The Fantastical Day of Ordinary Occurrences

I woke up to thunder and pattering rain on my window. It was Saturday and I had a checklist that I could accomplish in my jammies and most definitely after my coffee. I will be staying this week at my friends’ house keeping company with their dogs and the beautiful country sunsets. It is a vacation for my soul. So, clothes to pack and vitamins to count out. From there I, and my grandson, will head to Indiana for the day and night to stay with Isaac and Clara, kids (and their parents) who fell into my life and ignited an ember that, though 2 hours away now with their move to another adventure, still burn steady and firm. Love remains even when geography separates.

Puttering about done, I looked out the window and saw the rain had stopped. I grabbed my keys and headed to the car. I needed to feel my feet on the ground. I drove to the beautiful cemetery just down the road from my apartment, but not before considering whether or not any serial killers would be loitering in a graveyard on a random Saturday. I need to watch something other than crime documentaries.

The sky painted itself appropriately gloomy but my spirit felt buoyed. Cemeterys are a place that make me “hear’ the choir of voices that have gone before me. Seize the time!, they implore me. I move at a quicker pace when I think about their lives, their stories, the fact that they *were*. They counted for something and to someone even if we don’t know who they were. I stop at an historical sign memorial and read about Brigadier General George Hodge; probably just “George” to those who knew him as a boy, a friend. I smiled at the last line. After an illustrious and honorable military career he moved to Florida and became an orange farmer. Who would have thought? And all of it mattered.

I found a gazebo and had a Sound of Music moment. “I am 16 going on 17….” I stopped and paid homage to the beauty of a fallen tree and stood before a mourning statue. The sky began to swirl with the threat of more rain, the wind began to pick up. I would head home, I thought, until my daughter called and told me about the local book shop in town that had just opened an adjoining cafe. I knew my next stop.

I made my way to The Hidden Chapter Bookstore, all wood floors and tin ceiling and entered into my dream world. The baristas at the counter greeted me as soon as the bell on the door announced me. I walked toward them and said…”So I’m walking in a cemetery and my daughter in Georgia tells me you were here and so here I am and….(turning to one of them) why do I feel like I’ve seen you before??”

YOU’RE THE LADY AT THE PARK I SAW YESTERDAY WITH PURPLE HAIR!! She said this in capital letters. I kept watching you and I was so excited about your hair and I kept telling my friends I loved it and now here you are! I’m a nanny and I had my kids there. WAIT. Now *I* was talking in capital letters. I’M A NANNY TOO!!

Then the other barista spoke up.

“Do you want a job? Because I will hire you on the spot. You have beautiful energy!” I was silenced by the directness, the way that sentence poured over my head and down to my toes. Wow. That’s all I could think of. What a lovely thing to say, I followed with. I looked around. They had a fireplace and couches and chairs that said “sit” and a wardrobe entrance to the bookstore and I just lost myself.

And then in walked the Kellers; two people that are walking light. I’ve seen them around town; he a retired teacher at the school down the street and a writer for a local publication; she a retired insurance employee. They know my daughter from holding court frequently in the coffee shop she used to work in. The chance to talk to them had never materialized….until today. “You’re the Kellers!” I said as if they didn’t know that. I introduced myself as my daughters’ mother and their eyes lit up with recognition. They sat down beside me and for an hour I listened raptly to their story.

Mr. Keller is a cancer survivor, his “war”, as he calls it, begun 9 years ago. He showed me a picture of his Bee Gee hair back in his prime. He wears his bald cap proudly now. It means he made it through something. What advice would you tell me, I asked them, my favorite question lately.

“Always find something to laugh about!” he said.

“Let people help you when they want to. It means love,” she said.

Indeed. The rain began again and we all left at the same time to scurry to our cars. I walked in the door, lit my candle made last week, slid into my slippers and made myself dinner. There’s a quote I love, about solitude. “The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone.’ I did that today. Sometimes walking alone is a season, sometimes it literally, sometimes figurately. If we lean into it, it’s a beautiful healing.

My friend called and we talked for an hour. I reminded her of who she is, who God is. Ah, friend……I see hope flooding you. There is an out of the ordinary day coming for you. She cried joy. I hung up and looked out the window. Rain outside, peace inside.

I don’t live in the big house and the wide spaces I used to have years ago. I don’t have all the money I could ever need in the bank. I don’t have status. But these days I live? Fantastical, ordinary days? I start to type these last words and my phone dings….

“Pray for me.” says the message.

I am there for all of it. <3