Monday, April 4, 2011

Another Chance

The narrow path to the feeders is lined with mounds of snow, four feet high. With a flutter of wings, two hungry chickadees, alarmed, fly to low branches as I trudge forward lugging a bucket of seeds. Gluttonous squirrels and messy birds dined well this morning and scattered a fan of sunflower hulls, black as the sweep of a crow’s wing, over the snow. I lean down to scoop out some seeds and …what’s this? Three holes in the banks surrounding the foot of the pole. Squatting for a closer look, I see curving tunnels littered with the leavings of rodent breakfasts.

“Are they stocking up for the Snow Ball?” I wonder wistfully.

When my kids were small, snow days meant snuggling up with cozy stories, and Jill Barklem’s tales of the mice of Brambly Hedge and their grand winter celebration was one of our favorites. If little Tucker and Casey had seen the tunnel entrances at the foot of the feeders, they would have been wide-eyed envisioning an apron-ed mouse matron bustling in a kitchen crammed with crabapples on shelves, dried thistle hanging from beams, and mouse children nibbling popcorn.

I miss my little ones desperately, and I miss the world I was allowed to re-enter through them: a world of bright colors, bubbly tub times, baby-doll tea parties, forts, silly songs and happy endings. A world where a hike around the yard could be an adventure because onion grass and sticks were the makings of stew, acorn caps were fairy hats and a tumble of boulders was a giant’s castle. Instead of schedules, experience shaped each day. A parade of ants might bring us to our knees to watch in wonder the struggle to haul a crumb to a nest in a rotted log. A rock overturned would uncover a hidden haven for tiny bugs, squirming salamanders and writhing worms: a chance to teach compassion and gentle quiet instead of stomping and shrieks.

Now my kids are twenty-seven and thirty. I love the people they have become. But I miss grubby little hands, kissable cheeks, goofy dances and feet pajamas.

After storing the seed bucket in the shed, I stomp the snow off my boots before going into the kitchen. It used to be such a production to wrestle little kids out of parkas, sodden mittens and wet socks. Lots of whining and giggles. Lots of mess. Lots of noise. It is silent in the house as I slip off my boots and place them neatly side-by-side by the back door.

Tea might be nice. And I want to read some cozy stories.

Many of our children’s books are stored away, but I’ve kept some in the shelves in the living room. I know exactly which books I want and where they are: Jill Barklem’s Winter Story and Happy Winter by Karen Gundersheimer, right there on the left side of the top shelf. Often little hands reached for these books so their jackets are faded and torn. Happy Winter is still sticky, as a matter of fact, because it holds the recipe for our first-snow-day tradition, Happy Winter Fudge Cake. If I were to call Casey, who turns twenty-eight next week and say, “Happy Winter! Rise and Shine!” She would say without pause, “I love the early morning time,” so beloved and well-read was this book. And as I turn the pages slowly, with love, each picture, every cheery rhyme, is achingly familiar.

And because I want to immerse myself in the mood and the memories, I climb the stairs to the second floor, open the hall closet and pull out the small jacket wedged to the wall by the press of adult overcoats. Fleece lined brown corduroy, zippered front and hooded, with "Osh Kosh B’Gosh!" on the inside label - it was Tucker's. I am doing this to myself on purpose, fueling the tears, but it feels good to hug that little jacket close and remember, so easily, the small boy who wore it.

So, I settle in with a cup of tea, Tucker’s jacket and a book, and smile as mice dig snowy tunnels, carve ice columns, and prepare “hot soups, punches and puddings” for their Snow Ball.

Winter Story by Jill Barklem, Philomel Books, 1980
Happy Winter by Karen Gundersheimer, Harper & Row, 1982


gail m said...

You mean little mice mothers don't wear aprons?? Sweet memories, Lea.

Joanne Lenore said...

You are the best with conjuring images, visual, olfactory, tactile; you get 'em all. And I so relate to 'doing this to [my]self.' A good cry can be a good thing.
I've had the gift of my neighbors granddaughters in my life the past couple years. Playing on the floor comes back like riding a bike; getting up from the floor has gotten even harder (and it wasn't that easy 20 years ago!). Keep writing, Lea; it's a gift to us.

Gerry said...

I know exactly what jacket you're talking about, Lea, and can picture Tucker in it! There's nothing better than little ones to help you see the wonder in everything - it's nice to go back to that time once in a while.

Meg said...

Although my children are still quite small I share your exact sentiments...I wish their sticky fingers would keep leaving smudges on everything in my house. Lovely!

Unknown said...

Beautiful Lea, you evoke such memories and emotions!
It brought tears to my eyes.....I still see little mice with aprons and acorn hats, mushroom tables........xo

b1ac said...

Lea, I love reading your rich writing; so filled with images that make me clearly recall the times you write about. Ah, I too miss those days of when our children were young; yet, I, like you, treasure who they are now as adults.
I loved reading your piece and having you take me back to the time when Eri and Doug were little ones, dear friends of Casey's and Tucker's...and savor that we have those memories, to cherish always!

Marjorie Castro said...

Lea, this posting brought back so many wonderful memories of snowy days at home with our three children. There were always inside and outside adventures and reading to them was so much a part of the day ... even when it wasn't snowy. My children loved "The Mitten" once of our favorite snowy day fantasies and also Ezra Jack Keats, "The Snowy Day".

Your posting also made me hunger for Grandchildren and the chance to do it all again. Thankfully we have three beautiful little preschool girls who live next door and allow us to be pretend Grandparents. They are scrumptious!!