To my shock and annoyance, there are ants in my bathroom this morning. Thankfully, the place isn’t inundated, but the searchers are searching in a noticeable way. I was so surprised when I went in there this morning and saw them. After all, there is no sugary goodness for them to find to tell their friends about. By not-inundated, I mean, I don’t have oodles of them walking in a defined line (thankfully!) but when I came in there, they were moving in various directions, searching.
I decided I wanted to encourage them to run away, so I turned the water on, and sure enough, they moved faster. Then I took a hairbrush and hit the counter with it repeatedly to make some sound, though I’m sure it’s the vibration that does it. They began skidaddling even faster.
And what did they do? They ran toward each other, following the left-behind-scent so they could meet up, communicate, try to steer clear of my bathroom (c’mon guys, search better) and move away from stress together.
I thought, hmm… that’s not often what humans do.
In times of stress, we sometimes withdraw, hunker down, isolate, and tell no one.
Yesterday, on an ant-free-day, I stopped off at my local coffee shop before driving to work. I was walking in, motivated and ready to go for my day, and… SPLAT. I fell hard.
There was a water pipe in the asphalt, and some of the asphalt that typically surrounds it had broken off. My foot caught that, and I fell so quick. I didn’t have time to brace myself. I fell hard on my knee, in particular, and thankfully my hands caught me instead of my face. And it hurt so bad. I felt confident that I had not broken anything or hurt anything irreparably, but it was big pain. Knowing now that I was and am okay, it’s okay laugh at this next part. I mean, I did:
When I fell, my shoe came off behind me, and the cup previously in my hand was thrown out a ways before me. It reminded me of moments when a person is skiing, falls, and loses their skiis and poles. That’s called a yard sale.
Basically, I did an asphalt parking lot yard sale.
In my newly flattened state in pain, I cried out. And there was a person sitting outside enjoying coffee. He said, “Honey, you alright?”
Flat girl me: “Yes” (gets up slowly and majorly winces) “but thank you so much.”
Nice, coffee drinking person: “Do I need to come get you?”
Standing up, ouchy me: “No, but I greatly appreciate your offer. Thank you. I think this is the kind of fall where I need to walk it off.”
So I walked toward my new coffee friend, and we smiled that I could do it. Later in the day, I would discover that my knee was still hurting — again, not broken or torn — and that there will be a heck of a bruise.
But we came toward each other in that moment. And that’s what we needed to do. Thanks, nice coffee drinking person.
No hairbrush needed.
—Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 