Well I spent this week on a ladder. I'm clearing out the remainder of the dropped ceiling in my restaurant building so we can begin construction soon. Halfway through the workday on Wednesday, I nodded my head to look at the floor, and I felt some debris fall off the brim of my hat.
Mouse bones. So many mouse bones. And it didn't stop with just the one nod. In the last week, I've encountered almost a hundred year's worth of dead mouse carcasses.
I promise: they'll be gone by the time you come to dine.
Anyway, on Friday I got sick with a flu, and by Saturday, I felt pretty defeated. We've got a crazy man presiding over our country, I've got a restaurant to build and an album to finish, and I just spent the week unearthing the remains of WWII era mice. Now Reader, I know my troubles are all small potatoes compared to other people's, so I sucked it up, and just kept working. But while I was cleaning up on Saturday afternoon, I sent out a prayer into the universe:
"Thanks for the opportunity to work. I'm not asking for any help. But I would like to know if I'm on the right track. Wink at me."
Then I drove home from my building. I had a little time to kill, so I took my regular detour to look at my favorite dilapidated limestone barn tucked behind a small grove of trees just up the road from me. I put my flashers on to look at it. I've always dreamed of talking to the owner to see if he'd be willing to part with some of his limestone bricks, especially now that I've got a restaurant that could use them. But I would save that conversation for another day, I thought. I've lived without limestone bricks my whole life, and I could keep living without them.
When I got home, I showered up and fed my baby and just randomly did a quick search on Craigslist for limestone. Somebody had posted an ad a few days ago, saying they had a bunch of limestone for sale. The ad didn't say much. Still, I called the number and left a message and then forgot about it.
Until just now. The owner just called me back. His name is John. Get this: he owns a dilapidated limestone barn tucked behind a small grove of trees just up the road from me.
Wink wink wink wink wink.
He wants to meet this week. I'm on the right track.
Sometimes, that's all it takes. One little sign. The spring is back in my step. I'm ready to face another week of mouse skulls with my chin held high (and my face covered with a respirator). Reader, I hope you're getting your own little winks and that you feel you're on the right path for you. I'll see you next Sunday. -Em
