“Do you have the thyme, Al?”
“Uh, around 2:30, I think…”
“No, no,” Danielle laughed, “Thyme–the herb. I don’t see it in the cupboard.”
I did have the thyme, small dried leaves in a glass jar by my right hand. I was making a cranberry balsamic red wine reduction to garnish my chocolate sweet potatoe torte–my Thanksgiving contribution to the feast Tom’s family has generously invited me to tomorrow afternoon–and my first step was crisping thyme in olive oil. I am in Sonoma for the holiday. Yes, wine central and mecca for gourmands across the world and, more significantly, my hometown.
Tomorrow will be my first Thanksgiving celebration in Sonoma since I graduated from high school. This morning I walked the bike path across town with Danielle, my oldest, dearest friend, and her mother Diane, a dear friend herself after all these years. We did our shopping in the town market, familiar faces streaming by. Back at Diane’s house, we opened a bottle of the Artesa Carneros Chardonnay 2007, youthful, fruit-driven and powerful. Soon we were joined by another lifelong Sonoma friend, Justine, and suddenly we were 13 years old again, huddled in the kitchen gossiping and giggling. If I had peeked in the living room, I would have expected to see our sleeping bags, fold-out magazine posters of Johnathon Taylor Thomas, and a VHS tape of Pretty Woman strewn across the floor.
I looked at my old friends, the smiles spread across the gorgeous faces of the strong, independant, women they have become, and I felt all the things you are supposed to feel on Thanksgiving, purely and simply.
At that moment, Danielle dropped the little glass jar, and the tiny dried leaves of thyme scattered across the kitchen counter.
“Damn, there goes the thyme,” quipped Danielle.
“Well, you can’t contain time…” Justine says in her matter-of-fact way.
And it’s true. Time can’t be trapped, and even if you sometimes feel like time is standing still and you are 13 years old again with your girlfriends, time will keep on rolling. Thankfully. I looked at my time-tested friends, still so young and so excited for the lifetime that lie ahead of us all, then back at the now half-filled jar in Danielle’s hand.
“There’s more than enough time, guys. More than enough.”
Happy Thanksgiving.
Cheers.
