I thank those who followed my designs to the letter and created this beautiful workplace. I sweep for the cycles that have closed and are closing, making space for the new ones to come. I sweep to cleanse the space of the old, and also to welcome the new. My mother’s voice replays in my head as I guide the bristles of the broom over the polished floor, moving from the back of the shop toward the front door.
“Sweeping is the through line between then, now, and what is to come. We are timekeepers when we sweep. Place setters. Boundary makers. The broom is the shield, the sword, and the gateway. Use it wisely. Use it often. Use it well.”
I prop the front door open with a wedge and sweep the dust out, but I don’t stop there. With the door still open, I sweep the entire threshold and the sidewalk in front of myflower shop, intentionally clearing any energetic obstacles to joy right along with the dust. Intentionally creating a path to abundance and delight, energetically inviting prosperity, health, and safety to take the place of what I am clearing.
I sweep in front of my neighbor’s door too, clearing the entire sidewalk in front of our shared storefront space in both directions. A blank slate. A fresh start. It feels auspicious.
Besides, it’s a neighborly thing to do.
I’m feeling even lighter when I return to my shop. More grounded. And with joy in my heart, I close the door and set to work on removing the giant sheets of paper currently covering the front windows, so I can clean them and put up my new sign.
The morning sunlight streams through the glass, and I smile again, appreciating the way it dances along the floor, making the artificial wood grain look like the real thing.
It might as well be actual wood for how gorgeous it is.
And I may as well be a bird instead of a woman for how buoyant and free I feel right now.
So happy I could sing.
Of Monsteras and Men
Holly
My elation shifts to disappointed frustration when I realize putting up the sign is a bigger job than anticipated.
I’ve meticulously cleaned the glass, per the instructions that came with the sign, but there’s no way I can do the actual application myself. Someone needs to hold the decal up on the inside of the glass, while also somehow verifying from the outside that it’s at the right level and straight before adhering it.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. I’m also unsure who to ask for help around here since I don’t really know anyone yet, which is one hundred percent on me and my self-imposed hermetic entry into this town.
The coffeehouse next door is probably full of locals getting their morning caffeine fix who might be up for lending a helping hand, but while I’d honestly love an espresso right now, I don’t relish the idea of asking a perfect stranger for help. I don’t likeasking anyone for help, actually. I learned the hard way that help often comes wrapped with strings of expectation or obligation, and I don’t want to owe anyone anything.
Part of me knows that probably wouldn’t be the case here, especially given how friendly the few people I’ve actually interacted with in this town are, but my survivor instincts are still kind of hard-wired right now. Softening them is a challenge I’ve been trying to accept and grow through, but apparently today’s not the day for that because the thought of going next door and asking for help causes a heaviness in my gut and an uncomfortable constriction in my chest.
One I’ve learned not to ignore or push through.
“Think, Holly,” I encourage myself aloud, effectively stopping the mental chatter around fictional debts and stranger danger. “There’s always a way.”
The answer appears in my mind in a flash, and I grin at the simplicity. Beatrice needs a new home anyway, and not only would she look fantastic by the front window, she’d absolutely love it there.
I make sure the front door is locked before snagging my keys and heading out the back to go get her. My house is on the outskirts of town, closer to one of the wooded areas that abuts the river, but it’s not a long drive. I spend it thinking of all the plants at home, and who else might like to come live in the shop. There are quite a few candidates actually, especially considering how much natural light I get in the new space, with the front being mostly glass.
I’ll need to bring a squeegee too.
And that might help with putting up the sign, now that I think of it. The flat surface will be good for removing all the air bubbles and helping to ensure a solid seal.
I’m getting more excited as I approach my house, confident that my plan will work, and gently chiding myself for not having thought of it from the start.
“It’s not like you had any room,” I remind myself, backing into my driveway.
And that’s the truth. With all the plants I’d brought to the shop’s greenhouse earlier, there wasn’t space for much else in the car. Now, though, my cargo hold is completely empty. It’s a good thing, too.
Beatrice is a monster of a Monstera.
In no time, I’ve loaded her up in the back of my 4Runner, angling her pot so the coir pole she’s currently climbing fits without crushing any of her gorgeous, fenestrated leaves. I’ve also packed an inch plant, several ivies and ferns, and a lipstick plant to add pops of color and vibrancy to the currently mostly empty shop. Eventually, my flowers and floral creations will be the stars of the show, but there’s no reason not to have some other plants there too.
“You’ll be the Guardians of the shop,” I tell them as I drive.
Some would think it strange that I talk to my plants like I do, but I know the nature of each Being as if they were my friends. And they are, even if they haven’t all shared theirNames with me yet. Beatrice, isn’t actually that Monstera’s true Name either, but it’s nice to know what to call her in the day-to-day.
