Weekend magic can strike at anytime, anywhere

Magic.

Recently, I’ve had a lot of love for that word. And I made sure to mention it here last week, as I was introducing myself. The point was, during a weekend, magic is always a possibility — though sometimes it might feel like a distant one.

So, how did your days off fare? Did the magic make an appearance?

Amazingly enough, for me, it did. My expectations were set low and protective, but late Saturday, I ended up surrounded by friends, inviting me for beers and burgers. On Sunday, I made my way down to Paonia, where I played improv games with a quirky little troupe I met months ago. In both situations, there was an electric, positive vibe around me, and I felt welcomed right in. It was rare and special, and I couldn’t have been happier.

God, doesn’t that kind of acceptance make the world work?

I only mention all this because, as I look out upon another stretch of weekend, I see how dearly I want that benevolent force to strike again. When I first moved here, I met Joni, an artist and shaman in her 70s. She told me to listen to the town, that the magic was all around me.

And I remember wanting that so badly then that I felt like crying. But things have since gone forward, chugged along, and I’m beginning to see what she means.

Yet tomorrow, the next day, I have no idea where the chips will fall for me. I’ll probably head to a showing of “Mother Courage and her Children,” at Thunder River Theatre Company, or catch a night at Steve’s Guitars. I might even spend a few chilly evening hours up at the slopes, where I’ll cheer on co-workers, trudging up the hill during the 24 Hours of Sunlight race.

No matter what, I just hope to be where it feels good.

And, like always, I wish you nothing but the same.

Hey, nothing’s certain out there, but what a good place to start.