Today began in a grey kind of way.
At 1am I heard the smashing of a glass in my kitchen.
I awoke in a panic mode. And 20 seconds later my eldest’s voice brought me to fully awake mode.
“I’m so sorry. I broke your Care Bear glass.”
What he needed in that moment was gentle care. I sorted quickly through my emotions and found patience and kindness waiting underneath the fear and the grief of the end of a special talisman.
I quickly got dressed and went downstairs to clean up the glass from the kitchen floor.
Then I helped him make tortellini, because he was hungry, and his schedule is back to nighttime waking.
“You only have to show me once how to make it, and then I can do it on my own.”
He’s become so self sufficient, my midnight child. I’m grateful for this moment where I managed to choose my gentle self. I could see how bad he felt.
The Care Bear glass was a gift from my best friend. Found at a second hand shop. Adorned with rainbows and Fun Shine Bear. It was the drinking glass at my former shop/creative space. I packed it ever so carefully when we moved and i would drink from it when I was having a sad day. Last night I was overwhelmed and filled it with hibiscus tea, and then left it on the table too tired to even place it in the dishwasher.
That was the last time I would drink from it.
And that’s ok.
The world is full of objects to imbue with magic and memory. And it’s okay to find myself grieving the magic that glass held.
I finished helping my eldest to make his tortellini. He scooped the pasta up into the bowl. Turned the oven off. Put the pot aside to cool.
I hugged him goodnight.
I slept fitfully. My brain waiting for more glass crashing.
But I awoke and it was Tuesday and on Tuesdays I work in a bookstore.
I snuggled my pup, made my eldest a quesadilla before he went back to sleep, kissed my partner goodbye, they hadn’t even heard the breaking of the glass.
Then I went to my favourite coffee place in town, the grey day cozying up to the side of the building.
I bought a sweetened chai with a shot of espresso, with oat milk, because I’m allergic to dairy, and a vegan cinnamon bun which is one of the fluffiest ones around.
And I began the business of opening the shop. Counting the float (the cash that sits in the drawer and must always be $200 at the beginning of the day and the end of the day, though most people don’t use cash anymore).
And the first customer to walk in the door was a writer to be. A dreamer at a crossroads. She talked of lighthouses and shifting sands in her life. She gave me her information so we could connect. It felt important, and special.
Every person through the door today has been gentle, kind, and endlessly fascinating. They come from all over, to find books, but also comfort and maybe an experience they can carry away with them.
They leave me with stories of their lives, what they are reading, and sometimes they share their art, their poetry, their writing.
It feels like I’m meant to be here.
That the people who have time for a chat, that they are meant to be here too.
Today we had visitors all the way from New Zealand. A young girl who sat ever so gently in the corner under our giant cloth octopus reading the books with reverence. And her mother who was so warm-hearted, and it’s so hard not to form short small temporary friendships. So I do. We do. It is a trust fall. We open our hearts and let ourselves say real things.
*****
My partner just messaged to say the stovetop had been left on.
Did I turn it off after making quesadillas? Did my eldest make something else and forget to turn it off?
Thankfully my partner was there to shut it off. I can’t recall if I turned it off. This gap in my memory feels worrisome.
I still feel good about the day. But now there is an underlying current. Breaking glass. An element left hot.
Things come in threes.
I hope your day is full of nearly unnoticeable magic.
I hope should there be a third danger today, that it is manageable like the last two.
The books on the shelf reserved for my picks.
A flower tightly bound before opening.
Our one tomato that might bear fruit (the dear have eaten the flowers off the rest of them) maybe I shall go home to find it eaten as well, and that will be three things.
Heart,
Wake
Thank you again for your candour I love being part of your daily adventures. .