Scotch tape, hair clips, golf tees. Earrings, a rubber band, loose change. All I saw were little piles of stuff. I knew what had happened. They were objects put hastily out of Abigail’s reach. But I was still irritated. Why didn’t I just put the stuff back where it went? Was the top of the mantle or a random bookshelf really a better place? Suddenly I wanted all of this stuff to just go away.
I looked over and the counter was piled with even more stuff. I had been shopping in the valley yesterday. I started putting away some of the groceries I had gotten at Trader Joe’s, still kind of bummed that I hadn’t been able to get any Spicy Chai Latte. It was completely sold out. Oh well, it was just more stuff I probably didn’t need.
I switched a load of laundry and grabbed a basket to start collecting the random things that needed to be put away when Susie unexpectedly came by — with Spicy Chai Latte mix. She was with me in Corvallis yesterday and witnessed the “no more chai” disappointment and she’s just that kind of friend. The kind who drinks her chai in moderation and is happy to share with a friend who prefers an IV drip. Boy was I happy she had that stuff.
I walked out to get the mail. I could recognize that handwriting anywhere. Heather. A card written in her oh so sweet and sincere way. A letter from her always makes me cry because our hearts are just connected by this tiny thread across this great distance. A thinking of you gift — my very own “Run.” sticker from the very best person to get one from. Because she knew I could use a little motivation and I was so grateful that she had thought to send me that stuff.
The dryer buzzed. I opened the hallway closet to grab the clean clothes and I saw a pair of gloves my mom sent a few weeks ago. My grandmother’s gardening gloves. Gloves that fit perfectly and made me smile. Because even though she died when I was very little I still get to discover new things about her — like the fact she had small hands too. I’m lucky that my mom saved that box of stuff.
Lately my thoughts are sprinkled over the day. Coming and going at their own whim so I use a journal to jot stuff down. Because all of this stuff I see and think about is a reminder. Of where I have been, where I am headed, and what I want to accomplish. It’s not a mess, but the story of me. A beautiful, haphazard story that just goes on and on and on.