As I moved the table to sweep behind it this morning, it fell apart. The legs separated like they were too weary to stand and the side piece fell out. I was upset and tried to put its legs back to where they belonged and get them to stay there so I could provide first aid and mend it.
Why was I so upset? After all, it’s kind of regular little table. My son recently bought a house that has two matching tables left in a pile of other discarded stuff in the garage. I said to him “hey those match my table. You should take them in and use them.” He said “nah, I don’t really like them.
This little table was left in the first house we bought and with little to no money for extra furniture, I spent hours stripping the turquoise paint and sanding it to turn it into a useable table. It’s come along to every house and home with us for 30 years like an old friend.
It’s not a big deal; just something broken to be fixed.
A change of scene took me outside to water my flowers for some nurturing zen- in- the- flower- garden time. I know that the hose connection leaks. I’m reminded every time I drag the hose clear down to the road to reach the farthest hanging baskets as the hose spurts, gurgles and squirts water out of the joint. And yes, I have tightened it and tightened it and tightened it complete with new washer in it. I need a new hose, yup.
As I pull the hose and stretch to reach the hanging baskets, the leaky joint took direct aim at the front my shirt and with a fountain now having graduated from a single squirt, it got me full on.
In the seconds as I looked down and grabbed the hose to yank it away, a tiny blue-green hummingbird darted in and hovered six inches in front of me in the spray of water. I stood still and didn’t move and watched the delicate tiny bird play. It darted to the flowers and back several times returning to hover in the droplets of water. I stood there as background for hummingbird play until it darted off to whereever hummingbirds dart off to.
Heading back up to the house, dragging the hose and dripping wet I smiled. It’s not always about what’s wrong; what’s broken. Sometimes, it’s just about what’s right.