Sometimes, ice on your window looks like it’s dancing and having a good ole’ time.
I want to be there for that.
You can have your Insta-food porn pics, your Facebrag vacation photos, your gossip about flashy celebrities. I’ll take the simple joys of life (almost) every time.
Any minutiae can have a story.
Which brings us to the title of this space…
One weekday in the winter of 2017, I found myself sitting in an unfamiliar cafeteria with my then-four-year-old daughter and give or take 100 other youngsters and their cadre of teachers.
This was not a planned gathering, but rather an emergency evacuation. We were waiting for the coast to be clear to return to our regularly scheduled programming. You see, the building where we each spent our weekdays– my daughter at pre-K, me at an office above the school– received a bomb threat. So, we all made a swift dash out of the building and found shelter at a neighboring facility that generously hosted us.
As good fortune should have it, the bomb threat wound up being a hoax, and we all eventually resumed our normal lives: me to my office cubicle and my daughter to her classroom.
But during that time of more than an hour of sitting with my daughter and scores of adults and children trying to maintain composure, I tried finding some ways to keep her and one or two of her classmates sitting with us occupied and not upset by the uncomfortable situation at hand.
No toys. No games. Nowhere to go for a while. A cramped and stuffy location. And a snack scarcity. (In other words, a parent’s testing ground for patience.)
And then I found it:
A dangling piece of twine* hanging from my shirt.
I pulled off the twine and started playing with it to help distract my daughter.
I held the twine between my thumb and index finger and had it “walk” up her arm and tickle her cheek. I used it as a new mustache on my face. I spun it around in my fingers to make it do silly contortions. I did whatever I could to entertain her and her friends for a good 10 precious minutes, maybe more, and gave them turns as well. What I remember most fondly from this otherwise dreary day was eliciting some hearty giggles all because of that measly piece of twine no longer than a finger nail.
Which brings me to the title of this internet real estate that you somehow stumbled upon (thank you, by the way, for stumbling upon this site and sticking around, no less)…
If something as simple as a small piece of dangling twine can bring joy to others, even for just a brief moment in time, my theory goes, then these simple joys should be shared and celebrated.
Like dancing ice on a window.
Thank you for reading my stories and flipping through my pictures. I hope you find your dangling twines to enjoy in life, and I invite you to share them with me as well.
*Okay. I’ll admit it. Most English-speakers, if asked, would say it was a actually piece of thread or string that I pulled from my shirt, not twine in it’s truest sense. But the word twine has a certain ring to it. Otherwise, this story is completely true. Call it artistic license if you insist, I’m not here to string you along with semantics.