On this Friday in May..before the long Memorial Day weekend, I headed out to my Storybook Studio
to continue work on the illustrations for the new book..
book #14, Eliza Visits the Ballet.
The hydrangeas were showing out…the birds were singing…it was a perfect morning, in every way.
…but when Sophia came through the old Eastlake door, carrying our favorite nursery rhyme book,
and asked, "Can you read to me?"…plans changed.
I gathered up the old quilt, the book, the small square floral pillow, took her hand, and we walked out into the backyard.
There was an unusually magical feeling, there, on this day.
I spread the quilt, she lounged …perusing the pages…
and I captured this….
It had been some time since we had read from this book.
I had begun to wonder where the time had gone…since those early days of reading the classic tales
and familiar nursery rhymes.
The computer and electronic games and television shows were creeping in.
But on this day in May…in her nightgown and wellies,
she had come back to her first love..
it had been my first love, as a child.
It was so very quiet and so very peaceful, she slipped into a trance...
As a little girl, I had loved this set of books…My Book House.
I can remember pulling them from the book shelf in our living room of the parsonage,
when we lived in Orlando, Florida, next door to the Baptist church, where my daddy was the pastor.
At some point, the set of books was passed on to another family.
When I became a Grammy, I came upon these books in a children's boutique
in Asheville, North Carolina.
I told my husband, "Those books are so familiar!"
I called my mother, as I was standing there, staring up at the books on display above me…
She confirmed that we had been given the set…along with the wooden "house."
The set belonged to the shop owner, and she would not part with it.
So my search began…and I acquired several of the "blue" editions.
There were tiny wild strawberries surrounding us..
…and we thought, "wouldn't it be fun to bring out the dollies and bunnies and mousies…and a tiny basket, for collecting berries …"
Oh, how we played and played...
I brought out a tray with a tiny tea set and gold fish crackers,
and Sophia served tiny red berries to all the friends,
and we drank water from tiny tea cups.
Miss Maggie Rabbit had not been out to play in such a very very long time…
and she was quite thrilled to dress up in her pretty dress and knitted shawl and felt boots...
Eliza the Mouse™, Alice the wool cut Bunny, and Phia Dolly had such a lovely time…
When the door is opened to make-believe…
the imagination soars…
and tiny tents made from sticks and vintage linens, appear,
and they are furnished with tiny chairs and tables and dishes…
And I was transported to my childhood…and my fascination with creating tiny houses from twigs…
This tree stands guard over our back yard, along the fence row..and I'm amazed.
While little girl in her gown and pink wellies squishes wild strawberries for the ants,
collects stray pine cones and sticks
and tugs at the grass,
I am thankful for this enchanted place we call home.
As a little girl, this was my dream.
I would look at the illustrations in my momma's collection of Joan Walsh Anglund books
and dream of magical places…
along creeks and in meadows.
Florida was sand spurs and orange groves and didn't seem quite as romantic.
I was never a fan of the beach…or sand…
So here I sit, on this quilt, with just enough of a breeze to balance the humidity…
and I am a happy girl…a happy Grammy.
We lie on the quilt, listening to the music of Elizabeth Mitchell…
her version of You Are My Sunshine…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfD4sCTeIt8
…and she says, "take a pitcher of evrwyfing, Grammy."
We sit up, looking into each other's faces…
smiling…beaming…
her eyes dancing!
and she says,
"My heart is full up to da top!"
I am weeping and laughing and overwhelmed by her attempt to articulate this feeling..
this joy.
And I reply,
"Mine is too, Sophia! Mine is too!"
and we hug,
And she says..
"Dis is da bess day of my wife!"
I can't recall a more profound moment, when I was moved, to this degree.
My mother's response,
"God chooses carefully the one He uses to speak His word to us.
We listen carefully and recognize His voice,
even in the voice of a child."