Walking on Broken Glass: Zen & Bones

Looks like my ‘to do’ list for today just was reprioritized.

While unloading the dishwasher this morning I was lost in contrasting reveries of my pending return to Italy and the blissful comforts of being home.  Thoughts were passing through my fluffy little brain like clouds.

                                                     ...oh HERE's that waiter's key I like to travel with..

                ...can't remember, does the new apartment have a dishwasher?... 

At least it doesn't look like the land of misfit IKEA plastic crap like the first one.

                                                                        Ooh - better put some beans in the espresso machine.  

...snow's letting up...

ouch - someone was grinding the obliques pretty good yesterday...and shoulders...

Why do I have so many of these glass bowls from 1986 they don't seem to want to fit...

I was reaching up to slide a stack of said bowls into the cupboard when they slipped from my hand and crashed onto the counter top.

Large pieces had rebounded into open cabinets, the dishwasher, the other bowls and mugs awaiting their turn to be lifted into their respective corners of the cabinet (which I swear were now cowering in fear of my touching them).   Other bits of bowl had propelled themselves across the room to the stove 8 feet away as well as into and onto any other available crevice and surface.  I had instinctively jerked my head sideways and closed my eyes as I felt bits strike the side of my nose and cheek.

What also struck me, however, was my reaction – or lack thereof.

For a second I just stood still and assessed the situation. There were shards, chunks, slivers, and crackled fragments draping the counter like a car window had shattered and rained onto the kitchen.

I was unusually calm and Zen-like.  No, really!  No f-words, no anger, no disappointment, nothing.  The silence and peace after what felt like a minor explosion was very strange.  Maybe I was still stunned so many bowls hated being in my cabinet so much they jumped to their death, that they could make such an impact or noise, or more so because they were beyond recognition - they weren't even pieces of bowl - just flat shapes of glass.

Had someone just walked in the room, it would have been hard to discern what had actually gone down, except "a lot of stuff just broke, huh?"

I know what's going on here.  The universe was giving me a "Project of the Day" and how I approached this would be a very "Ahh, Grasshopper" situation.  The energies in my favorite space in the house were out of whack or something.  Grasshopper was on the case.

The floor all around me was a sparkly mine field and I heard another shard drop from an inconspicuous ledge to join the others on the floor.  I removed a 3/4 inch fragment from my hair.

My first thought: “Well, I had too many of those damned bowls anyway.”

My second: “This looks like a crime scene. I must plan my clean-up methodology carefully. What would Bones do?”

Bones Note 1: Yeah, my dad got me hooked on this show earlier this month.

I brushed more glass from the shoulder of my sweatshirt, shook more shards from my hair, and carefully tiptoed a path to the broom closet with without disturbing the evidence minimal crunch possible.

Then I called Booth.

This wasn't a murder. These bowls committed suicide.

Bones Note 2: Booth is really the reason I'm hooked on Bones. The interaction between the main characters gives the show more substance than just a bunch of people solving crimes (and I really hate these kind of shows - and network TV in general). Oh, but you just gotta love the chemistry between him and Dr. Temperance Brennan in all her quirky intelligence.

Back to Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI investigator and former Ranger, current hottie.  I saw him in his uniform one episode and noticed they gave him Special Forces +  Ranger tabs, HALO (high altitude, low opening/adrenaline junkie) + Air Assault + Combat infantry badges, a Screaming Eagles patch which all add up to, you guessed it, a bad ass - and so devastatingly handsome when he's roughing up bad guys. 

Last week I watched him kick in a door and about lost my shit.

Love him in a tie.
Love him with a sniper rifle.
Love him in an FBI T-shirt firing a weapon.
Love him drinking from a Steelers coffee mug.
Love him pecking at a computer with two fingers with that adorable perplexed look on his face.
Love him making the suspects sing like canaries.

Love him like this.

I'll be upstairs cleaning my Glock...

And back to the crime scene day’s priority - trying to eliminate the perpetual ‘crunch’ underfoot that somehow escaped the squints, brooms, swiffers, and vacuum teams.

Alas, even as I type this, I’m watching the sunlight shift across my wood floor and it's presently glinting off another piece of evidence of glass that just decided to end it all and not be part of a bowl anymore. 

Oh - and thanks for the help, Booth.  

Need help getting that glass out of your hair, Grasshopper?