Magic from my childhood, a tribute to my teachers

The journey to B and L's happened almost daily in the summer. By bike or walking, never in the car. Even when my mom would come with me it was never in the car. The decision to bike or walk depended on a few factors.

1) How quickly I had to get THERE.
2) How quickly I had to get AWAY.
3) The cats.
4) The weather.

If It was a lazy day and the hot, sticky summer boredom had set in it was usually a rambly walk. Mooing at the cows as I passed The Farm, stopping to pet the horses by the Quonset hut. Never going too fast.

If I was angry at anyone in the house it was a stompy, steam-blowing walk. With just the right amount of time to loose the bad mood somewhere between the Quonset hut at The Farm and the turn onto B and L's driveway.

If it was a day to be DOING something it was a hair-flying, legs-pumping, quick-as-possible bike ride.

If it was a lazy day spent on the deck with the cats, and the cats wanted more and more and more and more attention, it was a race-down-the-driveway-without-a-backwards-glance, over the hill and... coast kind of bike ride.

However the journey happened it always took the same route. Over county road 3; past the park with the communal bonfire pit that used to be a dime store; down the dirt road and past The Farm (waving to Chip, Jay or Aunt Marge); over the hill that opens up the view to B and L's.

There must be magic at the top of that hill. The anticipation grows because at the top of the hill the property appears. The goats, the grain sheds, the gardens, the studio, the house, and, depending on the year, the cats, Bozo or Hattie and Floyd.

My eyes would scan the property looking for signs of life, maybe L walking over to Clarence's or B in the garden or studio. At the top of that hill your eyes play tricks with you, you can't trust them. They tell you 'yes, they're home,' and 'no, they're not' at the same time. Seeing a vehicle doesn't mean anything, I would need proof. Proof in human form. Proof that the portal HAD opened for me. Ready to take me to that day's Adventure.

Some days it was sitting in the studio watching B throw pots for hours. Watching her hands as they expertly molded a lump of clay into whatever shape she had in her mind, as they painted bugs, birds, and patterns onto finished pieces. When I was little she would let my sisters and I paint clay tiles and she would fire them in the kiln. They would come out with the same picture we had painted on them, but with a glossy sheen that made it seem like the magic was something we could take home with us.

Other days it would be helping L with house projects. Any project would do as long as he was willing to have a tag-along helper. I learned how to shingle a house, drive a back-hoe, and put in tile flooring, all before I was 16. I could spend days following L from house to garage to Clarence's and back again, learning whatever he would teach me, hoping that at some point we could stop in the house for soda and snacks.

B and L moved to Idaho a few years ago, but their property will always be magical for me, the place where childhood always lives, where anything is possible and inquisitiveness is practically required. I hold the feeling of that property with me, carrying it so that when I need to be a child again I have the magic inside, easily accessible. Easily sharable with the people in my life who need to have a little bit of childhood given back to them. Magic stemming from two of the most important people in my life. Magic that I can share and pass on to the next children who need a little magic in theirs.

Flashback Friday #1

The night before I graduated from the Arts High I went out to Loring Park with five friends. It was bittersweet. We tried not to think about how we were all moving out of the dorm in the morning. We tried not to think about how it could be a while before we got to see each other again. We really tried not to think about the end of our time at the Arts High. So instead we spent the time playing in the dandelion fountain.

While we were jumping, dancing, and splashing I happened to look across the street, and there in the low lamplight was Emorej, one of the other dancer seniors from the Arts High. He said that he was just sitting on the bench thinking about how school was over and crying. So we invited him to splash with us.

I don't have any pictures from that night, but here are some of the next day after we had all graduated.

Me, storysmith, box car child, and girl genius

My communist, Me, Seattle Girl

Me and girl genius

The five best things about the first day of school, nostalgia version

1. First day of school pictures. The Hatlady is a picture fanatic, she has an obsession with capturing things on film. She always has a hat and a camera on her. She can get pictures of anyone, especially if they usually don't let people take their pictures, she has a gift.

So every year she would make my sisters and I take a first day of school picture and a last day of school picture. You can tell how each of us feels by the look in our eyes, whether we're excited or don't want school to start again. It has become a tradition, and continued until box car child finished high school. If it weren't so hard to get us all together twice a year I would keep this tradition going.
me first day of first grade (not your typical first day of school photo, it would usually be all three of us together, but I couldn't find one of all of us.)

2. New school supplies. I love new pens, pencils, notebooks. I love the possibility they hold, the blank pages and new ink. It was so exciting going to school knowing that I had a backpack filled with possibility.

3. Friends. I grew up on a 13 acre farm out in the country and didn't see school friends often during the summer. I was always jealous of my 'town friends' that got to hang out during the summer. Late when I was going to the Arts High my friends were scattered across the state, so it made it even more difficult to see any of them during the summer.

4. Dance. Coming from farm country I didn't have many opportunities for dance classes during the summer, especially if I was looking for more than studio sparkle dance. Going to the Arts High meant being able to move again, being able to be around other dancers and, for my senior year, really finding my own voice and strength in dance. It really is like coming back to an old friend and feeling like you haven't changed at all and the relationship fits perfectly.

5. Having a clean slate. In a small town everyone knows everything about everyone else. Sometimes even before the people know it about themselves. Going to school in a small town and living far enough away to not be around all the time meant that I could escape that for the summer. I didn't get hooked into all the drama, I didn't have to. Coming back to school in the fall meant that I got to start out fresh. I didn't have the drama of the summer, and didn't know why so-and-so was made at her or him, or why everyone wasn't talking, or whatever. I didn't have to follow those rules, because they didn't apply to me, at least not yet.

Going to the Arts High meant coming back to an entire new grade of people, meant being able to stop being called 'Little Storysmith' or 'Storysmith's sister' and instead just be J. Don't get me wrong I love the Storysmith dearly, but being a junior in high school I didn't have the confidence or ability to be okay with that and still be myself. It meant that if people recognized me it was because they actually saw me, and not my older sister walking down the hallways.

Inspired by prompt #2 of Mama Kat's writer's workshop.

High-threshold relationships

I recently read a post on Facebook by my friend, Spiritual Mother, it was talking about high-threshold and low-threshold relationships. So I'm contemplating who is on my high-threshold list, and can feel my heart swelling just thinking of my relationships with those people.

Let me explain. High-threshold is not, like I first thought, high-maintenance. High-threshold is the relationship that you would do anything for, never let die, compromise the love you share, basically sticking out the relationship no matter what. High-threshold is that person you know you would never let go of, the person that you would do anything for.

Low-threshold is the relationship that you have not fully committed yourself to, one you would walk away from because of an issue or disagreement. Basically, a relationship without an agreement at a deeper level.

So, here is the beginning of my high-threshold list. I know it will continue to grow, change and transform as I do, but here is the list as of now. (In no particular order, except for number one and number two).

Mr. Not Hideous: because he is who he is and I can't imagine not having him around.

Goosey: the sweet girl who is part of me. She has shaped my life in so many ways, I can't even begin to explain.

Storysmith: My sister and best friend. It has taken us about 20 years to get here, I'm so glad we finally are.

Box Car Child: My other sister, and best friend. Always my accomplice in life. The absolute free spirit.

The Plaid Man: My brother-in-law, the first man I could truly trust. He opened me up in a way to be able to receive a relationship with Mr. NH. I can't thank him enough.

The Hatlady: How could my mother not make the list?

Spiritual Mother: The woman who made me have the conversation with Mr. NH about having a relationship. She is one of the most powerful women I know.

B and L: My second parents. Two people who have shaped me into who I am, and taught me so many things about life and living fearlessly while still questioning things to find my own beliefs.

Traveling Man: It took me a long time to get to here with my Dad. He traveled a lot when I was young and I assumed he didn't love me, getting rid of that story was one of the best things I have done in my entire life.

Girl Genius: My half sister. An amazing girl, I can't wait to see the woman she turns into and how she will change the world.

Triple A: This man is unconditional love in itself. I have never met a more caring, loving, generous human being.

My Communist: She has fostered my love for travel and nature, and is brilliant.

Dances for Dull Moments: My absolute favorite choreographer, and a complete artistic genius. She is fearless.

Die Cut Queen: Ultimate teacher, camp counselor, and empathetic to the core. The only person I've ever met who won't kill a mosquito.

Sister-friend: My longest lasting friendship, and the girl who ultimately gets me.


That's my list. I recommend you make one, and share it with your high-threshold friends.