“Don’t tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
- Anton Chekhov
It’s gratifying to perform mindless Spring tasks at a time when we can usually expect to be bundling up to go outside and shovel more snow. Over the weekend, the Resident Teenager and I spent a few hours raking up the leaves left by the neighbour’s oak tree last fall. I don’t mind in the least doing the work. There’s something inspiring about peeling back the mulch and revealing tender shoots, breathing in the scent of earth and decaying leaves, and finding treasure in the shape of a perfectly formed, empty snail shell.
Equally gratifying was the reaction when I dropped off a bag of pink to the Little Neighbours. The previous night, I’d attended a gathering of friends where we ate, drank, and swapped – bags of clothes, that is. One of my pals had purged her daughters’ closets of little-girl clothes. Armed with the knowledge that my Little Neighbours, two small sisters whose house is drenched in pink (as in hats, shirts, trousers, boots, tutus - you name it, it’s pink) with the arrival of a third and even smaller sister, I dove into the pile and grabbed all the pink clothes I could find. My friend handed me a bag to put them in, also pink.
High excitement and much gratitude – Little C took possession of the pink nighties and twirled around the living room, announcing to all that she wanted to go to bed right then (it was nine o’clock in the morning). Younger-but-not-smaller S, who is learning how to dress herself, managed to pull first one T-shirt over her head, then another, and another until she had six T-shirts hanging off her neck, and not a stitch of clothes below her quarterback shoulders. Impressive.
The first point of which is this: I am the pink enabler.
The second point being: it all beats the heck out of shovelling snow.