Sacred Space

I texted the volunteer, a retired medical doctor, who'd tried to help the young man shot in the parking lot Thursday, to thank her.

I loved what she wrote back: "It was quite a day...

Her reminder to consider the spirit helped, slowed me down, recalled me to my own. The spirit can get calloused, develop a shell...
Sometimes, a pearl? 

I haven't heard the "many who live with violence every day" say "it's good for me to be at Vinnie's" (the thrift store).
I do say that, Dr. Volunteer does, Housewares Abby does--but we all have a lot of protective space in between our experiences of violence.
When that space got awfully thin for me after a few years of exposure--and then when George Floyd was murdered and there was no space-- I started to feel rubbed raw, and I stopped feeling it was a good place for me.

After a break, I'm enormously glad to be back. One day a week is good though.

Another coworker yesterday (I worked two days in a row) talked with me about being desensitized. He grew up in Chicago:
"At first I used to be shocked to see a dead body. Now I only feel something when it's someone I know."

He and I were chatting as we assembled $1.99 grab-bags toys together. He's a new guy in furniture, and that area was slow yesterday. He's great: he likes toys! Hardly anyone there does--so it's rare that anyone enjoys helping me sort them, and they don't do a good job making a nice mix for the bags.

And he put things on the Toy Bridge, which he likes. He lives nearby and has been a regular customer. "I bought things off there. That was you?!"

The Toy Bridge is sacred space. I mean that. Space for frivolity, space for toys to mingle, and for adults to find them...

I sorted more paper ephemera and Cool Old Books & Things:

And more boxes of model railroad scenes. I almost bought these two for the boxes: