There’s something special about bubbles appearing from nowhere in a fluted glass.
For me it’s magic, like finding a fresh spring coming from a rock. Maybe this magic is what finds the world using “Bubbly” for celebrations.
Call it what you will: Champagne, Sparkling Wine, Prosecco, Cava, Spumante, Asti, Lambrusco, Moscato d’Asti; I just call it Bubbly—no need to be snobby with fancy names about something so delicious.
It’s fair to say that I find special occasions in small and inconsequential things in which to toast with Bubbly. Perhaps another difficult workday is done—Bubbly to celebrate. Or the delight in a gorgeous spring day and singing birds while waltzing the yard with Bubbly in hand. Other times, it’s quiet reflection, curled up by a fireplace on a stormy night—Bubbly in hand—cats on my lap. Or better yet, acknowledging the simple fact that I’m alive, healthy and blessed in so many ways – this is always cause for celebration. So it goes without saying that from an outsider’s perspective, a glass of Bubbly is pretty routine in my life.
But it’s far from “routine”.
When I choose to have a glass of Bubbly, time stops and I savor the moment. Things go in slow motion, I get sentimental and thankful. Perhaps it’s cause-and-effect from the “Bubbles.” The weight of a fluted glass in hand. The light it catches and how the glass dances that same light on surrounding objects. Pre-taste bliss.
Before I even take a sip, I watch the bubbles appear on the bottom of the glass and release to their freedom up on the surface. It’s truly a little private-world moment for me. It’s in that moment that a little prayer plays in my head, thankful to be in that very moment as I appreciate the simplicity and complexity before me. Then I sip…
LIKE IT’S WORTH IT
I want to live life as a celebration, I don’t want to take anything for granted. I’ve had times in my life when I was bitter and angry, every day was cursed, and I was glad to be done with a day or a person. I dreaded what the next day would bring, it felt like life really wasn’t worth the trouble, and things appeared hopeless. That was a terribly painful and awful period of my life. I don’t want to revisit that type of sorrow and depression, yet I know life is a continually changing series of lessons.
Life is ups and downs and insides and outs. In one moment, life can treat me like a princess on six-horse-drawn diamond-encrusted coach. And in the next blink-of-an-eye instant, flip my coach over while I’m trampled by those damn horses that drag me through mud and horse poo. That’s how crazy life is, there’s no preventing the unexpected: be it good or bad. One thing I can always count on, things are gonna change. So I’d better work to find the good in all. No matter how small it may be.
BUG OFF BUGGER
I have good days and bad days, joyful days and sorrowful days. Sometimes things are going so good. Life is rolling along with few complaints. Yet, there’s that little devil sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear that I don’t deserve to have things go well and that there is pending doom.
That little bugger tries to steal my happiness. Tries to take me out of the good or easy moments. That bugger tries to get me to worry about something that hasn’t happened. It’s this very reality and the fact that I was never promised a rose garden that pushes me, drives me, into finding the celebratory moments in my life when they are there. I have to bug off the bugger and hunt for the good stuff.
When I’m in precious moments with the company of my husband and kindred souls—it’s cause to be thankful. I feel gratitude when I can step outside, breathe fresh air and capture the beauty of swaying fountain grass and chirping finches. If I can find fifteen minutes to sit at the piano and sooth my soul, I am thankful. If I have 20-minutes of creative-play I am absolutely blessed. When I’m teary eyed because the day has been hard—and I need a quiet moment to stop, cry, pray, re-gather and reflect—it’s then that I am thankful because I have that moment of solitude to breathe.
There are so many moments to relish. There are so many times to celebrate.
For me, celebrating life is like taking communion. Many faiths call communion the Eucharist—which comes from a Greek word meaning “to give thanks”. When we take communion, we stop in the moment and focus on thankfulness and find ourselves surrounded in undeserving grace.
Grace changes shape and size according to my life and temperament. There are times when grace is like the best fluffiest blanket in the world—being wrapped up, warmed, comforted. Other times it’s like seeing a rainbow after the ravishing effects of a storm, there is pain when I’m reminded of grace and know I don’t deserve one ounce of it. Grace takes up all the space and cracks – like expanding foam…it shapes itself around me and my imperfection. When I think about these things I get weepy.
Communion makes me weepy. Each and every time. I often wondered if I’ll ever get through communion without tears and the lump in my throat that makes it difficult to swallow a tiny cracker and juice. And in that moment it’s so very clear that I don’t deserve that kind of grace. And it’s a weird dichotomy of thanks for that horrible moment in history nearly 2000 years ago. God’s grace.
Me, a nobody, got a huge gift that allows me to celebrate life. So, I just can’t waste life away, I have to find a way to celebrate. Everyday there’s got be to even the smallest moment to smile about.
Look around, there’s lots of moments—big and small—to be found that provide a reason to be bubbly…