A pocketful of happy

The weather here has finally taken a turn for the better. A false start a few weeks back was followed by some of the more miserable weather Melbourne has to offer. Howling winds, spring thunderstorms, hail, rain, and cold. Perhaps not London cold, but enough that I was back in my winter wardrobe after a brief flirtation with spring.

But last week saw the mercury rise a little. Not soar, no, but hover in a pleasant range. The winds died and the sun put in cameo appearances. It was time for the spring clothes to emerge once more. And I, for one, am extremely glad of it, but not for the reasons you might think.

Yes, I enjoy the warmer months of the year, although generally not spring. I think it's safe to say that no hay fever sufferer will endure a Melbourne spring voluntarily without contemplating a move somewhere else during the brief moments when they are free from the haze inducing allergies that hold them prisoner for three months of the year. But summer, sure. I'm only human. I prefer to be warm rather than cold. But it wasn't climate that had me smiling one afternoon last week as I shrugged into my lightweight linen jacket, just before heading out of work for the day.

It wasn't even that daylight saving has arrived, bringing with it the joyous moment of changing from work clothes into pyjamas during daylight hours (what can I say, I'm a slob, and not ashamed to admit it).

The moment of pure bliss came when I fished into the jacket pocket for my car key. I'd dropped it in there that morning, one less thing to carry as I juggled office keys, handbag, lunch bag and laptop from the car to the office. The steps I have to negotiate to get into the fish bowl are not steep, but they carry hidden puddles for the unwary in open shoes. Getting the keys out to drive up the road for lunch, I noticed that there was something else in the pocket. I didn't remember putting anything else in there, so I was naturally curious. I find all sorts of things hidden in the pockets of clothes, sometimes before they go in the washing machine, sometimes after. Feeling the paper-ish crinkle of this, I assumed it was a receipt and twisted it from the pocket fully intending to just throw it in the bin. I'm so glad I looked at it first, though.

It was $50.

There is nothing more welcome than an injection of funds in the week before pay day. I wasn't down to brass tacks but I could certainly see the last farthing on the horizon, and it was coming up with a rush. A fifty made me feel rich, like winning the lottery - or rather like winning one of the smaller prizes in the lottery. It was a brilliant warmth in my stomach, a buzzing lightheaded sensation. It was bliss. And yes, I'm fully aware of just how pathetic it seems to be so overjoyed by the appearance of a note that can be withdrawn from an ATM, assuming you have the cash in your account in the first place. And therein lies the reason for my excitement. I had no cash available to me. My lunch run was going to be to the supermarket, because all I had available was a denomination too small to be removed at an ATM. Like I said, the week before pay week. It's almost always a diet of baked beans that week, even when it's not a month where I've moved house, booked flights for a Christmas trip, and paid off my car rego. No wonder fifty dollars seemed like finding the welcome stranger.

I spent the rest of the afternoon merrily plotting not only how to spend it (anything that wasn't sensible, really), but thinking on where it could have come from. I wasn't sure when I'd last worn the jacket. I knew it had been some time this year, but I couldn't say if I'd ever put my hands in the pockets. Some good fairy, evening out the karma stakes a little? Making up for the torrent of crap that rains over my desk at work every single day? Or perhaps a visit from a leprechaun who had been through the currency exchange on his way into the country? A parting gift from the old flatmate, as a reward for being "the best flatmate ever", for simply being clean, not hogging the bathroom, and not being smelly?

It was almost the end of the day when my reverie was brought to a mundane end. I remembered when I'd last worn the jacket, and where the money had come from. Turns out, I'd worn it to Mum's birthday dinner, and the cash was the payment from my brother for his share of her present.

I think I prefer the karma fairy. But I can still hold out hope that she's out there somewhere, just trying to find her way through the crap.