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I don’t deal well with change.

That isn’t entirely true. Perhaps I should instead say ‘I don’t deal well with every kind of change’; I deal with some kinds of change just fine. Other kinds, not so much. And change just for the sake of change (especially when proposed demanded by a guy in a suit) even less. But it wouldn’t be wrong to say that, in a lot of ways, I value stability. Coincidentally, that’s sort of what Michelle asked about this morning.

Sort of. I mean, she didn’t really ask about the concept of stability but rather things that keep one (in this case, me) stable. I’m not claiming to be particularly grounded or anything but inasmuch as I am, there are things that help. Like people. Places. Things. Habits.


Habits. Rituals. Routines. I have lots of those. Like making tea before I curl. Like carefully selecting the appropriate T-shirt for an occasion. Like eating bacon at a vegetarian restaurant on Saturdays. These are little things — I get that — but I like them. They’re important to me.

And sometimes they can have totally unexpected benefits. Breakfast, for example, often brings extras. Like entertaining behavior by other diners, large and small. Like unannounced drop-ins by politicians from Hamilton. Like entertaining art. (I first saw this piece there, for example. It’s now hanging next to the Green Chair Of Thinkitude.)

On a recent Saturday there was new art. I liked some of it, some of it wasn’t really my cup of tea but most of it was interesting. The most visually striking was a six-piece treatment of the Seven Deadly Sins.


Yes, six. Because the artist left one out (the one that happens to be my personal favorite). I don’t know the reason he left it out, of course, but I like to assume it’s self-referential: he left out a picture of the sin of laziness because he was too lazy to draw it.  Or maybe he did draw it but was too lazy to bring it in to the ICC. I hope it was something like that.

Anyway, before long our breakfasts arrived. They were as good as they usually are but I had this feeling of being watched. But who? I couldn’t see anyone watching me. There was no small person peering at me from the next booth. There were no politicians. There were no librarians. I was stumped.

But then I looked to my right. There was a pair of eyes a foot from my head. Whose eyes, you ask? Who was watching me eat?


The credit to the artist will go here as soon as I find his or her name.

It looks a little like me, too.

The Author

Rose Glace is the pseudonym of nobody important.

1 Comment

  1. Pingback: Melting – Rose Glace's Blog

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