What is a hap?
A word of Scandinavian root, it seems, meaning chance, good luck.
This morning was supposed to be met earlier. ‘Rest’ is the item most overlooked on the To Do list, so this was acceptable. There was sun, strong, no clouds to see. If there had been mist, I had missed it.
Toast and coffee on the lawn- or rather the picnic table, no mishaps here. Breakfast was simple and fantastic.
Something cheeky had scratched up the onions in the raised bed, suspects were many. Blackbirds had their mouths full of bugs and could not tell. I had pushed the little sets back into the dry earth, added rows of wooden stakes (for the garlic was untouched, it could have been vampires…) and gone inside to wash the loose dust from my hands.
One nublet of old coal tar soap in the dish, and I was thinking how much I love that smell, one of those evocative childhood scents, and I have no idea how the trajectory of washing sent that nub skidding under the cabinet. My hands went into an involuntary splay of surprise.
Retrieved, the soap was now decorated with spider legs (one previous owner, presumably deceased).
I shall make clear, the soap nub was rinsed of all debris and decoration before being returned to its dish.
But the thing is, daily, at least one event like this occurs.
So am I one hap short?
Sometimes it feels wearying, sometimes, as it was today, one simply thinks, ‘Oh, life is full of surprises.’ And to surprise oneself is an act packed with joy.
A word of Scandinavian root, it seems, meaning chance, good luck.
This morning was supposed to be met earlier. ‘Rest’ is the item most overlooked on the To Do list, so this was acceptable. There was sun, strong, no clouds to see. If there had been mist, I had missed it.
Toast and coffee on the lawn- or rather the picnic table, no mishaps here. Breakfast was simple and fantastic.
Something cheeky had scratched up the onions in the raised bed, suspects were many. Blackbirds had their mouths full of bugs and could not tell. I had pushed the little sets back into the dry earth, added rows of wooden stakes (for the garlic was untouched, it could have been vampires…) and gone inside to wash the loose dust from my hands.
One nublet of old coal tar soap in the dish, and I was thinking how much I love that smell, one of those evocative childhood scents, and I have no idea how the trajectory of washing sent that nub skidding under the cabinet. My hands went into an involuntary splay of surprise.
Retrieved, the soap was now decorated with spider legs (one previous owner, presumably deceased).
I shall make clear, the soap nub was rinsed of all debris and decoration before being returned to its dish.
But the thing is, daily, at least one event like this occurs.
So am I one hap short?
Sometimes it feels wearying, sometimes, as it was today, one simply thinks, ‘Oh, life is full of surprises.’ And to surprise oneself is an act packed with joy.
Comments