The old familiar feelings of restlessness begin to whisper... much like the scent of spring flowers in the air; teasing and beckoning. To complicate matters, I can't identify the precise source because too many possibilities exist. But, no worries for the well-developed coping and centering skills remain solid. It simply creates an edge.
Picture of the childhood farm and home triggers memories... which I'll delve into the night, searching for a measure of peace.
A wondrous fortress and maze of sturdy, old branches served as the play ground for my imagination as a child. The traditional camouflage t-shirt matched setting, atop shorts or pants and socks of questionable style and undoubtedly mis-matched. A red cowboy hat may be found over long, windblown hair... but only for a moment, because I was much too concerned with going and getting places to keep the hat safely on top of head. A belt with toy gun possibly added to the attire, although I generally preferred less cumbersome accessories.
Looking back on that tree as a teenager, I have no idea how my brother and I played such amazing and large games in its branches - which seemed so weak and unstable after a few years. But, in our tender years.. it served as a look-out post, ship, fortress, laboratory, house, jungle-gym, kitchen, stable, and any other setting our young minds could imagine. We were cowboys, indians, police, children, parents, scientists, cooks, lords, ladies, and knights. I remember feeling frustrated by the required lunch break, just long enough to shove down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before scampering back outside.
My family loves to refer to these magical years as Jenn's "rat days" - apparently derived from the gangly hair and crazy dress, not to mention my tendency to be a bit wild and carefree in behavior. Certainly seems like eons ago..though I don't imagine that some of those characteristics are far removed, or at least I hope not.
Imagination is a wonderful gift. I feel a little rusty though, without my kiddos to challenge and test it's abilities - every pushing to greater limits. As adults, we often live in such a serious world.. forced to occupy our minds with serious and responsible tasks, notions, ideas, and speech. I grow weary of that at times, but oddly seek it for foundation and grounding.
I've been bantering with a friend lately about who cooks better. Since moving to Philadelphia I am definitely out of practice, though feel quite confident in skills. Tonight, with thoughts of the lilac tree at the farm, I can't help but remember the last fabulous cooking venture its generous shade protected.
One afternoon, I cooked up the most delightfully gross green goo in the kitchen. No idea what combination of kitchen supplies were added to make that slop, but it bubbled and foamed and smelled as though it came straight from a witches cauldron. I thought it would be a particularly awesome idea to spread the goo on branches and rocks under and on the lilac tree to dry - no idea of the logic behind such behavior. After a few hours of grand fun, the green goo was dried and hardened by the sun.. and it was no longer amusing to me, so I threw everything away and cleaned up - moving on to a more stimulating event.
Yes, I am ready for the next adventure.. the next chapter. I can't wait to turn the page and see where it ends, like reading a fabulous book and fighting every urge to skip to the end. Restlessness... it is grand.
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