At the American Legion. It happened to everybody in the room. About 165 Palisadians. They weren’t there from a church group, or from a school in town. They weren’t a part of a political party. It wasn’t a company party. They weren’t with a national organization. They played in the bocce leagues in the park. It was a ‘sing-along’ holiday party. And sold out weeks before in a day – with a waiting list a mile long. The room was stunningly decorated in these “Harry Potter” style long tables. A great band of happy young talent, snappy food, flowing wines – the place was packed… Here’s the crazy part. No agenda. Just for fun.
. Everybody knew everybody. It was a town party. The band played a few Christmas and Hannukah songs with familiar lyrics and pics on big screens. Everybody sang along. Normally, the stars of a show are the performers on a stage. Not that night. The stars were the 165 Palisadians in the audience. Every age, every faith, every color. Every everything.
. Out of nowhere, something magical happened. It just happened.
They let go of all inhibitions. All worries. They let go of everything except what was right in that room.
. Singing with all they had, hugging, standing up, and cheering together. When everybody danced, everybody danced with everybody. In the front and at the back of the room. It was so incredibly wonderful. They lit up the room with their love of their town. Their love of being alive. Their joy of being around everybody else right there, on that night, in the comfort and blanket of that moment.
A little backstory. Two and a half years ago, a table with a poster at our Farmer’s Market invited folks in town to join a new bocce league at the park. Since then, 864 Palisadians have played in the bocce leagues.
. From a lunchtime senior league -- to leagues as the sun magnificently sets over the Palisadians of every age imaginable. Teams of neighbors on a street block in town. Teams of couples that have been besties for years. Teams of generational family members. But mostly, Palisadians that just signed and got placed on a team with a bunch of other folks in town. And, in the blink of an eye, friendships blossomed. Team uniforms, team lunches and dinners in town, parties at player’s homes, out-of-town trips together, children’s weddings, you name it.
. She said, “I’m 96. Two years ago, my husband died. My son died. My best friends were all dead. My health was really bad. I decided it was probably time to go. Out of nowhere – came bocce.”
Here’s 96-year-old Lorraine Colich winning the night’s “Chestnuts Singing Contest.”
With everything going on in the world, with so much divisiveness, so much anger and anxiousness bubbling under everything every day, we’re looking for a break. Piazzas. Like those Italian town squares that have been around since ancient times, in big cities and tiny towns, where folks in town gather and share ideas. Safe harbors. That love us. That get us. Where we can be us. Where we can laugh, and cry, and feel, and look around at smiling faces. Where you leave with a hug.
We’ve all walked down a hospital corridor and peeked in the doors of so many rooms – of people all alone. Scared. Nobody visiting. Nobody around them. In these holiday days of looking back and looking forward, may we all be reminded of the gift of the piazzas in our lives. Maybe it’s at a church or synagogue. Or at informal block parties. Or with the folks we play pickleball with, or have coffees with, or bike ride with. And, this holiday, may we find a moment along the way -- to bring a piazza to someone’s door. Could be with a paper from the curb in our hand, knocking on the door of that single, older neighbor down the block. Who may need a little hug more than we know. Looking them in their eyes and telling them, in some way, they’re beautiful. Bringing the piazza to them.
There was a moment at the holiday party where all the guys together stood up, belting out a song as loud as they could.  . With their arms around each other. I looked out and saw my young son-in-law standing and cheering on others. I saw the dearest of friends with their heads back and singing so wonderfully out of key. I saw my two girls, and my wife. I saw the faces of everyone there. And sound disappeared, and I felt that room. That beautiful, beautiful room.
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