Maya teaches me about the Rain
by January Handl
I have taken the children into the wind-tossed yard,
the adults huddle in their dis-belief
sheltered by the overhang of the building
they long to re-enter.
We find our boot -covered feet are magnetized
to the splashable puddles,
our soggy senses pulled toward
the cratered sandbox transformations;
Our hands and fingers longing for the cold, silky
Single- line waterfall from the roof gutter’s gap,
our ears perked to the rain’s singing with
the bird’s chorus somehow happier for the wet-
our noses aghast at the amplification of aroma.
Maya wants to be pushed on the tire swing,
so we walk over with our raincoat’s pockets
sloshing the last hour’s deluge.
Maya leans back,
looks up
and blinks, twitches, squints and squishes
her angelic face with every
drop’s greeting.
“you could pull your hood up, Ms. Maya”
I say in my wisdom.
Her incredulous look at the absurdity of my statement
becomes clear when she says
“But teacher, then I wouldn’t feel the rain!”
Once again, I am deferring to the child in all of us for inspiration. As January’s Maya exemplifies, children are natural inquirers. If you think back to when you were a kid, and as Tamara suggests, really inquire within, I think you will remember a time when delving into new things was as simple as breathing.
When I do this, I inevitably recall Kate because she was there for so many of my formative inquiries and discoveries.
We met when my family had the good fortune to move in next door to hers. We were products of a fabled time when parents could open the doors and let their children roam, at least until the street lights came on.
So, roaming and exploring is what we did. Everything was an experiment.
- How many yanks of this dolls arm will result in the arm coming off? Approximately twenty-two, and some tears shed. (We were laughing the whole time but when the arm finally came off I cried and got mad at Kate – and forgave her later.)
- How far can we walk across the frozen marshy creek? Pretty far! (But when the ice cracks and we fall in, the mile+ walk home is numbing and nearly frost bite cold.)
- How fast can we ride down the hill? Fast enough to bloody the fresh paint on her Dad’s porch. (I lost my first tooth that day.)
- How many toads can we collect? Buckets upon buckets. (So many my Dad could not walk on the lawn to barbecue when we released them all at once.)
- Can you guess what I am drawing when I trace my finger on your back? (Mostly not but occasionally it was possible to concentrate between giggles.)
- If I dangle, without moving, from the wagon Kate was pulling, will the neighbors think I am dead? (We tried this experiment several times and were completely outraged that no one seemed to notice “my death.”)
- What would happen if we touched the electric fence? A shock, yes but it was never bad enough to deter us from doing it again. (I think it became proof of our bravery because other friends, even boys, wouldn’t do it.)
Our entire life was coming up with new ideas and testing them out. We built forts that fell apart in a day, and others that lasted a season. We built snow ramps for our sleds, and diverted our runs from the house and street with less then perfect success. We built swings with willow branches and bent pine boughs for riding. We climbed and ran and laughed. Our curiosity fueled by childhood enthusiasm.
As I watch my own daughter I see some of the very same things. The trying and planning to get her pillow forts just right. The meticulous cutting to make that lopsided square. The contraptions built to move objects across the room. Oh, the measuring, testing and tasting that every day holds!
And my days now hold so little. I can with reasonable certainty predict how things are going to go. Inquiry is limited by the first page of a google search. Unbridled wonder is tabled for more mundane tasks. Curiosity is asked to be quiet while I attend to other very important matters.
This week that changes. I am following MY six year old lead.
This week’s bliss initiative is to discover something new. and to feel the magic of curiosity.
I am going to taste something “weird.” I am going to try something I’ve never done. I’m going to remember how Kate and I used to spend our days.
(I have another reason to remember Kate on this day. Today is her birthday. Happy Happy Birthday my old co-conspirator! I hope you have a fabulous day! Thank you for testing the waters of 50 before me, I’ve always known you were brave! Can it really be true that these things I recall happened more then four decades ago?)
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tamara and January are here each Monday to help set the mood for the week!
Tamara Magnitsky
Tamara Magnitsky, a child of the wild blue yonder,
has been an ardent student and advocate for poetry, photography and excellence in general.
She is the mother of a 6 year old daughter and a beloved wife.
She can be found most days.
Bio written by Cary Brosius ~Tamara’s husband 🙂
January Handl
January Handl is first and always a mother, has been a preschool teacher and parent educator for 25 years, and currently is an early head start home visitor in her community. She resides with 2 dogs and a cat in Boulder Creek and and simply lives in awe of existence.
She calls her photo “hot tub bliss” 🙂
~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you are new here Welcome!
This introductory post will introduce the blog, and this post will help us get better acquainted.
Please “like” our Facebook Page for more Blissful Discussion!
Very fun post! Being curious in itself is magic. It is so important to always be curious, to never stop learning and discovering new things.
YES! I so agree!! Thank you so much for stopping by Theresa!