—leaving my mother’s building I overhear an elderly woman looking for dental floss; I might I have some in my purse, I say, and she wonders if it’s new or used and I don’t ask what she means; I say I think new; my dentist gives them to me, I tell her, and sure enough I find a tiny blue container, the white seal unopened and firmly in place. She only wants a piece, she says, but I tell her she can have the whole thing, keep it forever. She smiles like it’s her birthday and floss is the perfect gift.
—from there I drive downtown to visit the library where a book I expect to have seventeen holds is actually on the shelves (and, even better, is now on my kitchen table).
—after that I walk over to a beautiful, recently burned out church to take some pictures and while doing so a man in a burgundy van stops and because I must look very keen on religious buildings he asks if I know where is St. John’s Anglican. I normally don’t know where things are when people ask and if I do my directions can be a little complicated. In any case, churches are not my specialty but, to my amazement, I’m able to direct him perfectly. He leaves with a “well, I sure as hell asked the right person” kind of look on his face.
—En route to the farmers’ market around the corner, I stop at a shop to check their small selection of second hand books, buy a copy of Tillie Olsen’s Tell Me a Riddle, published in 1956—I have a thing about that era, the 40’s and 50’s. Also pick up some postcards (also have a thing about postcards), which the shopowner says I can have for nothing because I look ‘honest’. Not quite sure of the math involved in his reasoning, but it’s sweet nonetheless.
—At the market I’m delighted to discover a new vendor, a local organic farm who not only offer fresh produce but also raise pastured cattle and poultry and are members of Community Supported Agriculture (a program where you can sign up to get a week’s supply of straight-from-the-field veggies, washed and packed). Not only all that, but they are tremendously friendly and charming and when I buy a pint of green beans, they throw in an extra handful.
—Then, as if all these lovely events aren’t enough to prove I’m in the right place at the right time, as I’m walking back to my car, which is a moderate hike, it starts to rain—but only the vaguely spitting kind of rain, a warning. I have time to get to get to my car, time even to stop and take this picture (because I love the style of this house and may use it in a story).
It’s not until I’m sitting behind the wheel and the ignition is turned on that the skies open like they’ve been unzipped, and within milliseconds this is what I see—
And that’s not all. It rains like crazy until I get home—BUT by the time I park and walk to the house, the sun is back.
Moral and/or point of the story—this stuff doesn’t happen all the time but when it does you’ve got to admit it’s like dental floss: one big fat gorgeous gift.