12/25/2023
Warren Zevon was a rock n roll singer songwriter who left this earth too soon. On his last visit to the Late Show, David Letterman asked Warren Zevon if he had any advice for those he would soon leave behind. “Enjoy every sandwich”, he said. If you haven’t heard it yet, I suggest you listen to his song, “Keep Me in Your Heart”.
Moments of joy come in, well, small bites. This time of year, we write cards. Well, Mary mostly. She has impeccable handwriting. With the cards, we wish our friends and family and co-workers moments of joy. Mary and I are blessed. Cards come to us from Ireland, Switzerland, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Virginia, Florida, South Carolina, Georgia, Colorado, California, New Mexico, and this year from Houston from a friend fighting for the chance to enjoy more Christmases. Mary and I open the cards and we relish the moment.
Each card is a moment of joy.
We visited our old home, Manhattan, last weekend. The crowds were enormous. This week, every year, millions of people descend on the city, looking for joy. The walk from 44th street to 57th street requires acts of dexterity, for us and millions of strangers who don’t know these streets like we do. Every step of the way, we see people looking for joy, occasionally giving a small gift of joy to each other, and at times to a stranger. At this time of year, the search for joy it’s more like a mission than a pursuit.
To us, this is the human experience. It’s about making the most of what we have, keeping loved ones close and safe; laughing, crying, and sharing. Mary and I are grateful that her parents and my great grandparents had to courage to leave Ireland, France, and Hungary, to come here and give their my families the gift to pursue happiness, the chance to capture moments of joy, a gift every human brother and sister deserves.
This week, for me and Mary, moments of joy will be kisses from the children we no longer wrangle out of bed and onto Miss Linda’s bus every morning. Or hearing our granddaughter, Isla, call us Mamie and Boppa. Or walking with Oliver, Hannah’s goldendoodle, through our neighborhood, him bumping his head against my leg as we walk – Hannah tells me that’s his way of saying thank you.
Mary and I are thankful for being given the gifts of our family, our friends, and most certainly for the family and friends who have passed and may now be listening to Mr. Zevon and his piano. This week we hope you share joy with those are close. We hope you share gratitude. We hope you feel the warmth of their love. We hope you enjoy a sandwich together. As life goes on and the years pile up, we see how precious those moments are and why we look for them every day. The presents under the tree will soon be forgotten. The bites of joy, never.
