If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know I’m not always on the best of terms with my Google Home speaker. My television remote isn’t exactly my best friend either. I’m not even going to mention my frustrating relationship with Android Auto.
I’m beginning to think it isn’t them…it’s me.
Despite my dismal track record with all things tech, I’ve become seduced by—a mug. A magical mug that keeps my coffee hot no matter how slowly I drink it.
Fortunately for me, this thing is as easy to use as a toaster. Plug it in, charge it up, and you’ll never have to wince at tea gone too cool again. Never have to traipse over to the microwave to zap your coffee back to an acceptable temperature.
Is this gadget an absolute necessity?
I don’t know, define necessity 🙂
The music was loud, the strategically erratic lighting was a prelude to a migraine, and the men were all too young for him. Didn’t matter, he wasn’t hoping to talk any of them off the dance floor and into his car. This club, all the lithe swaying bodies, were his gift to himself.
His eyes on the dance floor, David toasted himself and remembered when he had been one with the press of flesh in the middle of the club, when the music had beat through him…when he’d found himself, who he was and who he wanted, in the arms of strangers.
He didn’t regret those years, but he didn’t wish them back again either. He didn’t have the energy anymore, or the interest. He’d long ago learned that new didn’t mean better.
He wasn’t looking to hook up, he was just looking. Enjoying the view. Happy that he could enjoy the view. Happy that he was here at all, when for a while there he’d thought he might not be.
David nursed his drink, watched bodies merge and separate, heads thrown back and arms punching up into the storm of flashing lights above. He inhaled the life in the room, the laughter on the air, and smiled at the thought of next year, and the year after that.
He set his empty glass down and stood, dropped cash on the table.
“You leaving?” Blue eyes grinned up at David from under a mop of dark hair that was shaved on one side.
“Uh, yeah, I was just…”
“Looking?” The kid stepped into David’s space, brushed against him at thigh and hip. “Yeah, me too.”
I find myself living in a house with a lot of built-in display space. Previous residences having been heavy on bare walls and light on decorative touches, this is the first time I’ve had to sooth empty shelves and glass fronted cabinets crying out to be filled.
In response to the uncomfortably naked shelves, I set about rounding up various trinkets that had been hidden in cupboards and closets for so long I was surprised to see them.
A vase here, a photo album there, and me being me, a couple of stuffed animals and I was done. Bits and pieces of a life laid out before me. A pastiche of family, and trips, and time.
Each object holds a memory, a story. Most of them G-rated except for one small glass dish, edged in blue. Entirely unexceptional unless, like me, you happen to remember the hour preceding its purchase 🙂
One item though, doesn’t have a story.
I don’t know where it came from or when. It was just always there, a doorstop in my parent’s house. I look at it now and I wonder…
But there’s no one to ask. Not any more.