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It could have been digging into piping hot cake with our hands. Our feast began when Andy raised his glass and declared (as Max did), “Let the wild rumpus start!” It could have been the crayon colored paper crowns. And maybe the difference is that we’re not simply exploring to see what else there could be we are exploring to find answers and grounding. Deeper than these milestones, we are circling back to some similar questions of meaning and purpose that we hit in our first years of college. This time around there’s more maturity, and with maturity comes freedom to explore. Without any sort of formal organization, the men packed into the kitchen and handled the cooking, while the women sat around decorating their crowns and talking about the season of transition that most of us find ourselves in our late 20s.
LET THE WILD RUMPUS START MEANING FULL
Full disclosure: utensils and modern appliances were used in the cooking process.
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We didn’t want a night of finger food appetizers. Upon arrival we announced, “No one can use utensils or plates.” We gave no warning. To take it a step further, we wanted everyone to eat wildly. Our food was obviously based around something wild (Caveman Roasted Turkey Legs, anyone?). For us this meant that at 4pm, our house looked ready for a 4-year-old’s birthday party-decorate your own crown and all! There are many directions to go with this. We actually chose our theme because one of Andy’s favorite children’s books is Where The Wild Things Are. I’d love to say that it was off of these thoughts that we chose our theme for cooking club, but these thoughts were inspired after the fact. An ability to fully participate in one makes way for the participation in the other. I do think that when we can celebrate more fully, we can also lament more fully. What if we acknowledged that life is hard, yet there are these glimmers of good that we ca n toast to? I don’t think this is an ignorance of the reality that there are times when the season does not call for rejoicing. I wonder what it would be like if we didn’t wait for the next graduation, job offer, wedding, pregnancy, retirement, etc. We sway from one extreme to the next: the Puritan all-work-and-no-play to the Ke$ha brushing-our-teeth-with-Jack approach. Celebration then is equated with numbing ourselves as a diversion from reality versus consciously feasting on all the good-however present or hidden it may be. We learn well in our high school and college years that life is a party but only when we are inebriated. I’m not all that convinced we do an adequate job of celebrating life.