Ordinary acts open us, surprise us, deepen us. The other day I went out to get the mail, and there were three envelopes and a postcard waiting for me. I sat down on my patio to open them, under my yellow umbrella in the last of the day’s shade. The envelope from the IRS scared me, so I opened it first, but it was nothing. I had to fill out a form for the $80 tuition deduction I made on my 1040. The envelope from the college had an unexpected check, back pay for a retroactive raise I would never have anticipated with our budget crisis. The third envelope was from the writer’s conference. I read all the workshops I’d selected, and seeing them in black and white, holding them in my hand, made the dream of them real. Then I sat there with my pile of mail in my lap, the conference sheet clasped against my chest, and I cried. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” I said, laughing and crying at the same time. I read the postcard Marylou and Richard had sent me, from their trip to Santa Rosa, through my tears.
My mail was a cornucopia. First the sharp relief finding I was not in trouble with the IRS, then my dumb delight in the unlooked for money, the excitement and promise of attending the conference, the sweetness of hearing from my friends, of holding in my hand what they’d held in theirs, thinking of me. It was feeling the universe tending me, that sense of being supported, of being taken care of so divinely (pun intended!), that moved me to tears. And it felt like a kind of confirmation, too. My mail was telling me I am on the right path finally (!) and fully after all these years. I hear the mailman’s truck outside while I am typing this. I wonder what’s waiting for me today.
[Editor’s note: Photograph © Scott Cheffer from: http://media.photobucket.com/image/mailbox/ScottCheffer/DSC00780.jpg?o=4.]