For six years I worked as a sales associate at Agape Bears, a small business owned by my good friend Betty. She curated a wonderful collection of stuffed toys and artist bears, and now that the storefront is closed, she continues to sell down the inventory from her website and plans on spending more time working on her own bears.
This is a story about a strange encounter that I had when Patrick and I had just moved into an apartment at Ballston, a few
blocks from the bear store. I never did adjust to the new commute to work; I would
think "it’s only six blocks" and then dawdle at home, instead of thinking "I have to walk six blocks
instead of getting dropped off at the mall by the bus."
It got worse a couple of years later, when I didn’t adjust
to the extra time needed when I was pregnant, and couldn’t walk quickly because
of the ligament pain in my sides. But this morning I told myself "it’s only six
blocks," and stayed home long enough to boil a couple of eggs instead of
grabbing my usual packet of instant oatmeal.
I had just discovered soft-boiled eggs. My mother’s cooking
method is to put something on the stove, wander away, and come back when the
smoke alarm goes off, so I didn’t have an egg that had boiled less than fifteen
minutes until I was in my twenties. This morning I soft-boiled two eggs, ate
one, and considered the other for a moment before wrapping it in a paper towel,
stowing it in my backpack, and trotting down the road.