Rick and I are often privy to our granddaughters’ conversations of play, when they come to visit. They play on the porch, just off the kitchen, where we often sit. Indy and Mazzy are inspiring pretenders. It’s fascinating what they harvest from us, their parents and teachers, hanging on to only what they deem worthy (translation: fun), and (apparently) tossing the rest.
I was that kind of player, often on my own resulting from being born between 2 brothers. My father often told me it was my job to play and I took it to heart. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if Rick and I were playmates/neighbors early on, and found soulmates in each other, as we eventually did. If we played like Mazzy and Indy, making up scenarios out of the “inspirations du jour”, and concocted lives we could only have lived in our dreams.
Unlike the girls, we would not have assumed lives as kings and queens, nor unicorns with frilly accoutrements. But, maybe, traveled the world in search of magical places, interesting people and great stories, never before heard. We would have been servants to famous artists and musicians, learning the great secrets of creating an opus of our very own. We would have pretended we had discovered a brand new art form, that had folks begging for us to teach them how this was done. People would come from all over the world. Rick and I would work together, like a magic act, showing them intricate patterns and drawings, then demonstrate how they, too, can do what seems to be impossible. And Rick says, oh! Oh! And we can play music and entertain them and have all sorts of fun, how cool would that be? But I can’t play music, I respond. That’s ok, he smiles. You can dance! You might even need some frilly accoutrements!
And they lived happily ever after.
Or was it just the beginning? Who’s to say?