Mail Call II of II: Medie's Package (A Continuation of Thursday's Tale)
[Continued from The Tale of Thursday]
So I packed up my car -- which deserves its own note. I think I've learned how to handle this Shakespeare in the Park thing like a pro now after five years. Arrive as early as the gates open, but park nearest the exit gate as possible. Which means I can get a seat at the very front on the grass, but also leave without being stuck in the wall to wall traffic of cars. So. Car. Car repacked with tarp and I headed home.
Got out quickly, played music trying and failing not to think about my day, about the Friday coming, about packing up everything I'd brought for my desk only because they'd said I was staying. Got to home and stopped to check the mail even though it was late. And there beneath my new envelops was gold and orange key for a package locker. I was nauseous with dread opening the package slot.
I didn't want it to be my three-pack of Adagaio Sampler Fandom Teas, or even Sarah & Jenn's new Enchantment Diary & Glamourkin. Facing those things and real world of impending unemployment in less than twenty hours was still like stomping on my own heart. Either of these things I had joyfully gotten thinking my life was back on track. Praying(/pleading) if it had to be one of them, then let it be my journal and necklace, let it give me direction, now, when I most needed it.
But I opened it on this very small, black and red, shoe box. With the kind of surprise I think you reserve for discovering someone left a kitten on your doorstep, or a flower on your work desk. I knew what it was immediately. Only earlier that week, or the week before,
medie had left me a comment on twitter saying she'd shipped off a box with Alias books in it to me and to expect it in a few weeks. Because Canada.
But there it was sitting in my mail slot. Giving me this staggering burst of guilt-relief and surprise.
So I scooped it up and took it home, depositing things throughout the house as I made my way to the kitchen where the knives and scissors were to find my books. What I found ended up being endless, epically more. Which is why I think this package deserves it's own post from the end of the tiresome Thursday. I opened the show box and dug out the fold of papers making up the letter for my package and started reading, there, leaning against the counter in my kitchen, in the midnight, half light, of my empty house.
Here was a package, it told me, something like Full Moon Swaps, but that had been in the making for four years. Medie, quite like Sara, is someone who has been here for years (almost forever?). I could not tell you what happened first, where the chicken or the egg was. I know she was on live journal, I know I've read vast amounts of her fics, I know it must have had to do with some fandom, but I could not tell you which at this point, honestly. There've been so many.
And like Sara, I stumbled onto her, again, in Tumblr (and Twitter), because, of all odd and crazy things, the Michelle Borth insanity. So here she was, and here I was, and here was this little box, this collection of pieces on a roadmap across years that I had not even known was coming, sitting in my hands, waiting on my counter as I read the letter first.
I am a letter reader, and a collector of how to open packages, after all my swap boxes. You can tell by the way a letter is written, usually in the first two or three sentences, whether you're supposed to read it first or find everything in the box first. This was letter first box and I stood there in the quiet, reading it, smiling, a little broken with surprise.
And at a very specific point on page I teared up when the most important words, and gift, to touch my day happened. Which I went looking for it in it first, but it'll be the last thing on here. (Since I had to retrieve it last, from my bed table, to take its picture, where it has sat at my side for almost a week. Guarding my heart and reminding me.)
Where else can I start but Fandom? A long time crossed-thing, here are the Alias books that came about because there were Tumblr-Twitter discussions of my utter love of JJ Abrams and Alias, epecially, while I'd been shoved into catch-up and love of Person of Interest
Also, in great hilarity and amusement, during her one and only trip to America, she picked me up Twilight key chains.
And what box from Canada to America would be proper with a liberal dosage of all things Medie and Canada?
I am in shiny-eye awe of the fact Canada actually gives you tea bags with your loose tea. I do not need tea bags, but, guys, guys, look at the pure helpful, look, we'll give you ways to drink the tea, and help you make it, all packaged right in. I want to hug these people. Bakeapple and Blueberry tea and stories of home and childhood!
And Maple suckers! Which probably will be very sweet, but as a note, I love Maple. Love, love, love. I have pure maple syrup from Mass, Vermont, and Canada in my kitchen, because it is made of heaven. And you can find things to add that, too. And these are mine, mine, mine. Brand new and totally unknown and I'm so curious. They will be saved for my next sweet wanting day.
Plus, a wine-related pen for wine journal and a gorgeous pair of shiny blue tea-light candle holders.
Where do I even start with this one? There is a wealthy of shining things. Pentacle. And dangly earrings. And shiny, large, colorful pendants. And the thin delicate gorgeous little silver tree circle. I just want to brush my fingers over them all, for completely different, amazingly, lovely reasons.
Which brings us to the smallest bag in my box, and the very first thing to go in the box all those years ago, with words that have not left my heart since I read them;
The last silver pouch is me indulging in my whimsy. When my cousin married they came home to do it and the centerpieces at the reception were all glass and pebbles she and her mom picked up on the beach. This little pouch contains some of it.
The north Atlantic is a pretty unforgiving ocean, cold and merciless even in the height of summer. People don't stand much of a chance and neither did this glass. Most of the jagged edges are long gone and they barely look broken anymore. I love looking at them because that.
Keeps me from crumbling when things really get bad.
And I remember with perfect clarity, kneeling next to my couch, looking at these things. I love beach glass as much as the next girl, and I was proud of my tiny slivers of blue and green found during Summer Faery Fest last year. But I sat there, brushing my fingers only barely over these pieces as a different reminder that night.
That even in the most unforgiving circumstances there are things that exist to remind me I will not crumble, too. That this was something that was given to me four years earlier, but this specific day, in all of time and space, was the one the universe brought that reminder to me, from someone very, very dear right when I needed it most.
~*~
Even for all the words written above, I don't know that I possess the proper words of thanks for the beauty and weary-but-there strength of that night, or the reminder still sitting next to my bed, or the enjoyment of my other pieces. All I can say is thank you and thank you and thank you. Again, and again, and again. And if you were anywhere nearby I'd probably just attach myself to you for a hug for a too long second before making you tea and giggling about the rest of it.
[This entry was originally posted at http://wanderlustlover.dreamwidth.org/2236718.html. Comment on either at your leisure.]
So I packed up my car -- which deserves its own note. I think I've learned how to handle this Shakespeare in the Park thing like a pro now after five years. Arrive as early as the gates open, but park nearest the exit gate as possible. Which means I can get a seat at the very front on the grass, but also leave without being stuck in the wall to wall traffic of cars. So. Car. Car repacked with tarp and I headed home.
Got out quickly, played music trying and failing not to think about my day, about the Friday coming, about packing up everything I'd brought for my desk only because they'd said I was staying. Got to home and stopped to check the mail even though it was late. And there beneath my new envelops was gold and orange key for a package locker. I was nauseous with dread opening the package slot.
I didn't want it to be my three-pack of Adagaio Sampler Fandom Teas, or even Sarah & Jenn's new Enchantment Diary & Glamourkin. Facing those things and real world of impending unemployment in less than twenty hours was still like stomping on my own heart. Either of these things I had joyfully gotten thinking my life was back on track. Praying(/pleading) if it had to be one of them, then let it be my journal and necklace, let it give me direction, now, when I most needed it.
But I opened it on this very small, black and red, shoe box. With the kind of surprise I think you reserve for discovering someone left a kitten on your doorstep, or a flower on your work desk. I knew what it was immediately. Only earlier that week, or the week before,
medie had left me a comment on twitter saying she'd shipped off a box with Alias books in it to me and to expect it in a few weeks. Because Canada.
But there it was sitting in my mail slot. Giving me this staggering burst of guilt-relief and surprise.
So I scooped it up and took it home, depositing things throughout the house as I made my way to the kitchen where the knives and scissors were to find my books. What I found ended up being endless, epically more. Which is why I think this package deserves it's own post from the end of the tiresome Thursday. I opened the show box and dug out the fold of papers making up the letter for my package and started reading, there, leaning against the counter in my kitchen, in the midnight, half light, of my empty house.
Here was a package, it told me, something like Full Moon Swaps, but that had been in the making for four years. Medie, quite like Sara, is someone who has been here for years (almost forever?). I could not tell you what happened first, where the chicken or the egg was. I know she was on live journal, I know I've read vast amounts of her fics, I know it must have had to do with some fandom, but I could not tell you which at this point, honestly. There've been so many.
And like Sara, I stumbled onto her, again, in Tumblr (and Twitter), because, of all odd and crazy things, the Michelle Borth insanity. So here she was, and here I was, and here was this little box, this collection of pieces on a roadmap across years that I had not even known was coming, sitting in my hands, waiting on my counter as I read the letter first.
I am a letter reader, and a collector of how to open packages, after all my swap boxes. You can tell by the way a letter is written, usually in the first two or three sentences, whether you're supposed to read it first or find everything in the box first. This was letter first box and I stood there in the quiet, reading it, smiling, a little broken with surprise.
And at a very specific point on page I teared up when the most important words, and gift, to touch my day happened. Which I went looking for it in it first, but it'll be the last thing on here. (Since I had to retrieve it last, from my bed table, to take its picture, where it has sat at my side for almost a week. Guarding my heart and reminding me.)
Where else can I start but Fandom? A long time crossed-thing, here are the Alias books that came about because there were Tumblr-Twitter discussions of my utter love of JJ Abrams and Alias, epecially, while I'd been shoved into catch-up and love of Person of Interest
Also, in great hilarity and amusement, during her one and only trip to America, she picked me up Twilight key chains.
And what box from Canada to America would be proper with a liberal dosage of all things Medie and Canada?
I am in shiny-eye awe of the fact Canada actually gives you tea bags with your loose tea. I do not need tea bags, but, guys, guys, look at the pure helpful, look, we'll give you ways to drink the tea, and help you make it, all packaged right in. I want to hug these people. Bakeapple and Blueberry tea and stories of home and childhood!
And Maple suckers! Which probably will be very sweet, but as a note, I love Maple. Love, love, love. I have pure maple syrup from Mass, Vermont, and Canada in my kitchen, because it is made of heaven. And you can find things to add that, too. And these are mine, mine, mine. Brand new and totally unknown and I'm so curious. They will be saved for my next sweet wanting day.
Plus, a wine-related pen for wine journal and a gorgeous pair of shiny blue tea-light candle holders.
Where do I even start with this one? There is a wealthy of shining things. Pentacle. And dangly earrings. And shiny, large, colorful pendants. And the thin delicate gorgeous little silver tree circle. I just want to brush my fingers over them all, for completely different, amazingly, lovely reasons.
Which brings us to the smallest bag in my box, and the very first thing to go in the box all those years ago, with words that have not left my heart since I read them;
The last silver pouch is me indulging in my whimsy. When my cousin married they came home to do it and the centerpieces at the reception were all glass and pebbles she and her mom picked up on the beach. This little pouch contains some of it.
The north Atlantic is a pretty unforgiving ocean, cold and merciless even in the height of summer. People don't stand much of a chance and neither did this glass. Most of the jagged edges are long gone and they barely look broken anymore. I love looking at them because that.
Keeps me from crumbling when things really get bad.
And I remember with perfect clarity, kneeling next to my couch, looking at these things. I love beach glass as much as the next girl, and I was proud of my tiny slivers of blue and green found during Summer Faery Fest last year. But I sat there, brushing my fingers only barely over these pieces as a different reminder that night.
That even in the most unforgiving circumstances there are things that exist to remind me I will not crumble, too. That this was something that was given to me four years earlier, but this specific day, in all of time and space, was the one the universe brought that reminder to me, from someone very, very dear right when I needed it most.
~*~
Even for all the words written above, I don't know that I possess the proper words of thanks for the beauty and weary-but-there strength of that night, or the reminder still sitting next to my bed, or the enjoyment of my other pieces. All I can say is thank you and thank you and thank you. Again, and again, and again. And if you were anywhere nearby I'd probably just attach myself to you for a hug for a too long second before making you tea and giggling about the rest of it.
[This entry was originally posted at http://wanderlustlover.dreamwidth.org/2236718.html. Comment on either at your leisure.]