Last night we drove out to Concord for a team dinner.
The Old Try team is, at this point, myself and my wife. Course, we have a lot of help, folks making it actually happen, our printers at Union Press and Fallen Arrows, our team of smash mouth lawyers (read: a family member doing us a huge favor), a couple of people we pay handsomely just to hang out and encourage us, a troupe of dancing clowns, etc., but all those folks were either working or living in another state - often both - so they didn't get to come.
It was the two of us, near where the first shots of the American Revolution echoed off the icy river. A place we Southerners would read about in history books. Now was that at Salem? Or Plymouth? No, wait, Salem was the witches. Or was Plymouth? A place that seemed old and foreign and other than I didn't figure we'd ever get to see it.
But we did. And we do. Daily if we want to. We're blessed indeed. To get to do what we love, to love one another, to sit and talk about the future of Old Try (some retail opportunities, some killer collaborations in works), and the future of us (would we move to Richmond ever? Pittsburgh? What about Chapel Hill again? Chattanooga?), over a seared tuna at a fine restaurant with some serious chops (Rialto, Per Se) several miles up Route 2.
When we see those open spaces, it makes is wistful. Makes us want to have a spread of land with some kids and a simple life. Close to family. But the future is always uncertain. All we can do is trust in the Good Lord.
There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under the sun.
A time to search and a time to lose.
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3, excepts from 1-8
There we were. Just by the Revolution. Just by the old war. With a glass of wine and each other. That's all you need.
Love and forgiveness.
Those would have just about stopped the bullets out at Concord.