Do you have a third place?

Mini memoirs from my wild and connected life (June 6-12)

Hi friend,

If you’re new here: on Sundays, I send a collection of mini memoirs from my life in the UK. Each weekly dispatch is filled with stories and things I’ve noticed—at home, in books, on my walks, in the world, and within myself. My hope is they feel reflective and calming, and inspire you to notice more in your own life. Writing them certainly helps me notice more in mine… 🕯️

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Saturday, June 6, 2026

It’s 2pm and I’m slowly wandering the aisles of Sainsbury’s, wondering if I’ll see the friendly cashier I’ve gotten to know over the years. Mark only works on weekends, so I don’t see him very often—even less so, recently. A few months ago, Tall Man and I were in together, and he shared with us that he’d been diagnosed with dementia and it was starting to affect him at work. He was going to keep working for as long as he could, he’d said, but I think I’d only seen him once since—and wasn’t sure if he was still there at all. As I am thinking about him, he walks past me.

“Hello there!” I said with a smile, and am met with one back.

“I’m glad I’ve seen you,” Mark said in a serious tone. “I think I might’ve shared with you that I was diagnosed with dementia? I’m only working two more weekends now.”

“Well then I’m glad I saw you too!”

We chat a bit more. Mark says he’s doing pretty well, but wants to leave before it gets worse. He asks if I could remind him what my name is, so I do. Then he says he needs to get back to work.

“I’ll come to your till, when I’m done!”

The lines are long today. Grocery stores have changed so much since I moved to the UK, at Sainsbury’s in particular. Self-checkouts dominate here. This is a pretty big location, but there are now just 4 tills and a max of 4 cashiers working (usually only 2). On most days, I do go to self-checkouts. I’m an organized shopper and find it oddly enjoyable to scan things and pack my bags in a particular order. But on weekends, I go to Mark’s till. The conversation is worth the wait.

“Can you remind me what your name is again? Cait?” I confirm it is. He apologizes and says names are the thing he finds hardest to remember.

“I’m only working two more weekends. Did I tell you that already?”

I just say ahh ok! and ask for confirmation of when his exact last day will be. Mark goes on to tell me he’s tried to hold off on leaving because he enjoys working here so much. This was his retirement job. He’s 68 and doesn’t need the money, has just enjoyed interacting with the customers.

“Will I see you again?” Mark asks. “Because if not, I’ll shake your hand now.”

I tell him I will come in next weekend, but shake his hand anyway—just in case.

“It was always a pleasure chatting with you, Cait,” he says with a smile. “You’re one of the nicest customers I’ve ever had.”

When I get back into the car, I shed a few tears. I don’t really know how I befriended Mark. I suppose I just saw him enough times, and we had a little chit chat every time. But when I think about it now, I do know one thing: he always asked me questions. Not just about the weather, but about Canada, my family back home, my life here, how TM is, and so on. And he noticed things. He noticed that I would often buy a pineapple (because it’s my favourite and they are so cheap here!). And he would comment on our shops. “I’ve noticed you two eat really healthy! Seems like you take good care of yourselves!”

Mark paid attention to me. And in the first few years of living here—and living alone—these kinds of interactions were sometimes the only connections I had with other humans in a week. They mattered. They still matter. And when I go say goodbye to him next weekend, I’m going to tell him so.

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Sunday, June 7, 2026

TM was the first to spot it: a nest in our front garden. He heard the babies cheep cheep cheeping for food. I wait by the window, in the hopes I might catch a glimpse of one of the parents. I want to know what kind of bird they are, and I’m delighted when I discover they belong to our female blackbird. “Birdy 2.0” I call her sometimes. She hangs out in our back garden, and comes to the kitchen window looking for food in the mornings, the same way Birdy used to at The Lighthouse. She’s already had babies once this spring, so this is her second brood. It’s exciting to hear the little sounds they make, and imagine how cute they could be. And, we know they are in a terrible spot. Right by our front door. By the road. Just a couple feet off the ground, in a small nest in a thick bush they’ll quickly grow out of. And audible to any neighbourhood cat that walks by.

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Monday, June 8, 2026

Today feels like my first day “back at work.” I’ve been home for 10 days, but have been in pain for most of them. I got a UTI, followed by a rotator cuff thing, then my back was out for a full week. Why? Who knows. “I woke up like this,” I sang in an audio message to Sasha on the day I could finally poke fun at the situation. But it’s true! Since coming home, I’ve been to 6 different appointments and picked up 3 different prescriptions. Last week was basically a complete write-off. So it feels amazing to be sitting in front of my computer, and finally starting to work on the few writing projects I have created/lined up for myself. And as if the work day couldn’t get any better, there’s a knock at the door… and this little package of free books gets delivered!

Have you heard of The Pound Project, friends? If not, I’ll be telling you more about them soon enough. ☺️

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Tuesday, June 9, 2026

We wake up to silence. There’s no more chirping out front, and we know why: the baby birds are all dead. It happened last night, in a series of events we knew was possible but didn’t think would happen so quickly. I’m heavy with heartbreak and distracted by the silence all day; so sad for the sweet little creatures that were simply born in the wrong place. When I first moved into TM’s house last summer, I worried he wouldn’t understand my connection with animals. Why I like putting out bird seed and fresh water, and making up little stories about whoever decides to come hangout in our garden. But after the conversations we’ve had recently—about the blackbirds and the pigeon, the squirrel and the robin—I think he enjoys them as much as I do.

Later, we will bury all four baby birds “in the front garden, under the window,”—his choice. Watching him grab a shovel and dig the hole, I know I have chosen the right partner for me to do life with. ❤️

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Wednesday, June 10, 2026

It’s mid-afternoon and I’m finally out for a good long walk. My first one since coming home almost two weeks ago. My body feels pretty good. I am this close to walking at my normal pace! But the thing I’m enjoying most is what’s in front of me. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of why I fell in love with the UK on my first visit back in May 2018. How easy it was to go for long walks through fields. How many animals you’d see along the way. How bright the green grass was. And how shockingly blue the sky was against it. It’s grey for months, and there’s no denying that can get a little depressing. But when the sun comes out!? The colours and the lush landscapes are a feast. (Also, we’ve named this cow Stanley.)

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Thursday, June 11, 2026

I got more fun mail! This time, a package from my cousin who also left Canada and now lives in the Netherlands. I didn’t know I’d be warming up a stroopwafel over my coffee this afternoon, but I’m so glad I am. And I’ll be doing it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next… until they are gone.

Do Canadians have little customs like this? is a question I’ve been asking myself a lot recently. What’s the Canadian equivalent of warming up a stroopwafel over a warm drink? Or going out for cake or a cream tea in the UK? I’m seriously asking. If you think you have an answer, I’d love to hear it. 🇨🇦

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Friday, June 12, 2026

It’s just before noon and I’m walking into the coffee shop in my old town. Not just walking—I’m jogging across the street so I don’t miss the light. Inside, I’m greeted with so much warmth from everyone, then two of them immediately ask: “How’s your back!?” They’re asking because they saw me at this time exactly one week ago, when I was walking at a snail’s pace, with one hand bracing myself from the shooting pains on my left side. That day, I was on my way to the doctor’s office.

“I’m great! They said they thought it was just muscular. Gave me some painkillers to help calm it down. Sent me a link to a 30-minute pilates video and told me to do it at least once/day. So that’s what I did… and it seems to have worked!”

And it’s true, friend. A week ago, I was exhausted from the pain I was in, desperate for some kind of solution. The doctor’s exam was thorough and brought tears to my eyes. I took a total of 5 of the 28 painkillers they gave me. But I’m a firm believer that movement is one of the best healing tools we have, so I just did that video on repeat and tracked all the little progress I was making. And after a week, I am back to my normal self. It feels like a small miracle, and I am so grateful for it, knowing how lucky I am that is was only muscular. And I know how quickly it could all be taken away again.

And then I ask the question that brought me here: “Is it Ryan’s birthday!?”

And I was right, it is! So we have some coffee and cake, and Ryan asks me to try a new drink he’s testing out for summer. I leave feeling so grateful for this little community I have here. I may not live in this town anymore, but this coffee shop is still my third place. ☕

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Do you have a “third place,” friend? That is, a place outside of your home (first place) and work/school (second) where you feel most connected?

xx Cait

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Thank you for reading this little newsletter of mine. I've been writing online since 2010, and have always valued keeping my content clean (aka free of ads/sponsored content) so we can be present together. If you found calm, joy or inspiration from this, you can: like this post (click on the heart button), subscribe to read more or buy me a coffee! ❤️☕