Imagine the Possibilities

 Until recently, I wasn’t familiar with the term “smash cake,” those small cakes made just for the birthday boy or girl. The guest of honor can just dig in, and while it can be very messy, it makes for great pictures. I understood the term a little better after attending a birthday party for our neighbors’ one-year-old grandson last weekend.

The birthday boy sat in his high chair. He wore a small crown, a ribboned bow-tie, and suspenders attached to his short pants. No shirt. If you’re thinking a Chippendale-in-training, it was actually something like that, but very cute. There were balloons, presents, decorations, and lots and lots of food. People, too – friends and neighbors (mostly adults), with just enough kids to remind everyone that it was a party for a little guy. We all crowded around as the cake was presented. Immediately, Charlie sunk his hands into the soft mass of blue and white in front of him. Then carefully, he licked the icing and bits of cake from his fingers. Bit by bit, very neatly. Slowly, the other kids inched closer and started to help. Charlie didn’t mind, there was plenty for everyone.

Until…not sure if the tray wasn’t fastened right or someone leaned on it, but in a flash the tray slipped, the cake was on the floor, and Charlie was tumbling down, caught in the arms of his mother at the last second.

Soon everything was back to normal and Charlie was once again seated on his “throne.” Miraculously, the cake was only dented a bit on one side, probably held together by all that blue frosting.  As it was placed back in front of Charlie, one of the kids commented, “I guess that’s why they call it a smash cake.”

Makes sense to me!

Laughter and applause drifted through the walls from family story time in an adjoining room. In another area young boys and girls entered with bags of books, scoured the shelves, picked a favorite…or two. I was in a new space, the children’s section of the Free Library of Philadelphia, where I had come with some fellow writers from my critique group. But it wasn’t just a visit and a chance to share our latest work in progress. We were privileged to be meeting with the curator of the children’s literature research collection. Housed at the library are a range of original artwork and manuscripts from leaders in the world of children’s literature – Newbery winners, Caldecott winners, classic and contemporary authors and artists. I had to almost pinch myself when I realized I was standing among one of the largest collections of primary source material for children’s literature in the country.

As we sat around the table and introduced ourselves to Christopher, the curator, I had an immediate sense of my identity as a writer. Christopher asked about our background, but he was more interested in what we were currently working on and our role as authors in the larger community of authors and illustrators. It reminded me of how important it is to take such interest in the young writers we work with. When you ask about the writing work they are doing, you are acknowledging that they are writers.

One of our members is also an illustrator interested in collage work, so we were treated to viewing, up close, some of the original works of Ezra Jack Keats. So precious. So beautiful. As the others talked about technique and style, all I could imagine was Mr. Keats in his studio, creating. All I could think about was this wonderful collection housed in this space shared by the community. All I could think about was being a part of it all.

Imagine a space built into the trees along the forest walk, where children of all ages can experience the joys of nature.

Imagine that in that space there were huge horns where visitors can listen to the sounds from the forest and nearby meadow.

Imagine a wagonload of inviting books and puppets ready for play.

Imagine the opportunity to use magnifiers to examine leaves and gourds up close.

Imagine children gathering in that space for stories and finger plays and songs.

That’s how I spent my morning – helping with Family Story Time at Longwood Gardens. What a treat!

I’ll admit it. I have a sweet tooth.  Lately though, I’ve been trying to cut back on sugar in my diet. I am more drawn to baked goods than candy, but there are certain types of candy that are hard for me to resist. One is Twizzlers, and the other is Toffee Crunch, sometimes called Buttercrunch Toffee. You know, that toffee candy encased in rich chocolate, then smothered in almonds. People often give it as gifts and it is, in my estimation, simply irresistible.

Once I received a box of toffee crunch as a gift and right away I knew I was in trouble. Allan hates toffee, so it was all up to me. I decided I would carefully parcel out the pieces. After taking out two small chunks, I carefully retied the box and put it in the cupboard. Apparently that was not far enough away because within just a few minutes I was back for more. This time after retying the box I put it on the top shelf of the cupboard. If this sounds a little like Frog and Toad’s predicament in “Cookies” (Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad Together), you are right! It was just like that, except that I didn’t scatter the candy for the birds. My lack of will power won out.

Last week my sister-in-law brought over some items from a gift basket she received and, you guessed it, there was a box of that toffee crunch.

“You can’t leave this,” I protested. “I’ll eat the whole thing.”

“It’s just a little box,” she said. Little did she know what I would be up against.

As I was unwrapping the inner bag I noticed a green card at the bottom. This box had come with a warning! Needless to say, there was none left to freeze, but at least I got a good laugh.

I’ve been absent for a while. Not writing, not even reading much, and not exercising as much as I should. August was kind of a blur. Even though I had a wonderful week in Ireland and spent time with family and friends, there was a dark cloud hanging around. Towards the end of July my mother-in-law’s health started to decline rapidly. She was in the hospital for a short time, then came home to hospice care. Last week I kissed her good-bye for the last time as she joined her beloved husband of seventy years who left us in December.

Those of you who are teachers know all about the school calendar – how the new year does not start in January like everyone thinks, but rather around Labor Day, when school starts. Since yesterday was Labor Day, I decided I needed a new beginning. I woke early and willed myself into doing some writing work. I’ll admit I was nervous. The creative juices have just not been flowing. I’ve felt stuck, wanting to give up. I opened up a manuscript I’d been working on, read it and reread it, looked again at the comments from my critique group, and picked up the pen. It wasn’t easy, but I was able to make some revisions (good, I hope). It’s a start, and I will sit down with it again today.

I’ve heard the saying that goes something like, “I don’t love to write, but I love having written,” and that’s how I felt after spending some time with my words. Having written was a jump start. I spent the rest of the morning doing some gardening, taking the dog for a walk, and organizing my tasks for September in my bullet journal. Since many of my August tasks had not been completed, I just rolled them over to the new month. They’ll be completed, and new tasks will take their place. But there will also be new ideas, new opportunities, and new beginnings.