Monday, July 11, 2016

Gratitude Monday: Reborn beauty

Last week was a slice. From the appalling events in Baton Rouge, suburban Minneapolis and Dallas; and in Dhaka and Baghdad and I don’t know where-all; to crushing crowds on Metro, five days of 90-degree temperature plus 90%-humidity and a directive to cough up out of nothing an event sometime in the next four months that will give the prospective customers not what they need, but what we have (and, BTW, the research we have done indicates that we can’t make our costs back on such an event, much less build a substantial, sustainable revenue stream)—because the CEO has a flea in his ear…

Well, basically from the macro to the micro, I’ve been looking around this weekend wondering what, exactly, the point of pretty much everything is. I feel like the widening gyre has me in a permanent state of vertigo—never exactly sure whether I’m putting my foot onto solid ground, if such a thing as solid ground exists any more.

Yeah, that’s it—it’s like that moment in an earthquake where you sense the concrete pavement beneath you has turned liquid, and you hold your breath waiting for it to stop and re-solidify.

Only these days, I’m not sure there’s an end in sight to the shock waves.

And that can make it hard to latch onto a focus for gratitude. But when you’re completely worn out, that’s when you really need that focus the most.

So, as I was vacuuming the living room yesterday (it doesn’t get as dusty as my place in the Valley They Call Silicon, but it needs a good sweep at least once a week—and that’s with all the windows and doors closed), I seized upon one of the Christmas packages my friend gave me the weekend before. (Long story, but I’m inclined to let Christmas and birthdays be somewhat fluid in my celebrations.)

I knew I was in for something good when I pulled off the wrapping and saw the Appalachian Spring box, and then I opened it and found this beautiful Fire and Light bowl.


(Fire and Light products are made entirely from recycled glass; crushed, molten and hand-pressed into beautiful dishes, vases, glasses and other things.)

My friend has a tradition of giving me a F&L wine glass from Appalachian Spring for Christmas. Whenever I move, I hold one of them out for my last drink in my old place, then I hand-carry it with me to have my first drink at my new place. Bellevue (twice), Seattle, San José, Sunnyvale, DC and NoVa. (So far.) Doesn’t matter what the contents are, just that I’m using one of the glasses.

I also get finger monsters. (One of them hid out in my handbag when I interviewed for my present job.)


So, okay—today I’m grateful that, no matter how utterly ghastly a particular day is on any level, I can come into my flat, close away the outside world, and have something beautiful in front of me to focus on—once discarded, crushed, molten and reforged as something beautiful.

I’m also grateful for a friend who opened this world of beauty to me.

Both of these will help me as I start work this week on carrying out the directive to put on an event that no one but the CEO thinks is a good idea.




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