I Remember: Stationery Stores and Childhood Stickers

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."

–E. E. Cummings

I don't feel complete unless there is laughter and smiles in my day. Even on days when I'm feeling cranky, am unreasonable, and shout because my moods have taken the best from me, I can count on laughter setting me right.

A few days ago I wandered into a stationery store. I didn't wander aimless, though. I had a simple mission to buy a single postcard for hubby. I had told him that I had seen it when I was searching for other postcards. I described it to him and he said why didn't you get it for me? I shrugged my shoulders and told him that I wasn't sure if he'd actually want it. Now he has it.

Ever since childhood I've adored stationery stores. I remember when my mother would take me for tea and a sweet pastry after ice skating practice or one of her doctor's appointments. After seeking her permission, I would wander over to the stationary store just across the way. I would look through all the stickers, turning the stands in search of the perfect set. I collected them. I had a book full of wonderful stickers of all kinds: stickers that sparkled and glittered; puffy stickers; hearts, bears, flowers–all sorts. I don't remember her ever going into the store with me. I would run back and ask her if I could buy some stickers. She didn't give in right away. She might take a sip of her coffee, ask me if I really needed them, and she would end up pulling out a few dollars from her purse and hand it to me. I ran back as quick as I could and I would return giggly–happy to have new stickers.

There were other stationery stores too. It wasn't always stickers. Sometimes it was miniature calendars, pretty paper, pens. But always, she stayed outside in the car unless we were at that one breakfast shop where she could wait inside. She was dying, and as the cancer progressed, she was in pain more often; but as a little girl these realities register in the mind differently. 

I realize, too, that my mother didn't like being home, even if no one else was there. She preferred being out and about. As the cancer took its toll on her, these were some of the ways that we were able to spend time together, knowing that her life was drawing to a close. So, I see now that she not only needed me as her little rock, but that she also relished the last moments that we would share–and those moments I remember with the core of my being, with joy, and a hint of sadness. But what would life be without both?

She was serious and angry a good part of her later life, but right now in this moment, I can remember...I hear her laughter and see her smile, and it fills my soul with blue skies, sunshine, and the happy chatter of birds.

Journal - Cooking

This week has been about trying to find my cooking groove. I've gravitated toward already prepared meals over the past several months, only truly preparing a home cooked meal on the rare occasion–or at least that's how it's seemed.

I hope this week that I've broken this spell and I'm able to stay inspired about the next meal that I will prepare.

Monday, I went to an old standby: a sort of beef and vegetable stir-fry served with saffron rice. I try not to serve red meat more than twice a week, but this is one of those dishes that is so delicious, I could eat it almost every day!

Tuesday was chicken day. I must confess that I don't particularly like working with chicken, and unless it's well seasoned or has a nice sauce, I don't like eating it much either–well, fried chicken is the exception. I love fried chicken. I don't usually buy mayonnaise, but I was craving sandwiches to take for lunch for a change, so I bought a small jar. As I was looking for the expiration date on the jar, I noticed a recipe for chicken using the mayonnaise. I think of Paula Dean. I remember vaguely that she used to put mayonnaise on everything. The recipe was simple and sounded like it would be tasty. I mixed together the mayonnaise with grated parmesan cheese, garlic salt, Italian seasoned breadcrumbs, panko breadcrums, and lovingly spread this all around the top side of the chicken breasts. Into the 425 degree oven it went and 20 minutes later dinner was served. We had mashed potatoes and cauliflower on the side–my new favorite way to have mashed potatoes–and I sautéed finely chopped mushrooms with garlic, olive oil, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, and a splash of white wine; and a simple green salad with thousand island dressing. The chicken was pretty good. I forgot to season it directly, and although the crust gave it great flavor, I think it suffered from lack of seasoning on the meat itself. I couldn't believe I forgot the most basic rule of seasoning.

Tuesday night I pulled out my recipe box–the one that holds the handful of "My Great Recipes" cards that I still have from when I was just a young girl. I used to have a large box of these recipe cards, but damn me for getting rid of them during a move–that at the time I didn't think I would like. But, I still have the ones I deemed worth to stay. So, as I was flipping through the cards to figure out what to do for Wednesday's dinner, a plan formed in my head.

Wednesday's dinner would be planned around making use of the leftover potato and cauliflower mash. I had come across a pork chop recipe and I LOVE pork chops! It wasn't a complicated recipe by any means, but see, I'm a visual person and I need images to inspire me to cook and to provide ideas or to jog my memory to cook meals that I've prepared but forgotten about. Tuesday night, I had already come across a recipe for pineapple muffins, so I knew I wanted to bake those too. I modified the pork chop recipe a bit by adding in some additional veggies in addition to the called for chopped tomatoes and garlic. I added zucchini and spinach. I quickly browed the chops (I did remember to season the chops), set them aside, then added white wine and garlic to the pan, scraping any brown bits, and let that reduce a bit. Back in went the chops topped with the chopped tomatoes, zucchini, and spinach; that simmered for about 45 minutes. We skipped the salad Wednesday night since we had plenty of veggies and tasty pineapple muffins. I must say I'll need to work on the muffin recipe, but they were still pretty good, despite the bottoms getting stuck in the paper cups. So we were essentially easting muffin tops, which cut back on the calories, I imagine.      

I don't have a plan for tonight's dinner yet. I'm sure something will come to me.

I forgot to mention that I love listening to music while I cook, and it has been a reggae week. Reggae calms me and gets me into the perfect state of mind, causing me to pause and dance while I cook.

Yesterday: In the Bookstore, and the Book that Found me

                                   

Yesterday, at the end of my workday, I wasn't ready to go home yet. I had been meaning to go to Barnes and Noble and browse around, so that's where I headed. I miss the independent bookstores that have closed one by one. And one day, I imagine, we will only have the option of buying books online. 

Once inside the bookstore, I took a look at the new books; many I have seen at online review sites or heard mention of. I wasn't feeling especially pulled by any. I wandered over to where the notecards, notebooks, and art supplies are kept, just past the business section and the bargain books. I skipped the business section and went to the bargain shelves and tables. I saw a visual book that teaches you how to learn the keys of the piano. I thumbed through it, slightly wishing that I knew how to read music, to understand and enter music at its language gate. 

I saw another book on introversion that caught my fancy. There was a Baudelaire quote inside that I saw when I flipped through the pages–it spoke to me. I took a photo of the book, so that I can see if the library has a copy. My favorite place to get books these days is the library and second hand stores. I have a stack checked out right now and recently took back a few stacks. They come home with me, and of course, they don't all get my attention, but they are what I'm interested in at that moment that I bring them home; some hold my attention all the way until the end, while others serve as inspiration in the small spurts of time I'm able to give them. It seems the library books are the ones that get read all the way through; my own books stay in their shelves or stacks looking back at me, patient, waiting for me to pull them out. They have a home, and I would say it's permanent, but that would be a lie–nothing is permanent–an ancient truism, one that I try to remember.

While I was down in this section, my eyes were drawn to the "Buddha Board Mini" sitting on the shelf. I picked it up and saw that it was a small drawing board. You use only the brush, the board, and water to create your image and then poof, it disappears after some time. It actually evaporates. On the box it says: "Master the art of letting go." Another reinforcement of the impermanence of life. I kept turning it in my hands, wanting to buy it; instead, I made a note. Maybe later.

Part of me only wanted to browse. I wanted to refrain from buying anything; and I always feel guilty when I buy new books and "stuff".  

I looked at my watch. I had just a little more time to browse before I should leave, pick up dinner, and head home.

Upstairs, there was more new fiction and the rest of the fiction. I browsed. I was starting to feel like I wasn't going to find anything that I wanted. I don't know if I was looking for something in particular or just trying to relax, allowing my mind to lose itself. I don't know what I was expecting. Was I expecting something? I wasn't feeling energized. I was beginning to feel tired. I was only in the B's. I saw a book that I jotted down for later, then I went to see if there were any astrology books I might not have. There were only a handful, nothing new or interesting to feed whatever mood led me around the store, as if searching for something, yet not searching for anything at all. Since I was in the spirituality section, I quickly scanned the other titles. I saw the Four Agreements, which I have stowed away in a box somewhere. I might have to dig it up. Then I saw a book of meditations by Don Miguel Ruiz's son. I noted the book in my notebook.

I made my way back toward the escalator, but stopped quickly at a shelf with a reference book that stood out to me for its size and title. Noted.

Down I went, back on the main floor I was about to exit, when I went over to where I thought the writing section was. I didn't see it; instead, I was standing in front of the self-help section. I did a wide scan with my eyes, not really feeling in the mood for a self-help book. My eyes were drawn to a book that was facing forward, like someone had pulled it from the shelf and not put it back, leaving it there to be seen. I looked away, continued scanning, then I looked back and picked up the book. The cover was black, a photo of two small red flowers at the bottom right corner growing out toward wet stones. I felt calm looking at that cover. "Wabi sabi" written in white lettering somewhat in the middle of the page. The words were familiar in an unfamiliar way. Where have I heard or seen those words before, or have I? 

The full title: Wabi sabi: Timeless Wisdom for a Stress-Free Life. I flip this beautiful book open, read the inside flaps, and learn about the author. I'm intrigued. In reading her forward and looking through the book, it seems this is her meditation on her experience and practice with the concept of Wabi sabi, a Japanese concept.

While I was flipping through the book, I landed on a quote by Robert Frost at the top of page 31: "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."  I smiled, my internal voice agreeing, 'yes, that's right. So simple, and yet...'

As silly as it may sound, I think the quote sealed it for me. It made me take that book and keep flipping through it and re-reading the table of contents–my curiosity, the beauty of the book itself, and my love of wisdom...it was the book that found me that day.

A Fortuitous Visit

A couple of weeks has gone by, or maybe it's been a month...time seems to be playing tricks on me lately. The only way I can truly keep track of time is to write it down; and though I've been jotting small scraps down here and there, I have not been as diligent as I should. 

**

I had come into work, a Monday, I believe. My boss was rather chipper that morning and after he greeted me, he came back out of his office and said, "Let me know if anything interesting happens up here." I looked at him with a curious look on my face, and asked him, "Is something going to happen that you know about?" He knows how easy it is to get my mind working and to wonder at every mysterious comment that comes my way; and he has been known to purposely make me worry. I suppose he gets a kick out of me turning from a calm being to a chaotic worry bug. "Just let me know if you notice anything unusual." 

"Did the lights get changed?" I ask. I come back from around my desk to inspect the office. "Did the window people come." He wouldn't budge. He knew something, and I would find out in good time. He went back to his office, and I to my desk.

Later on in the morning as I walked out of the office to go down the hall, there on the wall a couple feet above where Shorty the plant sits, I saw a good sized insect. "Ah ha!" I said aloud. My office mate heard me, and I heard him say loud enough for me to hear, "She must have found it!"

"It's a grasshopper!" I say, quite excited about our new visitor.

The boss comes out of his office. "Well, actually, it's a cricket."

"Oh, that's right."

"I wonder how he got in."

"Maybe when the cleaning people came, he hopped on one of their trash bins." Noticing that Shorty, who I had forgotten is actually a Peace Lily, had flowered (and it's been a long time), I said, "Or maybe he was inside the flower, and when it opened, out came the cricket." 

We decided to leave the cricket alone. Throughout the day, I went over and looked closer at him. I saw his long front feelers move around when I came near. The next day he had moved to one of Shorty's leaves. I wondered what would happen when I watered Shorty. Would the cricket jump out at me?

I saw this as a fortuitous event in the week: a cricket showed up and the Peace Lily bloomed. I haven't seen the cricket since, but I'm sure he's moved on to another home. As for the flower, it is still in bloom.

Custard Pie

There was a line in the small burger joint. It looked like the one I used to work in. I was getting closer to the front of the line; I would be next, but then an older Asian lady with white hair tried to cut in front of me. I glanced at her and said, "I think I'm next," just so she knew. She stood beside me and as she spoke to me, her elbow nudged into me. "No, I next." As the words came out of her mouth, one of the women behind the cash register came over to help the next in line. She was also Asian, middle-aged with short cropped hair. I leaned in and said, "do you have custard pie? All I want is a slice to go." She nodded. "Come with me." 

She led me back to the kitchen, which was huge compared to the small store front. I saw rows and rows of pie racks. She stopped in front of a metal freezer, opened the handle and told me to go in, that I'd find the pie at the back. I walked into the cold freezer. It was empty except for the few items hanging on hooks at the back. There were two donuts that I took off the hook and behind those was one small slice of custard pie hanging there hidden from view. I took the pie and put the donuts back. As I walked back to the front of the freezer, half way to the door, the lady smiled a toothy grin at me, gave a slight bow, and quietly closed the door. I sped up my pace and gave a knock to say 'ok I've got the pie.' When there was no answer, I rapped harder on the door. At this point, I became aware of the cold in my bones.

A Mallard in Repose

It's been 40 days. I counted them. 40 days since I saw that lone mallard duck. 

I was on a walk. As I approached the edge, just about to pass the memorial that is like a small park, but in some ways is also like a cemetery with a design that invites you to enter to sit at one of the granite slabs, invites you to read the descriptions, to honor those that have served, to feel comfort in the tall birch trees that stand among the tufted grass, their white skin peeling off like pages in a book.

And when you approach from any direction, you see the tall slabs of granite that grace the edge of the sidewalk, water trickling down. In the middle you see the shallow geometrical shapes, filled with water, and down the center is a long path–the entire memorial is meant to be walked, to soak in the beauty, to take in the quiet, taking our minds somewhere, to make us think and appreciate. You can walk up and put your hand into the water. I've seen teenage boys ride their bikes through. I cringe when they do, only because it doesn't feel like that's what it's meant for, but it's so inviting, and at the same time, it causes a quiet stir inside. 

So, it was here that I was taken aback when I saw a single mallard peering into his own reflection or so it seemed. He stood at the edge of the water just looking in as though he was in a trance. I walked past and continued on with my walk.

The next day I walked the same path and I hoped to see the mallard. I did. Only this time he was curled up near the same spot that I saw him the day before. I felt sad. I asked myself why I felt sadness. Was it because I wasn't used to seeing ducks alone or appearing as if they are in contemplation and then snuggled up as if they are suffering a great loss.

I sat at one of the granite slabs and watched the mallard. It was peaceful, even as the street traffic passed by.

And then there came a passerby and he began snapping photos with his camera. He approached the mallard, the mallard got up and walked away and snuggled up in a different spot. The man tried again, only to cause the mallard to move again. Finally, the man stopped.

The mallard resumed his repose.

Random Acts

"Happiness 

often sneaks

in through

a door you 

didn't know

you'd left

open."

–John Barrymore

On Saturday morning I decided to take myself to breakfast before going into work. I needed the fuel of a large platter of eggs, hash browns, and bacon, so that I could focus on work without the interruption of hunger. 

The restaurant was busy, but I was taken to a table with seating for four that was near another table with a solo breakfaster. I ordered a decaf coffee and a water. When the coffee arrived, I took a deep breath, inhaled the aroma, and drank. I released a long breath as I imagined what I had left to do at work. April 15th was almost here and I felt relaxed and relieved.

The server appeared, ready with a smile. He asked how my weekend was going. "So far so good. A little bit of work today. How's your weekend going?"

"It's going good...where do you work?" he asked.

"At a small tax office."

"Oh, it's your busy time."

"Yes, it's almost done. Just waiting for a few more checks for extensions."

"I'm curious. How does an extension work?"

"Well, you get an additional six months to file your taxes, but if you owe money, you still have to pay that with your extension request."

I satisfied his curiosity. I smiled at him. He said he'd place my order and it would be up soon.

I took another sip of my coffee, and heard the gentlemen next to me say, "Nothing like tax talk on a Saturday morning."

I looked over to him briefly to acknowledge him and gave him a smile. I didn't have my glasses on, since I often take them off when I'm eating, so I wasn't able to see him clearly, or maybe because of my introverted ways, I didn't rest my eyes upon him long enough.

I sat for a few moments, maybe even two or three minutes, then out came the notebook. It's always interesting to see how long I can sit if I'm dining in a restaurant alone, to see how long I can sit before pulling out my notebook. When I was done writing, I sat still again, then I reached for the book I had brought. I was then transported out of the restaurant into my own world–I had slipped into the quiet where I feel at home amongst the bustle, being surrounded by loud noises, chatter, and movement, yet immersed in my own quiet space.

When my breakfast arrived, I wiped down my utensils with the napkin, set them down. I mixed my medium done eggs in with the hash browns, added salt, pepper, and tabasco sauce. I enjoyed every delicious bite of my meal and I knew that it would get me through the morning. The server had been by a few times to see how my food was. Everything was great. 

I sensed that the gentlemen was getting ready to leave as his server was asking if he needed anything else and he said he was ready for the check. I also still have moments of shyness, otherwise, I may have looked up, started a conversation, or said goodbye, but pair moments of shyness with a natural inclination toward introvertedness, and well, it doesn't make for the most outgoing of individuals. 

When my server came by again, I said that I was ready for my check. "Well, actually," he said, "the man that was sitting there, he paid for your breakfast."

"Oh my goodness. How nice of him. My gosh." I was taken aback with surprise.

"So whenever you're ready, you're free to go. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"Thank you, you too."

I was going to pay for my bill with my ATM card. I didn't have any cash with me, but I still wanted to leave the server a tip. I went over to the convenience store and bought a few postcards in order to get cash back. I went back to the restaurant and handed him his tip.

I felt a deep gratitude inside and I felt something open up inside of me that would fill my day with an added lightness– a happy, grateful feeling. I felt giddy at the kind gesture of this gentlemen–this stranger–a fellow human being, who for whatever reason, at that moment in time, expressed a random act of kindness.

And to him, this gentlemen, whom I may never see or recognize again, I thank him dearly. I will remember.