Daily Bread

4 September 2014
On this mornings walk with the little one, I came to the house that the Mr. and I have been keeping our eye on. We’d wondered if it was vacant, curious if foreclosed, and in the meanwhile, pictured our little family living there. It is a cute Cape Cod right across the street from a tiny elementary school and adjacent to a big open field lined by tall, lush trees. It is a house with so much potential.

Well if you’re ever curious if a home is currently being occupied, no better way to find out then to venture past it on trash day. Sure enough, the trash tote, along with an overflowing recycle bin full of empty beer bottles and milk jugs decorated the curb. Why had we thought it was possibly foreclosed in the first place? Perhaps it was the tiny forest of trees growing in the gutters above the windows, or perchance the rotting sills framing each window, or just maybe it was the pile of old and soggy bagged newspapers accumulating on the front porch. But for whatever the reason, we were certain the house was empty.

Well, we thought wrong. And all this while, living happily inside (I’m hoping) was The Man Who Didn’t Wash His Dishes (but did manage to get his trash to the curb on trash day). And as Birdie and I continued on, passing the cluttered sidewalk, I told myself that the Mr. and I would be awful at the whole fixer-upper thing anyway. And besides, we are happy in our current home. Which reminds me of another wonderful children’s book, The Best Nest. Indeed, there’s no nest (home) like an old nest.

2 September 2014
Today while I took little Birdie out for a walk, I passed a hair salon. I caught a glance of the door, and our reflections, and I thought I saw a sign that read, “Survivors Welcome.” I did a double-take and reread the sign. It said nothing about survivors being welcome and instead something about the services they offered. My initial thought when I read (what I thought was) “Survivors welcome” was that (breast) cancer survivors were welcome for hair appointments and services. It made sense, I thought. And good for them, too, I thought. But after I had rolled back and re-read the sign properly, I continued to think about the sign (and my interpretation). And I came to see that that’s all I am. A survivor. That’s what most of us are: survivors. Simply getting by each day. Scraping by til dusk, after having crawled around in a haze since dawn. But I am surviving. That’s more than some can truly say, but I’m thankful for the hope to survive.