I have four red coffee cups that I bought at Saver’s a few months ago (to go with my four blue plates, purchased the same day).
Today, they all were used, all at the same time. There were only three chairs on the house (one is still supporting all my costumes on the deck), so one person sat on the floor while we talked.
It was wonderful.
“We brought you some Minnesota honey, but there’s an ulterior motive: we love honey in our ginger tea.”
So we opened the bottle and I turned on the electric kettle, freshly dug out of a big plastic bin, and we sat around the table I have had since I first lived on my own; the table that belonged to my dear friends and neighbors who made me tea and cocoa (with mint or orange or vanilla) and listened to me talk about boys or my dad or my big future dreams or, for a brief period, the band Hanson.
Tonight one of my best girlfriends is here. We took a walk, we talked about kids and partners and the whole spectrum of those worlds. We watched the hedgehog explore, which is still the best entertainment I’ve ever bought. And now, as if all times happen at once and we are back in the mini-quad between our two dorm rooms, we are going to talk and talk and then sleep.
This house and I are settling into each other more and more. Shifting and aligning. It seems to happen by connection– by letting others in, even (especially?) when things are heaped everywhere and there aren’t enough chairs and and and–
A rabbit came through the yard tonight. Next came a deer. It’s the season of visitors.