“Aren’t we lucky?” he muses, during a short afternoon of cleaning.
“Lucky?” I question, covered in dust, and holding a handful of twisty ties my cats stole from who-knows-where.
“Yeah,” he explains, agreeing with himself, “since our whole life fell to pieces, we were able to rebuild it exactly how we want. I feel sorry for people who have to just keep adding on to something that was maybe never exactly right.”
“You mean you feel sorry for people whose lives didn’t completely fall apart?” I repeat, staring at him like he has lost his ever-loving mind.
Oblivious to my stare, he agrees, “Yes.”
“But there are cracks in our life now.” I point out.
“Yeah, but only cracks. There aren’t whole sections of our life that we hold onto for no reason anymore– just the stuff we want, and the tiny fractures that hold them all together.”
“That sounds pretty nice, actually,” I reluctantly agree, “Our life is a pretty mosaic bowl made from the pieces of an ugly vase we inherited and broke. And then we glued it together with glitter glue and gold and it’s awesome now!”
I throw the twisty ties all over the room, in celebration, and dance around as the cats run after them.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “Glitter glue doesn’t work. If you want to hold something together, you have to use… I don’t know. Super glue. Or cow poop.”
I start laughing, “Well. Our favorite broken pieces of our former life are held together by poop. Are we the luckiest people on earth or what?”
Sweeping now, and distracted, he grumbles, “Yeah. That’s what I said.”
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Idea by Braith an’ Lithe
Have you ever celebrated luck, in hindsight?