Tuesday calm

…today is the day I wash my mugs

The tiny book is here. You are always welcome to use the prompt or wrote a tiny book about anything and show me. This newsletter is an invitation to be part of a tiny community of gentle caring people.

It happens daily, but there is no need to read it daily, or at all. Even if every morning you delete it, like ritual, from your inbox. I understand. The world is full of words, and there are so many beautiful ones waiting for you. I hope you find them. 💖

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Tiny book number 34

The Pear House

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I’ve been trying to take Tuesdays off since the beginning of January.

A day where I can…get things done. But more than that, a day where no one needs me.

Yesterday after u got home from the day of writing, I went to take my dog outside, reached into my pocket and sliced my finger open on the card id been keeping in my pocket.

It was a sudden unexpected pain. I started to bleed into the snow.

My dog, ever the patient companion, let me go back inside. My partner helped me bandage my wound. It hurt so much for something so small. It was a deep cut. Paper can be so sharp.

I breathed myself through the process. And then I took my dog for a walk.

It was my typing finger. The pointer one on my right hand. It’s strange how sometimes I take the parts of me that create this whole for granted.

My friend, SB Rawz asked me a question that I’m still thinking about. Her heart’s name is Herbert. She asked me if any of my body parts have a name.

I think this finger, my right pointer finger, her name is Joyce. She has, faithfully written everything…since I got my first smart-phone.

I write everything on this tiny computer with one finger. (Currently her partner, Janice, the ever solid middle finger, responsible for flipping people off (but only in my lap) if someone is particularly unsafe on the road near me while driving…Janice is typing. And doing a good job of it too.

I guess my hand is a community of fingers (and thumbs) and I wasn’t meaning to get all metaphorical but here we are. And if one of them gets hurt, or needs help…there the other fingers are.

Joyce is not alone.

Nor am I.

This magical town, that I only moved to in November 2023, has held such space for me and the whimsical weirdo (weirdo is not a pejorative to me, they used to call me that when I was a kid, and I’ve reclaimed it whole-heartedly)…and I don’t feel alone here.

Yesterday I spent the whole days with a group of writers. All of them who’d moved to town after me. Who I’d welcomed here, like people had welcomed me.

The people who come to Curious & Kind are a blend of people who have just moved here and others who’ve been here a great while. The town itself is made up of people whose family go back generations, and others who’ve arrived from near and far.

It is a town that welcomes people, and integrates them. I want to be a part of that. Of making people feel welcome. How important that is. To feel seen, and appreciated and included.

How because immediately from my first day in town, the neighbours all came up to ask our story, and tell us theirs…we felt welcome.

How the people behind the counters in the cafes, the bookstore owners, the shopkeeps, and the humans at town hall, the post office…were so happy to make me feel like I belonged.

Not just the people in business capacities though. The people on the street will say hello, and often I’ll hear my name shouted from across the street. People stop to talk with each other, and if they are having a conversation and you walk by, they might invite you in.

I am a part of that. It’s so important to me.

But Tuesdays I take off to recharge. And to wash the mugs from a week at Curious & Kind. Where there is tea, and people can just make themself a cup, or have a granola bar.

It’s amazing to watch people interact with the space. Like it’s their home.

Yesterday one of the writers was sitting on the chaise lounge, a deep burnished copper thing I got at a second hand shop run by a duo who when they found out what I what doing…delivered the chaise, and a whole truckload of furniture and children’s toys. And when I asked them how much…they just said, “you’ve already paid.”

She was snuggled up to Bunsqually, the giant stuffed bunny and she said that was exactly what she needed. Just some time with a human sized bunny.

One of the other writers stayed all day.

Another put her earbuds in and write while sitting on the couch in the gorgeous natural light.

One of the writers was fairly quiet, and at the end of the day talked about how happy she was to have been there, to have been invited. That getting to listen to the story sharing was enlivening for her.

Yesterday (after I got over my fears) was so beautiful.

Today I will write my tiny book. Snuggle my dog. Throw some laundry in. Wash the mugs. Play some Cozy Caravan (which is essentially my life but I get to be a pink axolotl driving a caravan pulled by a giant joyful bumblebee…and last night I got the rainbow caravan update…so I’ll be doing that.)

Last night I started re-reading my novelette. I’m on page 7, and it’s like reading someone else’s works…because I finished it a year and a half ago.

I still really love it though. A lot. It’s like visit a friend that I spent every day with, and we still love each other, we just don’t have to talk daily anymore to know we’ll al aye be in each other’s lives.

I wrote a book-friend.

Huh. Wow.

I have this gentle goal to make it an actual book this year…so it can sit next to Le Petit Prince on my bookshelf.

Ah.,.I’m off to make sandwiches for me and my partner. That’s the nice thing about Tuesdays. I get to see them on breaks, and bring them lunch.

On Tuesday we are a tiny community of three. Me, them and our pup, Candy.

But I’m so looking forward to being a household of five again, come summer. Moving to the city means leaving this magical town, but it also means getting my teenagers back during the week. And all of us are so excited for that.

My Mugs are calling.

Heart,

Wake