She’s far too beautiful to be called Lilly, the plant in our entry. Bloom by bloom, her name is Lillian. And yes, I call her by name each time I compliment her fragrance. I introduce her to the field that hangs behind her. Tell her I will care for her with the same hands that painted the picture on the wall. It’s not unlike how I used to interact with my wagon full of dolls and stuffed animals. They all had names and adventures. As they traveled with me along VanDyke Road they learned the hazards of gravel and the freedom of travel. They dared Hugo’s field. Even helped me count the change in my pocket as we walked the mile to Rexall Drug to get a frozen Milky Way. And in all that fun, I guess I was learning.
They say that play is how children learn, and art is how adults play. I couldn’t resemble that more than by definition. And oh, how I want to keep learning. So I paint the birds daily. I cut the wood to make the panels. I stretch canvas. And give names to the flowers and trees. I greet each butterfly by my mother’s nickname. I let myself play. Is it silly? I sure hope so!
In the fifth grade, under the guide of Miss Green, we took spelling trips. We wrote reports on our imaginary travels. Of course we were learning how to spell. How to write. How to form sentences. Without our knowledge or permission, empathy grew for our fellow desk mates, fellow travelers, and we played ourselves into Central Junior High, a little bit wiser than Washington Elementary, a little more Lillian than Lilly.
As I finish today’s blog, I make another click on my gratitude counter, because giving thanks should be fun too. I pass her on the way out the front door, smiling, we are both a little more Lillian!
