Triple M Day

Olivia turned off her alarm, hopped out of bed, and exed out yesterday’s calendar square with her magenta glitter pen. Triple M Day finally had arrived, and she was ready. She rubbed the ladybug locket that hung from her neck, as she examined the items on her desk next to her laptop: candles, tea, essential oils, the book, and of course, the checklist.

Today was Olivia’s first day off in almost two months. On weekends and most evenings, Olivia worked at her family’s vintage store, Another Woman’s Treasure, allowing her parents, now in their sixties, time to rest. She thought they always had worked too hard and too much, and they trusted only her to run the place in their absence. Monday through Friday from nine to five, she worked at the town library.

Since her Aunt Beatrice taught her to read at four years old, Olivia always had carried a book and sometimes dragged around a bagful from the library where her aunt worked. She visited the library often and decided in the sixth grade that she wanted to work in a library too. In her last year of her degree program in library and information science, she realized that what she really wanted was to be a writer.  She shared this new revelation with her aunt (who Olivia called Bean because as a child, when everyone called her Bee for Beatrice, Olivia thought they were saying “bean,” and it stuck.) When Olivia told Bean, she responded immediately with, “But how do you know you’ll be able to muster your muses?”

Olivia had read about the Muses in a children’s book about Greek mythology. She remembered being enchanted by the nine sister goddesses and for a short while, even requesting her parents and Bean call her Erato when she learned the name meant “lovely.” When Bean enlightened her on the connection between Erato and the word, erotic, Olivia dropped the nickname immediately.

“Muster my muses, eh? I don’t think it will be a problem once I’m out of school and have plenty of time to write.”

But Bean was onto something. Finding inspiration was harder than Olivia thought, especially with her hectic schedule.

Olivia had planned to take today off since early summer, choosing the first day of fall, her favorite season. Autumn made her feel more alive. When the temperatures fell and green disappeared from the trees, she relived the excitement of years of back-to-school shopping with Bean, walking arm and arm through the mall and digging through racks to find the perfect first-day-of-school outfit. She sensed something magical in the leaves’ colorful blaze and the crispness of the cooler air, in her nose and against her skin. And the scents of her and her aunt baking apple pie or making mulled cider or sipping spiced coffee drinks warmed her soul. Months ago, she decided on one mission for the day of the year she felt most exhilarated—she would write something spectacular. “Importantly,” she declared, “I will muster my muses.” She marked the day MMM on her calendar and began referring to it as “Triple M Day” to her family and coworkers. Not quite sure about what would truly inspire her to write, Olivia did some research and created a detailed plan.   

She pulled off her pajamas and slipped on her favorite apple-printed tee and the lucky, green, corduroy overalls that someone had dropped to Another Woman’s Treasure several summers ago, when she was still in high school. In the decades since the store’s grand opening, she only had asked her parents for two items, the necklace she was wearing and these overalls that she saved for occasions like today.

After setting her phone to the loudest volume on Youtube’s “Best of Classical Music” channel, she went to the kitchen to prepare cinnamon toast and loose-leaf tea. According to her research, ancient Romans, Egyptians, and Ayurvedic practitioners deemed cinnamon to attract prosperity and abundance—precisely what she was seeking today. She also remembered that tea leaves left in the cup signaled a full life and that if any floated to the top, a stranger or lover would visit. She bought the tea in hopes of a visit from a group of strangers, and perhaps lovers, as the characters that would fill the pages of the story she would write on her day off.

She brought her plate of toast and cup of tea to her desk, gently knocked her middle knuckle to each of the four corners of her laptop (a ritual she had created years ago when she switched from pen and paper to a computer) and opened a blank document. Placing her fingers on the keys, she waited for a flash of ideas. When none came, she reached for her tea and noticed a single leaf drifting at the top. As she brought the cup to her lips, her cellphone rang from her nightstand, the sudden interruption causing her to spill the tea onto the bib of her overalls. She ran to her phone and cursed herself for turning it to the highest volume and not putting it on “do not disturb” mode, as she had planned.

Olivia’s favorite photo of Bean appeared on the screen. The day it was taken, they had walked to Caféccino for pumpkin spice lattes and stopped in the park to take pictures of the foliage. When Olivia had turned to join Bean on the park bench, she noticed how perfect she looked and snapped the photo. She wore a bright green, puff-sleeve blouse and purple cat-eye glasses that enlivened her hazel eyes. Thick, gray-streaked curls framed her dark-skinned face, and ruby-red lipstick made her smile sparkle.

“Hey, Bean! I’m so sorry, but I can’t talk.” She tried to speak confidently but hated disappointing her aunt. “It’s Triple M Day, remember? To muster my muses?”

“Oh, Liv, honey, I forgot. Can’t you triple M another day? I haven’t seen you in ages, and I’d love to share a triple dip, mint chocolate chip sundae or see a triple feature with my favorite niece. Or if we can find four friends, we even could play some triples at the tennis court? The fall air is divine!”

“Ahh…I’d so love to, but I promised myself I’d keep today sacred. In fact, I had planned to turn my phone off. I’m glad I forgot and got to hear from you, but I really must do this.” She could hear the shaky doubt in her voice.

“I see, Livy lovely. Well, I’m about three quarters of the way through a blanket. What if I were to join you? Together, we could go through all the silly rituals you’ve planned, and then I could crochet while you compose the next New York Times bestseller?”

Olivia could not say no. In less than an hour, Bean was sitting in the corner rocking chair of Olivia’s room, unpacking balls of yarn from her bag. “What is all this stuff, Liv?” She asked as she scanned the items on Olivia’s desk.  

As Olivia lit several candles and placed them around the room, she explained. “The candles are jasmine, known for kickstarting creative drive. The tea is a combo of ginkgo biloba and green tea—for stamina and inventiveness. And I will be reheating that because I was rudely interrupted when it was hot.” She smiled and saw Bean’s brows raise. “Want anything from the kitchen?”

“I’m good. Thanks, Liv. I’ll be sitting here, waiting for the jasmine to fire me up.”

When Olivia returned, she watched Bean’s hands move quickly, the crochet hook bobbing up and down, creating a mountain range of pinks and purples. She could watch her like this for hours. And she had when she was younger. Bean looked up, “How are those muses treatin’ ya, Liv, hun?”

“Shoot. Thanks, Bean. You know those hooks of yours always have pulled me into a trance!”

Olivia sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and stared at the blank screen. She closed her eyes, “Come on! Come on!” she shouted in her head. Still nothing. She grabbed her list. “Do yoga.”

She glanced at Bean and the blanket on her lap which had seemed to double in size. “Any interest in an online yoga class? It’s supposed to clear the head, which I’m not sure if I need…because my head is not exactly full, but…”

Bean cut her off. “Sure, Liv, I’m all yours today. Let’s do it.”

They changed into old t-shirts and sweatpants and tied their hair into buns. After pushing the bed against the wall, Olivia found a “free yoga for beginners” video online. She had tried yoga once years ago and fallen asleep during the opening meditation. She hoped this class was for the beginningest of beginners.

A few minutes in, Olivia tumbled into Bean, and they both erupted with laughter. “I think this video’s mislabeled or something. How can this be where people begin?!” Olivia walked back to her desk and sat down in front of the white screen. She gazed at it for a while and then turned to Bean, now in downward-dog position, a model of flexibility and grace for anyone, let alone a sixty-something-year-old.

Olivia changed back into her overalls and closed her computer. Next on the list: “visit the place of muses—a museum.” She had concluded a trip to an actual museum would take too much time on her day off, so she had borrowed a few picture books of museums from the library. She had hoped to find a book with photos of the Louvre, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or something equally extravagant, but she had arrived at the library five minutes before closing, so grabbed the first relevant book she found, “Museums of the Strange and Unusual.”

She thumbed through photos of museums full of nuts and nutcrackers, Houdini’s magic tricks, and Dolly Parton’s tiny-waisted, big-busted dresses and towery wigs. When she flipped to the Cockroach Hall of Fame, she slammed the book shut. This “museum visit” made her hyper aware of her waist-to-hip ratio and more afraid of bugs than she already was. Not exactly the muse mustering she had hoped for.

She returned to her list. One item remained. “Take a bubble bath.” It was already after 1pm, she had not written a word, and she had tried all but one thing on her list. She opened her laptop and began the deep breathing exercises Bean had taught her from the passenger seat when Olivia was learning to drive. Halfway through her third exhale, Olivia felt a hand on her shoulder. “Liv, sugar, I think we’re both high on jasmine at this point. Wanna take a walk …and maybe grab lunch and that ice cream we talked about? Plus, I’m officially done with my piece of art.”

Bean placed the blanket around Olivia’s shoulders. “For you, my darling Liv. I hope that when you wear it, you will think of a warm hug from your Bean.”

With her hands on the blanket, Olivia glared at the screen and the list with all items except one crossed out and decided she needed a break. She stood, twirled with the blanket wrapped around her, and then turned to hug her aunt. “I always will prefer a real hug from you, but I suppose the blanket will do when we’re not together. Thank you, Bean.”

They walked to an outdoor café for lunch, shared maple pecan ice cream at their favorite shop, and rode the train to an art gallery that had opened recently.

By the time Olivia dropped Bean to her apartment and sat down in front of her laptop, it was 8:03 p.m. “Bubble bath, it is,” she thought, when the screen was still blank at 8:30.

She placed the jasmine candles around the tub and turned on the water, adding essential oils of tangerine, frankincense, and eucalyptus, recommended for stimulating imagination. She sunk into the warm, foamy water and shut her eyes, one last attempt to open her mind.

Olivia awoke to the sound of her alarm and instinctively reached for her pen to mark her calendar. When she saw “MMM” after the square she had just crossed off, she rubbed her eyes, baffled. She examined her desk, covered in her lucky outfit, folded neatly, candles with unburned wicks, never opened tea and bath oils, a library book, and her handwritten list with no items crossed off—all in a row next to her laptop and favorite photo of Bean in her green shirt and purple glasses. As she turned to face the rocking chair in the corner of her room, she noticed the pink and purple chevron-patterned blanket draped over it and remembered the day that her dad had moved the chair from Bean’s nursing home room to Olivia’s tiny apartment bedroom.

She looked down at the ladybug-shaped locket around her neck and opened it. The photo inside was taken shortly after Bean received a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. That year, she had forgotten Olivia’s birthday for the first time, so Olivia went to her apartment to help her make her favorite maple and cream apple pie. But Bean had trouble remembering the recipe, even though she had made it from memory for every special event since Olivia was a toddler. So, they tossed the ingredients they could recall into two bowls and microwaved them. Not able to find a lighter, they put a candle in Olivia’s bowl and pretended it was lit, as Bean struggled to find the tune to sing Happy Birthday. Just before they ate the microwaved mix of pie ingredients, they took the picture together.

Olivia’s parents moved Bean into a nursing home a few weeks later when she flooded her apartment after leaving the faucet on after a bath. That same evening, while her parents moved Bean’s belongings, Olivia worked the closing shift at the store. As she was locking the doors, a woman dropped off a bag of jewelry, which included a ladybug locket. Olivia kept the locket, printed the photo to put inside it the next day, and had worn it ever since.

Bean died in her sleep on a late September night three years later. Eating had become effortful, and she had lost interest in trying to speak, which frustrated and exhausted her. Olivia told herself Bean chose to let go because she could not bear to live through another autumn without being able to fully experience all its wonder.

Olivia closed the locket and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. She cracked the window, and a gust of chilly air whooshed threw her hair. Grabbing her laptop from the desk, she sat down in the rocking chair and wrapped herself in the crocheted blanket. As soon as she opened the computer, she began to type. Her thoughts emerged like freshly popped kettle corn. Her fingers could not move as quickly as the tiny bursts filling her head. The muses had arrived.