It has been a month now. Grandma has been gone for a month already. I think I know why Mom always said that life goes on and time flies when you least expect it. As of now, I have decided to rummage through grandma’s belongings—small items and decor—that have been stored away in cardboard boxes in all shapes and sizes. My dig began in the largest box—it would’ve passed for being 4’5 if I hadn't happened to be standing right next to it (I was 4’5, Grandma had measured it months ago, but I must’ve grown taller anyway). I stuck my hand right in and started feeling for things on my tiptoes.

My fingertips managed to reach a piece of cold metal, and the iciness startled my fingertips. It clink-clanked with the vase next to it as I carefully picked it up and out. I slowly examined it: a typical, flowery tin can—it was probably one of Grandma’s treasure boxes, where she would hide her needles and yarn. Yet it was nothing like that. The box was light, as if nothing was in it, but I could just feel the existence of this very something right behind the walls. I opened it with anticipation. Sitting quietly in the center was a note—on parchment—and on the top, in cursive, was what read “Good Things.” The words appeared shaky, but I squinted my eyes and managed to make out the words:

Good Things:

1. Warm tea in the morning

2. The smell of grass and soil after rain

3. Lavender essential oils

4. Planting scallions in the yard

5. Getting a dog.

                                        ——March 16, 2015

It suddenly dawned on me that Grandma hadn’t been out of bed for...ever since...her last birthday? But that was like...almost...a year ago. The note in my hand suddenly felt heavier. I needed to have something to do anyway; I had the time, the energy, the whatever it required to ditch a few days of schoolwork to learn to appreciate. And that’s exactly what I did.

First stop, the cupboard. The next morning at 7:30 am sharp, I fished out the box of black tea Mom stored away and never drank. I tore open a packet and waited impatiently for the water to boil. The abrupt ding put an end to my restlessness, and I blew hard on the tea to try to cool it down. I sipped it and burned my lips. I put it inside the fridge and slammed the door shut. It was an hour later that I picked up the cup again and took in the remainder of the sweet aroma of tea. It was freezing cold by then. I took a sip again and decided to finish it in two big gulps; it was much better. No wonder Grandma liked tea. First line changed:

1. Warm tea in the morning (cold tea is equally amazing)

Second stop, the park. It finally rained. I got excited the moment the sky turned a dark gray. It took five hours for it to stop. But when it did, I threw open the windows and inhaled the cold, wet air. It did smell good—the scent of pine, wood, and dirt intermingled into what I would call the scent of Mother Nature: gentle and calming. The thing is, worms started to come out before I could fully appreciate the smell of rain. Those wriggling, soft, boneless creatures that were covered in filth were not the best when it came to appearances. My curiosity got the better of my disgust, and I poked a worm. It flinched under my touch, and in no time, I had one wriggling on my palm. I spent the whole afternoon finding worms and had them wriggle on my hand and climb up my arm. I added the worms to the list after showering:

2. The smell of grass and soil after raining (along with the worms)

I went to Shoppers Drug Mart next. I found different essential oils in one of the aisles—they had scents from rose to peppermint to plants I couldn’t pronounce. I made my way to the checkout with lavender and chamomile-scented facial oils. It wasn’t the best idea to mix twenty drops of each of them against my wrists and arms, for I smelled of a five-star hotel bathroom the whole week. Lesson learned:

3. Lavender essential oils (3 drops only, please)

The grocery store. I felt like a vulture on a mission, searching for scallions that could be anywhere until...Ah-hah. Of course, where else would they be other than the freezer that has weird water sprays? I grabbed a handful and returned to Mom and her cart. Mission achieved. But never would I have known beforehand that I was not supposed to cut the root off a refrigerated scallion and plant the upper part in the soil. I needed to write myself a reminder:

4. Planting scallions in the yard (don’t cut the roots off)

The last on the list was what I had always been waiting for. Mom was reluctant to get me one, but I swore on behalf of future me, promising to walk it, feed it, make it do its business outside, and last but not least, do chores to earn money for dog food. It was a good deal.

So we got a Samoyed; her name was Lucky—what other name could I possibly name her when the name itself is already a masterpiece, right? Nevertheless, Lucky would have been lucky with any other name because she met me, and I was lucky to have met her. She was the best puppy in the whole world, even though she’s my first. But I know she’s the best already. I updated the list again, but Lucky left a small drool stain on it:  

5. Getting a dog. Her name is Lucky.

Day by day, Lucky and I had the most fun in my lifetime. A year later, grandma’s list gleamed with the decor and diamond stickers I stuck on it, and I swore I’d save it for my grandchildren. I carefully placed the list back into its tin box and then into the cardboard box where they all belonged. Lying quietly in the dark, the list still gleamed. It read:

Good Things:

1. Warm tea in the morning (cold tea is equally amazing)

2. The smell of grass and soil after rain (along with the worms)

3. Lavender essential oils (3 drops only, please)

4. Planting scallions in the yard

5. Getting a dog.

6. Lucky barking at the postman every morning

7. Lucky’s hot, sticky breath on my face

8. Lucky stealing my sock for the third time this week

9. Lucky napping on Grandma’s old blanket

10. Lucky’s soft fur after bath time.

                                  ——December 20, 2016