Meaning in the Mundane {26} : Magic.

When I was a kid, my mom would wake me up for the first snow. She’d wake me up to see the kids out on Hell Night, and we’d giggle from our secret window as we watched them toss toilet paper into trees and hide from headlights on our normally quiet street. On my birthday, I would awaken, delighted to find that I had been visited by “the birthday fairy”, a silent, invisible being who would sneak into my room while I was asleep and ensure that I awoke to a decorated and present-filled room. We watched lightning from her bed — a tiny sewing room lined with windows. When she got off late from work, she’d pick me up from my grandparents’ and we’d stay up late reading and eating sundae cups.

Our life was not easy — a single mom, she worked multiple jobs and put herself through school. Some days, the only time we’d have together would be the hour or so we walked our dog, a time in which we’d discuss the phases of the moon or why leaves changed colors in autumn or how rainbows were made. We watched stars and named the porch spider “Charlotte” and found rare pennies and pieces of jewelry half buried in upturned soil.

There was always — always — magic. No matter what was happening, no matter how angry we were or how stressed out she was, (and now, looking back, I can’t imagine how she did this) she always made sure my life was woven through with an iridescent thread of pure magic.

In an hour or so, in spite of a throbbing headache and the fact that tomorrow begins an insane weekend at the restaurant, the gf and I will be outside watching what promises to be an astounding show of meteors and fireballs. I encourage you to do the same, and further make a point to insist on the continued presence of magic in your life. It’s the greatest gift — of many — my mother ever gave me.