anthimeria

Each morning I walk down a quiet side street to catch the streetcar  to work. Wednesday mornings are garbage collection day in my neck of the woods.

I’ve lived in Toronto for half a year now, and without fail, each Wednesday, I’m greeted with a “Good morning, my dear!” from the collector. I wish him a good day and a smile, he tips his helmet, I walk to my streetcar with a grin from this small exchange.

This morning, as I near-skated down the street, still getting used to the first snow, I noticed an older lady about 5 houses up struggling with her giant Toronto garbage bin. My morning friend didn’t think twice when he saw her, rushed over, swiftly picked up the bin and carried it to the side of her home. She thanked him. As always, he wished me a good morning as I walked by, and I thanked him, too. In the midst of a job that can’t be too fun these winter mornings, he didn’t think twice about doing good.

I have a co-worker who makes a point of recognizing me. Just small messages of  reassurance or a hello, but it’s those tiny gestures that make the day. I’m sure he takes the time to treat everyone with this same care; but it doesn’t make it any less meaningful, because really, we all just want to know that we matter.

My sister, in the midst of her crazy end-of-term, took an afternoon to decorate our apartment windows with tiny twinkle lights. I walk into our dark little home after work, and I’m greeted with light-bursts framing the sky. It makes the night a bit more magical, it feels like the season.

A lady in the elevator piqued up just this morning and blurted out: “You smell amazing.” I thanked her and shared my perfume, to which we had a laugh when she realized she wears the same scent, and I exited at floor 5.

All this to say: these small moments, these fleeting gestures, these nothing-reallys, with close friends and complete strangers alike, make the day. They make my day.