Campfires are all about reflection.

There’s the glow from the faces that are framed against the night. All are united, held together within the casting heat and circle of light.

There also are inner reflections. Between shared smiles, a loud laugh now and then, and favorite songs mixed with fireside chatter, those faces return to the flickering flames, pulled into moments of introspection. Reflecting on whatever. It’s personal.

Once a year, I sit around such a campfire. It caps a long day in the sun full of friends and family, good food and loud fun, including volleyball. I’ve been doing this since 1978, when my parents said I could invite coworkers to a much-needed two-day party at their home in the country.

We call it the Lost Weekend, which has been locked into the Labor Day holiday

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