It’s like one of those clown cars – except its big and yellow. We spew out the folding doors, tumble down the steps, and begin our trodding trek towards home. Rain or snow causes a deluge of kids upon whatever poor parent’s car sits in wait. But on sunny days – and even on some not-so-sunny days – I’d rather use my own feet and my own time. It’s a little over a mile from the bus stop to my house – the first half is uphill and the second half is downhill. Most of time, I love walking by myself. I get to think a lot. Sometimes I hate walking by myself – I think a lot. Thinking is like Shakespeare: “To be or not to be,” “Out, damned spot,” “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go,” “We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” and of course - “Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend my your ears.” Or in the case of a blog – your eyes!
One would think that sitting on a pad of pine-needles would be a bit prickly, but it’s not. It’s soft and comforting, and my little cove beneath the trees is always dry. Of course it rests near the foot of my driveway – I’m almost home, but I always climb in anyway. It is a place to be me – whoever that is. A place where I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to act. I don’t have to perform. Or I guess, more accurately, I can choose not to do all those things. Which kind of makes it scary too – because I’m left here with my thoughts, trying to make them come together into one sensible package that resembles me. “To be or not to be.”
I wonder if other kids wonder as much as me. I wonder if other kids wish as much as me. Wish I was prettier – like Lisa with her long beautiful dark hair and huge liquid-brown eyes. Wish I was quieter – like Gaye. She always seems to say the right things. She’s always so profound – like she has this wise guru guy whispering only within her hearing. I always seem to say whatever my tongue blurts through my teeth – sometimes it’s right, sometimes it’s a tsunami! Wish my body did what I told it to do – like Angie. She can do anything related to sports or people! It’s like she has this sixth sense as to where her hands are supposed to be at that exact moment. And then the rest of her body follows. She’s just as good as spiking the winning point just barely clearing the net as she is at cuddling a toddler during the quiet parts at church. Wish my family was as amazing as Lorrie’s. They are always laughing and loving. And we are each in our own separate parts of the house – working things through in our own separate ways. Wishing I wasn’t so very different than everybody else – or actually wishing that everybody else didn’t think I was so very different from them. “Out, damned spot!”
“If wishes were dishes they would all lay broken on the floor.” My neighbor would always say that – I would turn my head so she didn’t see me roll my eyes. Sometimes adults can be so dumb! What did that mean anyway? I have good wishes, why should they all be so broken? I wish I could be better. Isn’t it good to want to be better? Isn’t that what all these thousands of hours in school and church are all about?
I start making a pine needle chain – like always. You have to really pay attention and that means that my wild and crazy thoughts have to chill. *Carefully pull off a two needle bunch. Even more carefully pull one needle out – making sure the top stays on. Discard the needle you pulled out – thus the soft comfy pine-needle cushion! Bend the needle you have left around and insert the pointed end into the top – making a loop. Repeat from * hooking the needle through the last loop each time. Hang the chain beautifully in your pine-needle cove.
Wishes are like discarded pine-needles that cushion the floor of your comfy pine-needle cove. Sometimes you need to throw something out to make something beautiful. Sometimes the parts that you throw out are the foundation on which the beautiful parts can be seen. “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”
My wild blond braids dance in the sunshine. My words often bring thoughtfulness and joy. Paintbrushes, crayons, sand, clay, and hugs are at home in my hands. Quiet moments spent one on one, making icing flowers and bleeding the Toyota brakes – full silence of tiny actions belong to my parents and me. I am not my wishes. The beauty of pine-needle chains is made one link at a time. I am the beauty of my tiny actions – one link at a time. I will be the results of my dreams. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.”
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I get to choose the action! Rays of sunshine greet me as I climb from my thought-full pine-needle cove and head up the driveway to my home – the foundation of me! “To be or not to be.”
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