The Things I Carry on This Thursday.
Stephanie Strauss Hall
It’s a Thursday morning and my daughter, ever the early riser, bounds into my room and leaps onto the bed. “It’s morning time Mommy!” She says this every morning as soon as daylight seeps into the blinds in her eastern facing bedroom waking her up.
I pick her up, slung on my left hip, her soft arms reach around my neck, and I carry her down the stairs. Even though she is fully capable to walk, it has become our ritual. Her waffle-weave pink pyjamas, littered with little designs of penguins and hearts smell like yesterday’s fresh laundry. I know one day she will be too big to carry down the stairs, and so I oblige the request.
The burr grinder sits patiently on the kitchen counter as I turn the dial just so and it makes its constant hum of fresh coffee grounds. The smell is spicy and earthy and rich. The kettle whistles away on the stove with its impatient steam of water, wanting, begging my attention. My coffee cup is smaller these days, I’m trying to cut back for the little life that is forming in my womb- yet I can’t quite go without coffee entirely.
I carry my handmade, green glazed pottery mug to our antique table (that so desperately needs refinishing) and my daughter and I set about eating our breakfast. We talk of the daily activities, we talk about nothing, and we talk about putting more soft, brown sugar on our porridge.
It’s midmorning and the sun is high in the sky. It’s undeniably bright, the type of sunlight that requires sunglasses. Our car follows the gentle curves of the road that I know so well. We park and scurry into the dirty white warehouse building that houses my daughter’s dance studio.
I carry her champagne coloured ballet slippers, with the heather gray soles in my purse. We do a quick change from the cobalt blue rubber boots she insisted on wearing to her delicate, feminine slippers. She leaps and twirls and spins across the mirrored room as the mother’s line the wall watching in our hard, plastic chairs.
The day goes by quickly, the sun sets earlier these autumn days. There is a perfect hour- the golden hour- just before the sun sinks into the horizon. In this hour everything glistens and gleams and glows. I and a newly engaged couple are meandering through the local park for an engagement photo shoot. The sun casts sideways in between the trees illuminating their new love.
I carry my black camera bag as it hangs over my right shoulder. I’m used to the familiar weight of my camera as I gather it in my slightly red, mottled and cold hands. There’s no time for gloves, I need to adjust all my settings. In my gear bag I carry my flash, extra batteries, extra memory cards, extra everything because I always want to be prepared. I interact and instruct the couple for photos, giving gentle guidance as the ochre and toffee stained leaves above us float effortlessly to the ground.
The sunlight has faded; twilight has arrived and the neighbourhood street lights are beginning to flicker and hum as they rouse for the evening. I am carry my camera gear into the house, carry my tired body upstairs to the washroom and melt into a puddle under the warm stream of a soothing shower.
As the handmade soap glides in lavender scented bubbles across my body, I feel the extra weight that is starting to gather at my midsection. I carry a life, a small person that will have a favourite colour one day, a favourite cereal one day, a passion and fervour for things I do not yet know. I carry the hopeful addition to our family who we anticipate the arrival of when the pastel pink cherry blossoms erupt with bloom next spring.
I absentmindedly step into my pyjamas to signal the day’s almost done. I make one last trek to the kitchen to heat up the kettle for its final duty of the day. The kettle seems more patient at nine o’clock in the evening than early morning. My tannin marked tea cup- the one with the faded lemon motif on the outside of the cup holds my tea bag. The green ginger tea wafts up to my nose and steams my freshly moisturized face.
I carry my tea, secure in my right hand, upstairs to the bedroom. I crawl into my bed, deep under the chocolate coloured duvet. The lamp on my night table beckons for more time. I read and sip, read and sip. Then I turn out the light.
*****
written october 2008 for a writing class assignment.
i used the idea of light (natural and artificial) to carry the day, along with the physical things that i also carried. the descriptive, physical elements are used to give a glimpse into a random day of mine (whether it be a thursday or otherwise).
to better things,
steph
30 weeks. photo credit to sharalee prang; images of life.
