2/12/12
This is one of those moments when your entire body, your soul, and your heart excruciatingly long to be young again.
Backstory: This was the 6th or 7th jump of the night. I can't remember exactly how many, but it was enough for me to think, "oh crap, I should get the camera," actually locate said camera, and take the picture with the right setting. All jumps were made from the couch to the couch cushions at varying distances on the floor. At one point, daring Isla set that wire shelf thing you see in the background before the pillows, wire feet pointing up, as an obstacle to clear. Yeah, I nixed that idea, which is probably the only time she stopped grinning like the Cheshire cat on ecstasy during the entire escapade. Aiding me in the time needed to take the picture was the addition of Smurfette to the mix. Apparently, Isla's fun was outgrowing her capacity to store it, so she needed to share this with someone. I overheard her giving Smurfette safety instructions as she was stuffed into her leotard: "I will keep you safe, Smurfette, you have to stay here in my ballerina suit so you won't fly out on this dangerous jump. I promise you won't get hurt if you just listen to what I tell you. (at this point I preemptively feel sorry for the first kid she tries to get to eat some dog food - I hope it's not Miles). Then there was a 7 count, which also involved counting backwards back to 6, then to 7 again - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 6, 7 JUMP! And she was off - flying toward those cushions which must have seemed thousands of yards below, judging by that look on her face. The second I looked down at the viewfinder on the camera, my heart lurched. To feel that unfettered joy, that pure imaginative perfection, that is what we should be striving for. All of us.
So I say to you, anyone reading: Stop what you're doing. Grab a tutu, a mismatched headband and a Smurfette doll. now, stuff that mothereffer in your shirt and jump off the couch! You'll feel better, trust me.
well documented and told my son
ReplyDeleteMini-blog here as comment. You'll understand . . . A few years ago my daughter-in-law called from Florida (I was living in Oakland). My granddaughter was sobbing without letup and I needed to talk to her.
ReplyDeleteShe had asked her father when she'd be big enough to fly. Really fly. He told her never and don't even think about trying you'll get hurt (he had, when he was 5, from a 2nd floor balcony--broken foot). She was in her flying outfit, pink satin skirt (made by grandma), pink leotard, pink wings. She also had a purple pair. She couldn't stop crying.
I talked to her about dreams, about dreaming of flying, running across soft grass in bare feet, then leaping and rising into the sky. She told me her flying dreams, that she was a pink bird and had strong wings. We talked a long time. So then I told her tonight we both dream, about flying.
She said, Grandma do you like purple. Of course. Grandma, tomorrow I will come to your house and I will give you purple and I will have pink and I will hold your hand and we will fly.
Crying again, now, of course.
I painted us, grandma in jeans and purple wings and a little red-haired girl with red hair and pink wings, holding hands and flying through iridescent clouds. It's on her bedroom wall in Florida.
Thank you, Mister Gardner.
Thank you, Cynthia for that. Your granddaughter is HELLA lucky.
DeleteI will cry every day reading these updates when you move. Sigh.
ReplyDelete