Take that night, for example, which truly was an evening of great fun. Yet while we were riding that trolley, Lolo and Smack's grandmother -- Bob's mother -- was on her deathbed; after Bob brought his boys home he went to join his family at her hospice where she died a few hours later. Several members of the team are currently going through a situation of serious upheaval in their lives, one that impacts many of the rest of us deeply, both practically and emotionally; we are struggling to work through this. I myself began the evening in a state of great distraction, in part because of a somewhat overwhelming work week but also because I knew I'd be joining the Freedom Band again the next night to play at a memorial service for a band member of whom I was quite fond, and whose recent death was one of tragic circumstance. Another member of our party was undergoing treatment for serious illness only one year ago, and while our delight in her evident current wellness is too powerful for us even to speak of explicitly, it is still on our minds as something that resonates in the background of our time together.
I have no doubt that every member of our group had something of immediate concern that yields no particular fun at all. The specific background confluence of last night is perhaps unusual, but perhaps not; there's no way of knowing. We didn't learn about Bob's mother until the next day. I said nothing about my friend from the band, except at the end of the evening to two people only. Nothing else I mention was part of the evening's discussion. My life is such fun, yes, great fun, but none of the fun is innocent. Or maybe the fun is innocent, but we are not.
I don't say this to deny the wonder of Monday night, or to imply that everything is not as rosy as it can seem on the surface. No, quite the contrary is true. It is because there is so much that is stressful and distressing and just plain unhappy in our lives that the moments of what I called "uncomplicated joy" in my last journal entry are so very much fun. I think if we couldn't find those moments, or make those moments, or appreciate those moments, then everything else would bog us down tremendously.
And you've got to feel light to dance the Bledington Morris tradition, I suspect.