I frowned a little bit when I opened the package. Frowning seems to help with remembering, and while I stood in the post office I was wracking my brain trying to think whether I’d bought a book recently. I hadn’t bought a book though, and yet here was a book still sitting in my hands.
A beautiful book, that just reading the first paragraph within the sleeve had me smiling and knowing I was going to love it. I frowned again, trying to think… now who could have given it to me?
To Brydie, from Brydie.
I made some phone calls and sent some messages. None of those people had sent me this book.
My finger traced the front cover and my heart felt fuller, as I tried to think of who it could be. On a week that had felt rather overwhelming with all that motherhood and life had to offer it came at a wonderful time. Who would be so kind and thoughtful? Whose such generous kindness had I been the recipient of?
I didn’t know and it looked like I wasn’t supposed to know. I filled the coffee pot, got my favourite cup out, settled the little people and opened it up. I loved it.
Both from the beautiful book and also, from the kindness of others.
With an enormous amount of gratitude, thank you.
FRANZ KAFKA, frustrated with his living quarters and day job, wrote in a letter to Felice Bauer in 1912, “time is short, my strength is limited, the office is a horror, the apartment is noisy, and if a pleasant, straightforward life is not possible then one must try to wiggle through by subtle maneuvres.”- Daily Rituals, How Artists Work.