My four-year-old drew a detailed treasure map tonight after dinner. The markers were:
the bad piece of pizza
the Brooklyn Bridge
the bad ladybug place
the place where time is purple
the X where the treasure is
the water that never stops
the rose head
the stopper bridge (I'm not sure what that is)
Then she proceeded to run around the house--actually, she was pretending to gallop on a horse named Angus (a Brave reference), shouting heeyah! heeyah Angus! with the map in one hand and an imaginary switch for the horse's flank in the other. I thought she also said something about falling down the Rabbit Hole.
So I washed the dishes, waiting for her to appear with The Treasure. Her baby brother's sippy cup, or an unused diaper that never quite made it back into the diaper bag, a neglected toy
gathering dust or something off the Shelf that No Small Hands May Touch.
But she came back with only the map in her hand. Where is it, I asked?
Oh mom, she said. It's just for fun. I just like running around.
Like mama, like daughter. Where will this girl's adventures take her? Maybe it's time for a little poetry.
My first blog post on Open Road Writer. The blog was a travelogue to document the trips
that eventually changed the course of my life.