A Perfect Day

[dedalus_1947]

It’s a beautiful day
Sky falls, you feel like
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away.
(It’s a Beautiful Day – Bono of U2: 2001)

Until Eddie’s statement, it was an ordinary day. Well, not ordinary, exactly. Easter Sunday is never just ordinary. It is a special day. A day we are prompted in our churches to greet one another with the paschal reminder of our Faith, “He is risen, Alleluia”. To which the person being greeted is supposed to reply, “Indeed, He is risen, thanks be to God, Alleluia”. It is not supposed to be an ordinary day, but until I heard what my nephew Eddie had to say about the day, it had been rather traditional.

It was Easter afternoon, in the backyard of Kathy’s sister, Tere, and her husband Mike. They were hosting Easter Sunday brunch this year at their home. The festively decorated, patio table was filled with strategically placed guacamole dip, tortilla chips, and little Cuban, hors d’oeuvres sandwiches with no crust. Two giant ice chests, located by the back bedroom stairs, were brimming with crushed ice, soft drinks, bottled water, and beers. Everything was ready for the guests and members of the family to arrive. When Kathy and I got there at 3 o’clock, a handful of people were already seated inside and outside of the house. We sat with Meg in the back yard, and greeted the steady procession of sisters, husbands, nephews and nieces who followed: Prisa and Joe, Misa and Eddie, and Patty and Dick. Even Brian had arrived from Washington D.C., with his friend Phil. Some people sat in the patio, while others returned to the house where it was warmer. Those of us wearing coats, sweaters, or shawls basked in the intermittent sun, sipping cokes or beers as we chatted and laughed. At about 4:30, Mike announced that the food was prepared and to help ourselves to the buffet that was set.

When I returned to the patio table with a plate full of honey-baked ham and chile relleno casserole, the chairs had been rearranged and a preponderance of cousins were seated around  my daughter, Prisa. Brian and Phil, along with Patty and Dick, had moved to the lower barbeque eating area, while Joe, Lou, and Meg sat on the stairs next to the ice chests. Eddie and I were the only men in a table of 5 women and 1 teenager, Maggie. With only half an ear to the rhythm of their laughter and conversation, and giving little attention to the content of their discussion, I was mildly amused that these cousins were discussing the same things we, their parents talked about at these gatherings many years before – movies, sports, and finally the weather. It was all pretty predictable, until I heard Eddie’s gravelly baritone voice say:
“I love these early spring days. The way the sunshine breaks in an out of the thick, billowy clouds, and the way the temperature drops suddenly after 3 o’clock. It’s great weather to be in a Jacuzzi, sipping a coke and flipping flash cards, while studying for an exam. If you add in a plate of sushi – it’s a perfect day.”

I was struck by the chilling and  sparkling scenes that slapped me in the face, forcing me to gasp for breath at their unexpected colorful imagery. The statement was so VISUAL!  The words plunged me into a caldron of swirling pictures and sensations: the glowing sun, grey and white clouds, radiant beams, cold and warm intervals of light and shade, bubbling hot water, frosty mugs of coca-cola, moist flash cards with scribbled notes, test papers, and a plate of tasty, vinegary rice, topped with fish. I re-focused my attention on Eddie’s long angular face, and his newly, clean-shaven jaw.
“I need to write that sentence down,” I told him, when he returned my surprised look. “You touched all the senses that made you aware of that moment and how it helped you study for a test. It was beautiful!”
“Well, it’s true,” he said, laughing.
“It was true indeed,” I agreed.

I don’t know if anyone else heard our brief exchange. Even Eddie’s attention wandered off to the next topic of conversation at the table. But I suddenly found myself more alert and responsive to the people I was sitting with and the talk that was going on around me. I think it was Brigid who asked my three-month pregnant daughter, Prisa, if she and Joe had decided on names for their baby.
“We’re considering all possibilities right now,” Prisa explained. “Joe was thinking of Leonard, the name of his deceased father.”
“Leonard, Leonardo,” Misa repeated the names aloud, “very cool names. Are you going with Spanish or English pronunciation of names? There are a lot of Spanish names in our family and they make great nicknames. Eddie can vouch for me on this, he made up my nickname, Misa”.
“Yeah, there’s Maria Teresa, Antonio, Teresa, Eduardo Luis, and Marisa Elena,” recited Eddie, imitating a Spanish pronunciation, by rolling his r’s and exaggerating his vowels. “These are family names that just roll off the tongue”.
“They’re beautiful names,” Prisa agreed, “but they don’t sound quite right with a Scot-Irish surname.
“Leonard is a great name,” I agreed, hesitantly, not wanting to appear overly interested as the future grandfather of the baby being named. “It has a lot of nickname possibilities – Lee, Leo, Lennie, Lonnie, and even Nardo.”
“I’m not crazy about Nardo, but I hadn’t thought of Lee or Len. Not bad, Dad,” she added, “thanks”.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, very pleased with myself. “But I’m rooting for a girl. Have you thought of any names for her yet?”
“Well, I know mom’s suggestion,” she moaned, looking to her mother sitting across the table.
“What name do you like?” I asked, turning to Kathy, who was also following the conversation.
“I think Mary Kathleen fits the bill,” she replied quickly, “but that’s just one of many ideas. Prisa will know what’s best.”
“Hmm, Mary Kate,” I said, letting the sound of those names roll off my tongue. “I like it. I could do a lot of improvising with that name.”
“Well there’s a long way to go before any decisions are made about names,” Prisa announced, bringing the matter to a close. Then looking over to the youngest cousin at the table, she changed the subject by reminding us of Maggie’s upcoming 16^th birthday. As if on cue, Tere and Mike walked outside carrying two small cakes to symbolize the birthdays that their daughters Maggie and Anora would be celebrating the following week. When the singing was done, and the cousins had tasted the designer cake, the group at the table broke up for dessert and departure. Eddie announced he had to study. Joe wanted to get Prisa home so she could rest, and the party began to disperse. Kathy and I left soon after.

All this happened on a spring day, at a family Easter party. It was an ordinary occasion that came to life with a few words. Eddie’s statement was a pictorial poem that created a scene for me. An image of Misa, Prisa, Brigid, Maggie, Kathy, Meg, Patty, and Eddie and I, seated at a circle table, talking and laughing. Too late, I realized on the drive home, that I had taken no photos of the day. Strange, isn’t it, the way we overlook the significance of a moment when it occurs. We realize an opportunity was missed, only when it’s lost and can’t be retrieved. If I wanted to remember this day and this scene, I’d have to write about it. As Eddie demonstrated, a perfect day, or a perfect moment can only be reconstructed in words – and a few extra photographs.