She connects little daisies one to another, and it is magic to see how she links them — pushes her thumb nail through the bottom of a stem, runs another flower through. She laces while the sky falls warm on my face.
We sit in this field of summer green, and it is dotted with lion manes and white-rimmed sunshines, and here, with our dresses touching, I feel free.
My hands splay next to me in the cushiony green, and I pluck blades, then a tiny flower, twirling it between my thumb and index finger.
When she’s done linking, my friend holds the long oval of flowers out in front of me, and I duck through the hole, garland lying across lavender plaid.
I smile at her with a closed mouth and a slight squint to my eyes. I feel like a goodly queen, like a treasured daughter, in my dress, these jewels.
I don’t ever want my chain to wither and brown because this necklace means I’m special.
Here, this is for you, she’d said.
Continue here to read the rest of the story at The Runamuck, where I am thrilled to be guest posting for Amber Haines this morning. A group of us gather there each week, using concrete words to show the abstract.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
“And this Love delights in us — us together, her as her, me as me.” Your words penetrate my memories of navigating friendship as a child and relate still today. So often we make chameleons of ourselves, instead of embracing the one He has made us to be and the one He has made her to be. Such beautiful writing. Thank you.
Chameleons of ourselves — yes, Sis. I wonder how much is the fear of the kind of rejection we experienced (or tried to avoid) while navigating childhood relationships.
Sweetie, thank you so very much for keeping in touch. I have the HopScotch on my screen right now: we used to do 2 versions of the squares and throw pieces of orange peal. And we played jump rope, too. Aunt Linda sang the same jump rope songs in Florida many years later that I sang in Ketchikan, Alaska. Isn’t it amazing how those songs survive across so many years and distances. I am wondering if your girls still use them. My mother said “skip rope” in Vancouver, Canada and insisted that it was skipping, not jumping. I would suppose that either term was good exercise. Thanks for the memory. Love to the family, grams
Sent from my iPad
Hi Grandma, yes I love hop scotch, and the girls do, too. As a matter of fact, we just played it last week, throwing little rocks to faraway squares. Lala is still learning to hop on one foot, so it’s quite adorable to watch her make her way along. Those jump rope songs and hand clapping games seem to have common elements that do, as you say, carry across years and miles. Sweet to see those connections through generations.
Heading over now Ashley – this is so lovely :)
Thank you, Shira.
Hi, got a tear after reading The Chain and wanted to share its feeling (filling up my chest with recognition that life’s not perfect and that it’s okay, that there’s lots of love and lots of tugging too) with you and thank you for your words again… :)The tear seems to have found some friends and more chest filling here! :)
Thank you so much, dear e. Your words always bless me. Yes, yes, as you say, life is not perfect, and that IS okay. It does seem we spend so much time lamenting the imperfection, feeling the pain of that over and over again. Sharing this experience — of pain at what is not and gratitude at what is — seems such a vital part of this journey. Thank you for your presence here.
First of all I want to say fantastic blog! I had a quick question that
I’d like to ask if you do not mind. I was curious to find
out how you center yourself and clear your thoughts before writing.
I have had trouble clearing my mind in getting
my ideas out there. I do take pleasure in writing but it just seems like the first 10 to 15 minutes
are usually wasted just trying to figure out how to begin.
Any ideas or hints? Cheers!