Of stone tables and blue glass dishes

It's January 1st and she's almost at her 5th decade. She's stronger. Thanks to the daily meditation of lying in bed for the first few minutes of wakefulness and counting her blessings, always starting with the children, she knows that she's going to make it through. Well, in some ways she already has.

Her son is smiling more

and frowning sometimes,

as a regular teenager would. He and his sister belt out popular songs as they tidy the kitchen. Her daughter as serene and strong as all the foremothers whose spirits she carries within her. The cat flops down in the middle of the floor for a belly rub. It's all good.

In a quiet house at breakfast, she chops a nectarine mindfully, half a banana, an apple- smallish and then feeling adventurous, pops half a pomegranate in memory of Amma's story of Demetre and Persephone. 

She decides then that such a magnificent meal deserves a blue glass dish and from the neighbourhood of Go Vap outside HCMC bought long ago- the plate that looks like a cupped palm or a large blue strawberry hulled out for more goodies.

Armed with a cup of coffee she makes her way up to her beautiful orange room thoughtfully decorated by someone who has since decided to move on in a different direction. That's okay she thinks and settles her food and drink on the table. 

Her stone bistro set. Last summer at Canadian Tire out for some summery knick knack, grass seed or hedge trimmer perhaps she'd seen it and fallen instantly in love. She wanted the stone and iron table to sit in a sacred space for herself and her loved ones-

People who would sit there with her perhaps. But looking at the 200 dollar cost the old habit patterns got hold of her and she second guessed it as too frivolous and decadent to boot. Then her daughter's voice whispered into her consciousness: "You don't have to ask permission or watch out for raised eyebrows and pursed up looks of disapproval. You make your own money, surely you can afford this." So after a token price check at HomeDepot she'd returned from the kitschy neon coloured plastic sets back to what she now thought of as her stone table. She had bought it and carried it home. A former student now working there helped her load it in quipping about her long ago science class and the homework she'd dish out. 

She'd got some help to fix the table and hoped to have the helper join her there sometime. 

But when eyes and hearts are

Focused on invisible far off imagined peace, they have to follow their path. 

So that rarely happened as she was relentlessly and consistently cast in the role of a deterrent to his peace and tranquil space. He'd never acknowledged the demons that plagued him although he spoke of them in passing-

It was always her fault.

On the Monday, she had mentioned her weekend shopping treat to a friend, a brother at work who was astute as he was observant. 

"Oh, you and your children will have loads of fun meals and long chats at that table" he'd remarked sharing in her delight as he admired the photograph. She was surprised that the void was obvious to many close to her. It was time, she had thought and waited for him to make his move. And he'd left three weeks ago. And she hadn't  grieved now. Not anymore as that was in the past. The grieving was over.

Now the living began.

She had walked through that convoluted time from June until now. And this morning before she made her breakfast, she emptied the closet of old clothes and artifacts of a shared life that can go where they too can be happy.

She sees now that her journal has a bicycle on the cover, a repeated print on every page. So this cold sunshiny January morning, less than a week away from one more wonderful birthday, she sits at her stone table with a pile of fruit in a beautiful blue glass dish, a bag of pens beside her. The children sleep off their joyful revelry of last night, the cat is napping by the window on the other chair, on a mat she's thoughtfully placed there for warmth. 

She give thanks for stone tables and disposable incomes, whispers of strong daughters, blue glass dishes and friends who will want to hear this story- of stone tables and blue glass dishes.