Walking along my apartment hallway I hear this tremendous crash coming from behind my closed door. I fish in my cart for my cellphone read to press 911. A break-in? A dementia person thinking it was her/his apartment? A bird crashing through a window screen? I open my door gingerly and was greeted with a sea of shattered mirror. When I say shattered I understate the condition of the floor. The large mirror was hung over my sink in the kitchen. I don't know how it fell off the wall as the hook it hung on is still intact as is the heavy twine fitted to last through an earthquake at the back of it. The whole kitchen floor, the vestibule, all the corners, under stuff, on top of shelves, you get the picture (ha!), is an attractive shimmering art installation.
I am about 1/2 way through cleaning it up, I had kept newspapers in a reading bin in the bathroom (you know what I mean, stuff that looks important but never gets read, ever)so wrapping all these effing slivers and slices and multiple shapes of mirror was a huge chore and I had to take a break and write about this to relax myself before I tackle it again. Before I burst into tears....and 7 years bad luck now, according to folklore? Shyte.
Which leads me to the whale today. After Book Club I went off to see the whale at Holyrood Beach, she came in after the herring followed by the coterie of a million birds feeding off her leftovers. This is remarkably early for here as we are still in Iceberg Season.
Photo is courtesy of Bruce McTavish who took a far better picture than I did. We all sat in our cars and watched this from the road. Incredible. I got out of my car and hit the boardwalk which runs parallel and guess what? The last time I walked there was with Ansa, we used to walk there all the time as she just loved it (and so did I) and I've just avoided it. And grief overwhelmed me. Here's her memorial picture. Boy I loved that furry girl so much. The grief is still alive in me. Does grief ever die?
