A slice of life

So a year ago today, I had a broken arm. To be fair, a year ago last weekend, I had a broken arm, but I was much too preoccupied by the news about the Andrew, formerly known as Prince, to even think about it.

This week though, I’ve kept my head away from news. I do that periodically as there's only a certain amount of clownfuckery any creature can take before their head explodes, and dealing with the current political climate is a marathon rather than a sprint. So, now and again, I temporarily switch my head off from it all, rather than drown in disgust.

Anyhow, point is: because I wasn’t involved with the news, I was having a wee dance in the kitchen (as you do when there's a bit of cooking and cleaning to be done), and I realized that I just missed the anniversary of me breaking my wrist. It was no big deal. Like, I didn't think I was missing out on having some anniversary party with a cake in the shape of a mashed-up arm. But it did make me mull over how much things can change over a relatively short time.

Though to be fair, I often do consider how much times change while dancing in the kitchen. Like when The Jam recorded ‘Going Underground' all these years ago, I bet they didn't picture it as being the perfect soundtrack for a 60-year-old to pack the dishwasher.

Anyway, looking down on the offending wrist, that this time last year was a blackened swollen mess supporting a motionless hand, I marvelled at its current capability in terms of twisting and lifting. In fact, I was overwhelmingly grateful at its ability to repair.

I was actually in the middle of wrist appreciation when Mark appeared back from The Costco. Mark is a force of nature when returning from The Costco. He is a “get the produce in the fridge, groceries in the cupboard, and frozen stuff in the freezer” machine. And if you are looking for someone who can store 452 toilet rolls, or find space for half a ton of kitchen roll, he is your man.

Mostly though, this is to give himself space to play with whatever surprise he might have found for himself amongst the Nirvana known as The Costco. This time, it was a machine to clean the grout between your tiles. (And I mean, come on, who amongst us has been able to resist the attraction of an electric grout cleaner?)

So, as he was inspecting the instructions in his cleaner box, I happened to say to him, “Do you know what it was the anniversary of last week?”

Looking surprisingly smug, he said, “Yes. I do.”

I turned off the music, waiting for the praise, the acknowledgement of my lack, or at least limited amount, of whining about my broken wrist. It didn’t come. Instead, looking up from his grout cleaner, he said, “It was the anniversary of us moving into this house. 8 years ago. That's why I bought the grout cleaner. To celebrate.”

“No way,” I said.

“And it has $20 off. We deserve it.”

“No, I mean, I can't believe it's 8 years since we moved in. That's crazy.” Then, considering I asked. “What day did we actually move in here?”

“21st February,” he said.

“ Wow. That's the exact same day of the year I broke my wrist. When moved in here 8 years ago, I had absolutely no idea that 7 years later, on that very day, I would fall and break my wrist.”

“Well, that's kind of how life works,” he said, unboxing his grout cleaner, quite prophetically. “You never know what each day will bring.”

Recognizing that my kitchen dancefloor was over as the kitchen grout was probably getting it, I pottered off to my office to look through my computer to see what else had happened to us on the 21st February.

And it was amazing. Like if you put a date into your Google photo search, you'll find everything that happened on that one day, like big colorful postcards from your past.

So there were videos Fergus age 6, had taken when he'd ‘borrowed’ my phone. I guess he must have been going through his avant-garde period because most of them were upside down or swinging side to side.

There was a video of all four of us during the pandemic, outside the newly constructed chicken coop, singing Happy Birthday to a friend who was celebrating during lockdown.

There were photos of four men moving large pieces of furniture into our new house, the last of which being an old piano. After years of sitting in our living room, that self same piano now sits out in the backyard and is played by the chickens on a fairly regular basis.

And there were pictures of school outings, and kids enjoying donuts, and new shoes. and jigsaw puzzles and hiking with friends who are no longer here.

It turned out that looking up that one single fairly innocuous day was a historical slice of the wonderful and the miraculous and the difficult and the stupid, ending on the 21st February 2025 which had me, out of my face on drugs, lying on a hospital gurney, smiling like a lunatic, because I knew Mark was sending the photo as a proof of life to the kids who were back at home worried sick.

As I was marvelling at all of the photographs, Mark appeared in my office to inform me that the grout cleaner really is pretty effective. And did I know that Costco had it $20 off? And when I didn't reply, asking, a bit sheepishly, if I wanted a cup of tea.

I nodded.

Seeing the photographs of me and my mashed-up wrist on the computer screen, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m glad your wrist is fixed. You know you really were pretty amazing. You didn’t even really complain. Well, not that much. Just a tiny bit more than usual.”

I laughed.

“So, a year ago, eh?” he said, “Do you want to have an anniversary party? Maybe we could have a cake like a mashed-up arm?”

“No,” I said. “No cake. Just tea. And I would like to take a photograph of us.

“Oh ok. Why?”

“Just because,” I said. “Because one day I might want to remember today.”

“The day we got the electrical grout cleaner,” he said.

“Exactly,” I said. And we took a photo.

Today, this day, is just one of many. And whatever happens on this specific day is not your whole life, but a piece of it. This 24-hour period may feel significant or meh, it may be wonderful or terrible. It may feel -as it does for a couple of people I know- almost unbearable. But it will pass. All of it. One day, this day will be nothing more than a memory.

So it might be useful to have a photograph to remind your future self of the wonderful places you’ve been, or the incredibly painful situations you survived.

Failing that, you could of course get yourself an electric grout cleaner, so that every time you clean your grout, you can remember how incredibly lucky you are. And that even without a cake, any day will have something in it that is worth celebrating.

Lynn

Xo

PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji, Mr Tweddle finds a new thrilling object in the aisles of the Nirvana that is Costco. though to be honest, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

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A slice of life - Audio