These past weeks were book-ended by Canada Day (July 1) and Independence Day (July 4), making it the ideal holiday. What's not to love about a long weekend when we can celebrate our glorious countries and hang out with friends and family?
And, yes, a lot of kissing will be involved.
I imagine this weekend as a continent-wide version of the great opening scene of "Love, Actually". Remember it? People greeting one another at an airport, with this opening monologue:
Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there -- fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge -- they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around.
This summer season we'll be kissing our lovers, our best friends, our mothers and fathers. Yes, politicians will be kissing babies, no doubt. And, in New York state, same-sex fiancés will be kissing one another (thank you, Governor Cuomo!).
Kissing -- including the most memorable bacio in my own life -- have been on my mind this week as I've wandered happily through "Kiss and Tell: An Intimate History of Kissing" by Julie Enfield. Part romantic meditation, part cultural investigation, it's a splendid account of one of life's most enduring pleasures.
He was late. It was a sweltering August afternoon in Venice, in 1997. I was standing in St. Mark's Square beside its lofty, winged lion statue waiting for the most brilliant, handsome man I had ever met, when suddenly it started to pour. He appeared, black umbrella in hand, as my mascara streamed into two dark lagoons on my cheeks, and whatever body my hair had mustered through the heat was washed out by the Venetian rain. He didn't speak. He took me in his arms -- as the umbrella clattered to the cobbles -- and gave me the dreamiest kiss I'd ever known. Instantly, deliriously, I knew that he was mine.
Ah! Doesn't that bring moments in your own life to mind?
I'll write more about Julie Enfield's ripening journey later this summer. In the meantime, I blow a happy holiday kiss to each and every one of you -- muah!
"RIPE" is here! This spring, I'm writing about "RIPE: Rich, Rewarding Work After 50," a 12-week course on discovering passion, purpose and possibility at midlife. Check out the video (a.k.a. book trailer!):
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At one table, I noticed a man come up and kiss another man on each cheek and offer his hand to shake the hand of the lady present. Often, I would think it would be the other way around.
I look forward to reading the more you have on this theme!
With love,
Anne