This past weekend featured both Father’s Day and Summer Solstice. Both observances were different from past years’ celebrations. It felt odd wishing Daddy happiness through a mask, but we managed to celebrate his day the best we could from six feet apart, with sanitized gifts of hard-to-find items, including hand soap, cleaning products, and alcohol.
Likewise, Solstices past have included a much-anticipated gathering of talented people in the bamboo forest behind a friend’s home. I have felt privileged to be included in such a diverse group of creative thinkers and doers.
For obvious reasons, we didn’t have the annual solstice party this year, but the memories of past parties sustained me.
The breathtaking vision of cement tables topped with pitchers of cut flowers and dozens of mismatched candelabra holding flickering candles is fresh in my memory, as are the rose petal paths between statues of figures from mythologies and folklore that are spaced throughout the bamboo. One very memorable year, a bubble machine suspended from a tree produced iridescent globes of magic that filled the midsummer evening sky.
Like the décor, the celebrants, too, are usually a strange blend of the elegant and the natural. Often they make me think of characters from a Kris Kristofferson or Leonard Cohen song, a beautiful blend of saints and outlaws who have seen some tragedy along the way, but persist in trying to make beauty in a less than perfect world.
We’ve made it through another longest day of the year, and I have no doubt that when this seemingly endless season of uncertainty and anger is over, it will be the artists– the creative souls– who have helped us endure.
Marian Carcache welcomes
comments at firstname.lastname@example.org.