Emily's Garden

10:04 AM

Wednesday was cool and rainy, just like most days lately. I went in to work after art class, only to find us overstaffed and undercustomered. Within an hour I was bored silly. Luckily, Peggy was all too willing to let a couple of us off for the rest of the day, and I happily chose to spend the afternoon doing some much-needed cleanup in The Finch House.

I was sorting through back stock, pricing and putting out whatever I found (won’t sell if it’s in the cabinet, now, will it?) when I heard voices outside the door. I looked up to see three little people, shoes in hands, hair dripping.

“We’re wet because we were shaking the willow tree!” said the eldest - pretty, long-haired, dark-eyed, and about eight. “We’re playing Secret Garden and this is the BEST place!” I agreed absolutely, all-of-a-sudden turning eight myself. (Never read the Secret Garden, but I could imagine... Lovely rainy day, shaking the willow tree Just Because. Trailing hands in the koi pond, wishing they would trust you to pet them and wondering how it feels to wear scales. Seeing the ground and all its secrets much more closely for being so much closer to it…can I play, too?)

“I’m Michael,” piped up her little brother, “and she’s Emily, and this is Mia,” pointing to the youngest, a toddler wearing a big, delighted smile.

We chatted a minute or two more, then they were off, heading towards the gravel path. I grew up enough to call after them, telling them to watch where they stepped with their bare feet (and activating Dad, who wasn’t far off, who moved in to get their shoes back on them Right Now This Minute…)

I went back to my work, and came across a little stone plaque. It had a pretty, long-haired girl with a long dress and a basket, and its title was “Emily’s Garden”. I had special-ordered it long ago for someone, but she never bought it and it had hung on the wall, small and unnoticed by other customers, ever since. I took it down, gathered up a couple of other kid-type things, and found the Dad outside.

I told him that I had met his kids, and that Michael had introduced them, and I was so delighted with them that I wanted them to have these things, and that the stone plaque reminded me of his daughter and even had her name, Emily.

He looked puzzled. “You mean Charlotte?” he asked. “And Isaiah?”

My turn to be puzzled. “The little boy over there – I’m sure he said his name was Michael, and his older sister is Emily, and the youngest is Mia.”

More confusion. “Why would he say that? His name is Isaiah, and that’s Charlotte. The little one is Emilia, and we do call her Mia, but why…”

Oh, rats. I know that kids like to play at changing their names sometimes. So she’s Not Emily. The stone plaque doesn’t fit after all. Hiding my disappointment, I told Dad that they were so sweet and just delightful, and he could tell her that the stone is named ‘Charlotte’s Garden’ if he wanted to.

He called the kids over to tell them about their gifts and to ask Isaiah about the name changes.

“It’s from the book,” Isaiah said, in that don’t-you-remember-I-told-you-before kid voice. “We’re playing Secret Garden”.

Well, duh. “Emily’s Garden”, after all, for real! Guess I didn’t stay eight long enough today to remember that Actors Must Stay In The Role. And my education seems to have a serious gap in it – time to hit the library for a copy of The Secret Garden, pronto.

It wasn't till this morning that I finally realized exactly why these kids touched me. They had stepped right out of my own childhood and, for just a minute, had taken me back there again. Back where the worlds made from imagination are no less real than the one adults battle with every day, and where shaking a willow wins out over Nintendo or basketball practice. (How many kids even know what a willow tree looks like, any more?)

Hope their hearts keep the imagination alive, and that some day years from now someone small will help them be eight again, too.

Back once more...

9:23 AM

Okay, so I'm back again... This has been the busiest winter-into-spring I can remember! We moved into the new Upstairs on Valentine's Day, and proceeded to tear up the first floor - not construction, just moving furniture/closet stuff/etc. Meantime, the basement is getting it, too: Tom cleared out, cleaned up, and painted the coal bin (storage room under the porch). He found LOTS of metal shelving at a bargain price, intstalled new lighting, and Presto! Finch House Warehouse Room! Now, as I'm filling it up, he's wondering why there isn't more space showing up in the basement.

Answer? Stuff multiplies. You can't organize Clutter. You must get rid of it. We'll be working on that for years, now. Yard Sale, anyone?

As for me, I launched into February with classes at work. The Finch House volunteers hospitality, which means grocery/ baking/ schlepping/ displaying/ serving/ lots of to-do listing. We had two classes a week through February into early March - on my days off, which means I was at work for the better part of two additional days a week (unpaid!). Plus craft shows, teaching classes, yadda yadda. In April, I officially added days/hours to my working schedule, which means I have Fridays off at home by myself. Period. Which means I'm really not at home, but grocery/bank/post office - etc. (I miss my Tuesdays terribly.)

Long story to say "Time is waaaaay short". Haven't touched the garden yet. Haven't totally switched winter clothes to spring. Housework? I laugh! Dinner on the table? HA HA HA!

Don't know how people with kids and four-footed pets do it, sometimes. You all have my open-mouthed admiration...