Caterpillar Wishes and Butterfly Dreams


A bug on the ground, never seen before

Long and round, so different

Moving now, it floats on top of  bricks

No legs in sight, scary I think

Fuzzy, crawling towards me

Slowly at first, like babies do

I’m kneeling down, not quite trusting

Sizing it up,  close and cautious

Brown with yellow, it looks soft to me

Grandma says, “It’s okay to touch”

Gentle, with a whispered finger

Careful not to hurt

Guess what?  It’s a caterpillar

Soon to be a butterfly

How can this be?

God’s magic, it’s a miracle

Crawling creature, soon to be ruffled wings 

Lots of questions….

When will this happen?  Is it true?  Will the butterfly be blue?

Does it eat from a flower or drink from the fountain?

Will we see it dance in the garden or flutter near a rock?  

Tell me, Grandma. Please, Grandma, P.L.E.A.S.E?

Sigh….Butterfly, I will see you in my dreams

Up..up..up, high in the sky where angels sing

Please wave to me with wings of blue on clouds of cream

‘Till then, I’ll never forget this lesson of bugs and miracles of God

Good-bye, Caterpillar, I love you, Butterfly…..

 

 

Let There Be Play!


I’ve been thinking of the little children I saw over the weekend who took delight in Halloween, including my own grand-babies.

Throughout all of the years of my life, I’ve never bothered to research the word, Halloween. Sure, I’ve heard whispers of evil stories associated with October 31st.  At movie theatres, I’ve seen trailers for spooky picture shows, and in stores there are always the covers of horror books.   Still, seeing the excitement of children in anticipation of the holiday, I always wondered,  “How could that be?”

Long ago, when my own two boys were barely into preschool and kindergarten, my oldest had recently been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.  Life for children and families was very different from it is today.  Insulin was our only defense and rules were rigid in order to keep children safe and healthy.  No sugar what-so-ever was ever allowed unless it was an emergency.  So what to do about Halloween?

Motherly instincts told me that Halloween wasn’t about good or evil.  Not inside the innocent minds of children.  I didn’t believe it was about popping melted chocolate into wee and waiting mouths.  No, in my mind, Halloween was all about traditions hidden with imaginations while taking part in play.  Behind eyes of brown or green or blue, everyone could see….

Within my mind, Halloween was about dreaming and dress-up.  Being cast in a new role to play a character on a neighborhood stage in front of a backdrop of orange and black. Painted faces laughing in mirrors of glass from deep within skinny bellies before snapshots were taken in kitchens next to siblings of the same.  Families together with bowls of candy.  Enough treats for everyone who might ring a bell.

My son living with diabetes dreamed of the same tradition as every other child.  He donned a clown suit of red and yellow, learned his line of “Trick-or-Treat” and went off to wait in the wings before taking part in his play.  Upon returning home, his face was all aglow at his performance.  He and his brother emptied brimming plastic pumpkins for all to see.  One-by-one tiny fingers counted each treat, tossing M&M ‘s together with peanut butter cups to the side for emergencies.  So proud my little boy was to show me his pile of loot!

Soon my husband came out of the next room.  He dug deep into side pockets, pulling out a couple of bills of green plus a few rounds of silver.  Our little boy clown jumped up and down..down and up.  So excited he was!  “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping,” I said, squeezing him tight.  That set a new stage for our Halloween every year thereafter.  No matter what, our son would always be cast in the annual Halloween play.

For young children everywhere, Halloween is all about tradition, expectation and imagination.  Taking part in play!  There is no doubt in my mind this still holds true today.

Hoping everyone together with their cast and crew enjoyed your own Halloween play!

Clapping my hands for you!

 

To Witness Imagination


Have you ever witnessed imagination?  Has it ever given you a magical feeling, perhaps a tingling inside or has it ever been so tangible that you could almost touch it?  Please, stay with me for a moment….

I truly did see imagination recently.  No, not in my dreams upon resting my head on a feather pillow in the quiet of the night.  Nor when I was alone, thinking silently to myself what I should begin to write.   The imagination I’m speaking of took place in the out-of-doors where red maple trees grow tall at the base of my little forest land.

The cast of characters played on a stage of thick emerald grass.  They consisted of my husband, our ‘Doodle’ dog, and my precocious grand-daughter of three and a half years.  It’s important now to add the extra ‘half’ at the end of threeYOU understand.  She was staying overnight together with her baby brother who I was feeding in a faded kitchen high chair, patterned in purple nursery rhymes.

Hearing screams of giggles and laughter, I looked out white double doors through panes of glass leading to the patio and beyond.  Doodles was chasing the little one dressed in jeans, her head flopping to and fro in natural curls as she tumbled on the carpet of green.  Grandpa picked her up by rubber heels to swing her back and forth while she shouted with glee.  As I tended to my grandson, helping him spoon vanilla yogurt dribbling from his mouth, he pointed to the window.  “Doo-Doos,” he smiled.  “Doo-Doos outside.”  Just then more shrieks began.  In that moment I gazed at imagination in play.

My grand-daughter was on the left, near a tree dropping golden leaves.  Falling…f.a.l.l.i.n.g. My husband stood a few yards away, clutching an imaginary string before he began to run around the yard, calling her to follow him.  Smiles lit her face from within, pink as cotton candy on a day at the fair.  She chased him around the yard with Doodles running alongside, barking through colored piles of leaves along the way.

Suddenly they stopped at a red maple tree.  It appeared as though the string had gotten caught on a branch.  Together they pulled and tugged, careful not to break such a delicate thing.  Finally, my husband reached high in the sky, above wooden branches and hidden crinkled leaves to untangle what only they could imagine.  Finally free, he handed it to my worried grand-daughter, who waited patiently below the tree.

Relieved, she beamed with joy, kissing her grandpa on a stubbled cheek.  There, he helped her touch the colorful kite, careful not to snap its hidden Popsicle sticks or break the string of white.  Together, they ran across the whole back of the yard, one last time before an open fist let their cherished kite fly free.  Up…up…up it went behind clouds of white into the blue.  As I watched from the warmth of my kitchen, I felt my heart sing from deep within my chest.

Never before did I love my husband more than on that very day.  He inspired our little grand-daughter’s imagination to come alive.  There’s no doubt in my mind that she believed everything about her Grandpa’s fantasy.  She felt it and touched it, played with it and lived each and every special moment within her imagination.

As my nose began to crinkle like it always does before crying with sentimental joy I thanked God for a new blessing.

I witnessed imagination…..!

kites

 

To Touch Imagination


Charlotte Family with a young child and a baby has their portrait made in an outdoor field by professional photographer.

Imagination creates wonder while touch teaches magic.”

Kim Gosselin

*photo courtesy of Google

 

Imagination

To touch imagination 

How magical it would be

If ever a child again

I’d reach out to see

Closing my lids 

To squeeze them ever so slight

While plopping upon pillows 

Praying to dream during the night

When eyes open wide 

In dawn of the morn

She’s right by my side

Grasping my hand

Skipping out the door

My dream is awake

To see wonder…

Touch magic…

Of Mother’s imagination

Butterflies are dancing on branches of trees

Feeling flutters, smiling, giggles, teaching wonders

Heaven’s softness is kissing my skin

Tilt your head now for melodies that woo

Freedom that flies in your imagination too

Curlers In My Head


This morning, Grandpa woke me up from the slumber in my bed.  He shook my arm and shook my head.  He rubbed my nose with the tip of his.  He kissed my cheek while lifting curlers in my head.

“What are you doing Grandpa?  Why are you looking under curlers in my head?”

Reaching behind, silky hair slipped through the tight roll of a curler.  Soft and spongy, it was.  Before grandpa’s big eyes of brown, showers of colors fell down, down, down.

“Grandpa, I feel nothing under the curlers in my head!  Please, please, won’t you look again?”

Grandpa asked me to get out of bed.

“Get up, climb out,” he said!  “Wash your face, wear a dress and comb your hair.  I tell you, something is under the curlers in your head!

“We have to go.  We must do it now!”

I did what Grandpa said.  I washed my face, put on a dress and combed my hair.  My curlers of pink lay in the sink.  I looked at them and looked again.  I did not see anything under the inside of them.

Afterward, Grandpa waited for me in the car.  I sat next to him with my black purse atop my lap.  His two hands were on the wheel, driving me carefully ahead.

“Where are we going, Grandpa,” I asked looking out the window?

“It’s a surprise, Grandma,” he answered.  “Whatever was under the curlers in your head may still be there.”

Together, we drove down dirt roads and chipped cement, past woodlands and trees of green.  Soon, we found ourselves within a city of big where buildings so tall raised windows high into the sky.  Storefronts stood on sidewalks, opening new doors to me.  Grandpa pulled over to the curb.  Getting out, he came over to my side, offering his hand to help me out.

“Grandpa, what is this place?  What are we doing?”

“Not we, YOU.”  Go inside, others are waiting.  I will see you very soon.”

Clutching my purse close to my heart, I opened the front door to the nearest arch.  A handle of polished brass with twinkling bells played a pretty melody, making my ears sing a tune.   Inside were enchanted rooms made for Grandmothers and grand-daughters, alone.  Soon my own surrounded me, dressed in party dresses shaded in sherbet. Quickly, they told me this was all part of Grandpa’s surprise. 

First, we shared a tea-party on flowered china made in France.  A maid wearing a black dress tied with a ruffled apron, poured us tea from a bottomless silver pot.  Grand-daughters of of all sizes and shapes rested white napkins atop their laps while eating cucumber sandwiches of the palest green.  Next, a very fine Madame polished our fingernails in glowing bright pink before helping us choose a different flowered sticker to grow on the end of every other one.

Near the end of the day, a tall man wearing skinny red pants, washed and cut Grandma’s hair.   Afterwards, he added great big C.U.R.L.E.R.S.   All of Grandma’s grand-daughters gathered round to watch.

“Is that YOU, Grandma,” the oldest one asked?

“It doesn’t look like Grandma,” whispered another who wore a worried look upon her face.

When Grandma’s hair was dry, the hair dresser began to take out curlers.  Two or three fell to the floor.  Suddenly all of the others followed, one-by-one.  Slowly, they began to roll toward Grandma’s grand-daughters.  Clapping their hands in delight, each child picked up round brushes of blue, dropping rainbow dust shaken from the inside.

“Oh, my,” exclaimed the hairdresser’s head atop skinny red pants!  “There is something under your curlers!”

“No, there can’t be,” Grandma answered, turning to look at herself in a giant silvered mirror.

By this time all of Grandma’s curlers were out of her hair.  She bent her head down nearly to the floor.  She shook it back and forth as hard as she could.  As much as she would.

Before the young man styled Grandma’s hair with a comb and a brush, he lifted each curl, winding it up and down and all around with his long and thin fingers until Grandma’s hair looked beautiful.

“Don’t worry, what I saw under the curlers in your head wasn’t bad, only good.”

“What was it, what did you see,” Grandma asked?  “No one has ever told me.”

“I’ve only seen it once or twice before,” he said.  “I believe it to be the dust of magic.  You and your grand-daughters have been given a gift.”

Magic dust?  I’ve never heard of such a thing before.  Are you sure it’s REAL?

“Oh, yes,” the young man said with a knowing smile.  “But, only to those who truly believe…..like very special grandmothers and grand-daughters.”

“And, to think I never would have known without Grandpa looking under the curlers in my head,” grinned Grandma!!

The End

 

Copyright Kim Gosselin 2015

 

 

A “Fishy” Imagination


Mommy said, “Go to bed!”  Hurry up, can’t stay up, little girl must brush pearl teeth. Quick, comb your hair.  Climb each stair we’re almost there.  Under covers tucked right in. Kiss on cheek with book to read.  Turn the page…look!  Lots of kids with more like me. Night-night now, close the door.  Moonlight shines on wooden floor.  Tiny thump with four paws down.  Darkness fades around her bed, light bulb flashes in my head.  “Get up!  Get UP! GET UP RIGHT NOW,” my mewing said!  She stirs and wrestles.  POOF! Plump pillows push floating feathers to play with me.  Soon, I hear her breathing even and steady.  “Wait….I’m not ready!”  Open a window, slink down trellis, green with waxy vines.  Careful and quiet don’t cause a riot.  Mommy sleeping, daddy too, stars are waiting with hilltop seat for me.  There it is, way up in the darkness of the sky.  Twinkling lights dance to form a picture. “Do you see what I see?”  A tasty dessert for me to eat.  My imaginary bedtime treat!Beautiful Night Sky Wallapers (19)

Carnival Day


Last year my husband and I held a Halloween carnival for children living in our neighborhood.  So much fun it was, we decided to repeat the affair.  Anticipation grew as fall leaves turned yellow and red within our trees.  It was that time of year again.  Soon, ghostly goblins and fairy princesses would come a-calling.  Of course, our grandchildren would be stopping by as well.  Little babes dressed in fantasy costumes would be letting their imaginations run away.

Our oldest grand-daughter, not yet three, spent that day with us.  Together, we baked ghostly cookies of sugared purple before she busied herself with Motherhood.  A doll under each arm plus two more stuffed in a pink seat.  A stroller of four feet pushed on maple floors before it was time to eat.

“Grandpa” had to wake our precious princess before the carnival began.  Out of bed she flew, like a hummingbird to sugar-water.  Upon entering our back yard, it was as if magic happened while she slept.  Chocolate cupcakes decorated in lavender fluted frosting sat under the umbrella table.  Games were strategically placed on the lawn waiting for children to play.  Near our tallest pine, a brightly colored pile of leaves was ready and waiting for kids to tumble in.

Soon children and parents from houses near-by began to arrive.  There were characters from Frozen, Mario and his friends from video games, and a darling girl proudly dressed in her very best dress.  She showed it off to me, even letting me touch it!  So soft it was, made of thin wale corduroy, black (of course) trimmed in holiday orange.

Shortly thereafter my grown children arrived, carrying costumed babies on shoulders.  Security was tight.  At six months old and smiling bright, there was a new sheriff in town.  Soon, a sweet cotton pumpkin toddled by.  All plump in bright orange wearing black tights with suede boots to match.  It was as if she escaped from our local pumpkin patch!

Moms from the neighborhood helped out, encouraging kids to play games, where each and every child won a prize…maybe two or three, or even more!  On the patio a giant black tub made of plastic was filled with prizes for all of them to see.  Carnival day is a bit of magic to last the whole year through.  Much more for me than any of the children.

As each one neared the tub to pick a prize, eyes would grow to saucer size.  What would you like?   Play dough, monster trucks or jewels of diamond pink to wear with your princess dress?  Try these skeleton gloves on for size.  Perfect for the cold of night.  They glow, you know!  Rubber dinosaurs or army men?  Glittery bracelets or Barbie stickers?  How about a pack of Halloween pencils with colorful erasers? Or maybe you’d like a sparkling magic wand?   Perhaps a puzzle for later play?

Splish-splash!  Sweet babies dunked chubby hands into tubs of water, grasping for swimming rubber ducks in their mother’s hopes of winning rattles, fuzzy caps or teething rings.  What a sight to see a baby grab a slippery duck!

Shaded In a corner, I painted lopsided pumpkins of yellow, red hearts or black kitty cats on cheeks of warm pink.  Girls with smiles of pearls gazed prettily in a hand-held mirror of blue.  It was the perfect day!

By far, the biggest “Hit” of the carnival was definitely my husband who drove his lawn tractor, shiny and green.  In the rear, a wagon was attached stuffed with straw and yellow hay.  Soft it was.  Kids could sit and sink right in.  And, yes, they surely did!!  Piling in and plopping down, they held tightly to the sides. Giggles and smiles, joyful glee.

Around and around the subdivision my husband wore a silly chicken hat atop his graying head.  An innocent child sat upon his lap.  More in the back.  Up and down straw flew all around.  Some landed on the ground and in the street.  Little hands up in the air helped it disappear.  A bright green machine trimmed in yellow drove through empty lots and up the curb where squeals were heard.

Carnival Day….The perfect one in every way.

Happy Halloween!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Mystical Magesty


 

 

 

 

Early morning fog descends

Surrounding mystical trees

Creating beautiful sights to behold

Hush now, silent words begin to whisper

Listen closely to stories breeze

Through winds of imagination

Sometimes stopping to rest upon a branch

Wondering what their needles and limbs

Have hidden beneath a peak of pine?

Tiptoeing near wafting scents so dear to me

One-two-three, don’t ever let me go

Plopping down to soak like sponge tales newly sapped

Dampness tickles barefoot skin sinking into grasses green

Atop the ground where seedlings fell

Watered from Heaven’s rain hovering in fluffy clouds above

To think how nature once so miniscule

Became God’s miracles of majesty