January 9 – “Celebrate”. Many Thanks to Wendy for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!

(Part 3 of 3, continued from Stumble…)

Winter softened into Spring, Summer strolled by with bare shoulders and snapping flip flops, finally trading off the lazy slap of summer fun for the aromatic crunch of boots on fallen leaves. Squirrel Bird Woman was still feeding her charges, and it turned out that she had classes in many of the same buildings I haunted, as I grinded through my graduate coursework and final thesis. Not that I followed her around; we just walked many of the same campus paths. As my graduate program progressed, so did the number and mileage of walks I took.

Her range of feeding the animals was more extensive than Joe and I had realized. Piles of seeds were spread every quarter of a mile on the grass beside the sidewalks. She made her rounds early mornings and afternoons now, somehow refilling her buckets in between. Like me, she must have lived in one of the tiny apartments near campus. I knew better than to interrupt her efforts with words, but she did offer up a smile now and again. Progress.

And then one day the coursework, core exams, and final orals were complete. I’d earned the degree and gotten a firm offer of a teaching job at a small college in another state. It was late morning, no rain at the moment, but there was a definite chill in the air; we’d have frost tonight. I considered the blessed emptiness of the end of feckless competition from students not even in my program, no more abuse by graduate professors gunning for tenure and respectability, the end to paperwork to file and fees to pay for simply existing.

The world was now—finally—my oyster, right? I could get a good night’s sleep for about a week with no anxiety dreams, watch old movies on my tiny TV in my underwear with a bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn as my only company. Why, I could even hop a bus for a worry-free vacation, maybe never come back! But right then, Joe, a cup of coffee, and an egg-bacon muffin-round was what I needed most.

***

She walked into the coffee shop, bucket emptied, looking a little smaller, a little thinner, and a lot more shaky than usual. She asked for her usual, quick-smiled at me and Joe, and exited, door jingling behind her, to find her favorite campus bench.

No words spoken, Joe handed me a bagged and wrapped steaming hot muffin-round with a hint of mayo, cheddar and avocado oozing out the sides for extra, bacon and egg swimming and gasping in all the gooey goodness. Grabbing my shawl and a hot cup of coffee, I followed Squirrel Bird Woman and found her on her bench, watching the animals eat.

“Hi. Can I sit with you?”

She flashed a small smile, made room, but kept her eyes on a particularly small bird struggling to find a place amongst the bigger birds, pushing some seed his way with the tip of her rubber boot.

“I just finished my degree,” I offered up, warming my hands on the bagged muffin. Joe had cut the sandwich in two, right through the wrapper.

“Nice.”

“Will you help me celebrate?” I pulled out the muffin. “This is too much for me. Joe really loaded it up and you’d be doing me a solid if you took half.” The muffin, though cooling, was still oozing.

“We’re going to need some napkins, then,” She dug into a coat pocket and pulled out a neatly folded stack. We sat there on the bench, watching the birds, and licking our fingers and laughing when the napkins got too greasy.

(And really, there’s nothing more to say, is there?)   

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026) 

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