An Unexpected Phone Call

There is nothing more joyous than starting your day in the right way. I don't have work today but I do have a mammogram later, which I don't think anyone will ever say is something to look forward to. However, I am not the sort of person to let the prospect of an uncomfortable boob squashing set the tone of her day as this appointment is just a part of it.

But I'm not writing to share that nugget.

I am sitting here in my kitchen looking out while I type this. It is bright here in Britain today, crisp and cooler as Autumn continues to strip Nature of its cosy coatings. My garden has lost its sheltered status, previously provided by the canopy and instead is exposed. The ground is a mess - leaves strewn and discarded and blurring the edges of borders with their random spread.

One good thing about the trees being bare is that I can see the little birds more, flitting to the feeders, like small pocket rockets and I can see the sky easily. I can see other houses too, which is not as gratifying but as with everything, there is good and bad.

It is a beautiful morning, made more so because of the lack of rain and grey but more than that, it has been made good by an unexpected phone call.

I was pottering about the house, having just seen my eldest off to catch his school bus with the usual cries of "Have you got...?" and "Do you have...?", listing off the usual items that get forgotten: homework, lunch, lanyard to get on campus, bus pass.

And then the door closed and my thoughts turned to the stuff I have to do before the school run for my other son.

It had not been long before my phone began to rumble: the vibration before the shrill ring tone kicks in. My immediate thought was "Oh no! What has he forgotten?" A mother's curse.

But it was nothing like that:

"Mum?"

"Yes. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Um, you need to get your shoes on quickly."

"Why? What's up?"

"Nothing. Just get your shoes on and come out of the house."

"Why? Is it the hedgehog?"

{Recent sightings of the hedgehog had caused much excitement especially as photographic evidence of previous sightings was provided}

"Just get your shoes on, come out and look back. You'll see."

"Do I need to stay on the line?"

"No. Just be quick."

And so, I did as I was asked.

I was rewarded.

A beautiful virgin dawn. Lean clouds breaking pink and streaked across a pale blue sky, highlighted by the light enough to give them a presence but not lose their shadow.

Magical.

I stood and drank it up and the warmth I felt not only from the sight but also the thoughtfulness that led me here to view it imbued me with a gladness to be there, in that moment; to be alive and with the people who share that life with me. This has to be contentment.

On my way back into the house, I called my son:

"Hey, Mumma."

"Hey. Thanks."

"You're welcome.'

"Have a good day."

"See you later."

"Bye."

Nothing special there and yet, it was an exchange built on love: the knowledge that we had shared something together which was beautiful and I would remember this; and the thanks to him which acknowledged the act, that he followed the impulse to make sure that I had seen it because he knew that it would make me happy.

It's in the small stuff always where love can be found. But the love itself is never small.

***

I wrote a poem about the small stuff and I am utterly convinced about how much the gestures, the kind words, the compliments and courtesies matter, and like The Butterfly Effect, they can build a momentum of their own and become a swirling mass of collected loveliness.

If you would like to read it, the link is here:

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