cementing itself into the fabric of our family.
We wrapped chubby legs and wet hair in hooded towels, and snuggled their squirmy selves in close to warm up. To breathe deeply the scent of baby shampoo-ed curls, as we maneuvered them into PJs with extravagant ruffles across the bum, and then we squeezed in tight for Stellaluna, There's a Moose in the Garden, and Goodnight Moon. To feel the weight of a sleeping three year old pressed against my chest as I carried her up the stairs. To kiss a soft sweet forehead, and feel the hope and glorious wonder of young motherhood.
I'd love to relive a day on our boat. A sunny day where we fly like the wind, then slow time and ease into our cove. Where we raft up with friends, and kids who are all arms and legs and laughter, leap into the water with purple noodles and carefree abandon.
Where even the blue heron stands captivated by the perfection of a Saturday afternoon. James Taylor wafts through a speaker, the sun sparkles like diamonds on a blue black river, and God signs His masterpiece with the flourish of a pinky orange paintbrush.
I'd love to relive an afternoon in our English garden. Doors thrown open wide to the beauty of iris on the patio and poppies with their heads turned toward the sun.
The scent of lilac in the air, the Sunday Times, an ice cold glass of Pimms, teenage daughters whispering, dreaming in the wide expanse of grass. The other side of the pond. Redefining home. Feeling like the whole wide world was within reach.
I'd love to relive one tender Tennessee Smoky Mountain Christmas, before life tilted. The hodgepodge of family by birth and by marriage.
Snow up to the window sills and baked ham in the kitchen. Grandparents flanked by their children's children.
I ask myself, if I were really given the chance, would I go back? Relive something that has been safely tucked away in the quiet corners of my heart and mind? Actually I don't think I would. Memory is a very precious thing...moments that were savored in the living are cherished there.
I think that's how it should be, how I want it to be.
What about you...do you have a 'Groundhog Day' somewhere in your heart?