It’s not a short story, but a twisted web of paths crossed that has brought this posse together. There are lovers and best friends and friends of friends. There are siblings and classmates and strangers. There are boat owners and eager crew, roommates and neighbors, locals and newbies. In the past six weeks the web has grown dense and the knots a bit tighter as we gather again and again around tables of food and share beers at bars. And as the talk moves to adventures, we know things are getting serious. And I’m not even sure that they’re my posse. I just think that maybe they could be.
From a distance it has been fun to watch the dynamic unfold, and from within it’s been a trip of past relationships renegotiated and new ones discovered. It feels good to feel on the verge of belonging and tonight the stakes were raised as a tradition was borne. Fake Thanksgiving. A celebration before the celebration because if you have so much to be thankful for you might as well celebrate twice. Everyone brought a dish, a turkey was basted, more than a dozen bottles of wine were polished off, and several games were played. Someone danced like a hobbit and balls were built of clay. We argued physics, exploded grapes, and laughed until we cried. A baker’s dozen – once strangers – were now tied to this table and this date and all the annual gatherings that have yet to be. And while I’m not sure where it is headed or if I belong, I am so so grateful.