Mysterious Return

So I live in a converted house that was built in the late 1890s.  Think cellar style basement, creaky floors, amazing woodwork trim.  Also think easily discerned markings that show where and how the house has been repurposed over the years.  It’s a very far cry from my suburban life in Cbus and I couldn’t be happier.  I like hearing the floors creak, feeling some of the drafts … it reminds that I’m living, and not just existing.

Anyway, because of the setup of my space, I come in through the back door that opens to my kitchen.  It’s rare that I ever enter in the front, and the only time I’m in the shared hallway is to head to said cellar basement for the laundry, or to get the mail.  Last week, the letter carrier abandoned my street because of the snow, so I got out of the routine of checking for mail every other day.  

I spied the letter carrier earlier this afternoon, so I knew he was going to be visiting my house, and I’ve been expecting all sorts of mail.  Go out to the front hallway and guess what the fuck was sitting sweetly in the corner … as if it had been there all this time?

Yep.  The mother fucking shovel that I was in dire need for ALL last week.  What the hell, man?  Where did this come from, how did it end up here, and more importantly, where has it been?  I looked at the shovel for a while and chuckled. 

The reemergence of said shovel is a nice cap to the end of this month of gratitude posts.  Standing in the hallway looking at it, I thought of all the ways that the snow shaped my life over the last two weeks.  I was forced to stay inside for an entire day, resulting in great writing; I relied on the help of a friend; I dialed in to what I needed for each day, and found ways to make that happen.  In short, I didn’t let adversity stand in the way of what I needed to do.  I guess that’s the lesson from the Universe with this shovel.  I’ll never knew where it went, or what happened while it was gone, but I’ll be forever grateful that it disappeared in the first place.  Maybe these little mysteries are life’s way of saying, Hello Woman!  Wake the fuck up.