Hazzley had overheard Allam speak about storytelling cafés. “I hope the practice doesn’t come to a halt, Allam. I’m also thinking that this might be a good magazine topic. Especially as many Syrians have come here to live over the past few years. All cultures have traditions of sitting around the fire, the hearth, the table, the stone circle, passing stories from generation to generation. But the cafés you describe sound unique. Maybe I’ll suggest this to the managing editor I usually work with. As for standing for meals, I confess that I’m one of those who stands at the kitchen counter to eat breakfast while watching the birds in the backyard. These days, I seem to stand more than sit, though I don’t give either much thought. After Lew died, I guess I began to stand for meals while doing my daily puzzles. No one to talk to, you know?”

Hazzley thought of breakfast that morning. How she had looked out and felt an enormous rush of gratitude for being alive. This had come on so suddenly: she was grateful for being able to open the window, breathe the November air, watch the sun’s rays sparkle on the remaining patches of snow. She followed the flight of chickadees as they darted back and forth, trees to feeder, feeder to trees. She resolved to keep a good supply of black oil sunflower seeds on hand for the feeder, right through to next spring.

Addie spoke up. “I eat standing up while I look out over the city,” she said. “From my condo window on the fifth floor. But I sit when I drink tea. Most of the time. Not always. Sometimes.” She couldn’t seem to decide. Occasionally, she ate a can of tuna while facing the lone smoker who was always on the balcony of the building opposite. Addie didn’t tell that to the company.

Tom said he ate standing up sometimes. He preferred to sit, though he could hold his plate in one hand, fork and serviette in the other, and still manage. He kept an eye on the neighbourhood from the side window of his kitchen, and the table allowed the view; that’s why he preferred to sit. He didn’t mention that he sat in what used to be Ida’s chair. As a matter of fact, he still considered it to be Ida’s chair.

Chiyo never stood to drink or eat because she was always reviewing schedules, updating records, keeping track of her hours, replying to student queries, answering texts. She ate with her phone at hand. “Sitting is definitely my mother’s influence. She’d have had a fit if she saw me standing to eat.”

Addie was wondering what her own mother would have made of standing for meals. If she’d been around to comment, she’d have had something to say about digestion, relaxation. Her mother had connected just about everything back to health, physiology, good body practices.

Hazzley changed the subject and suggested that since she was in front of her computer much of the time anyway, maybe it would be a good idea to compile a list of people’s addresses and phone numbers or emails, whichever way they preferred to be contacted. She could distribute the list next week. Only if everyone agreed.