Here comes Pippi Longstocking...

...right into my house. In another attempt to find a video that satisfies both of our needs (hers: not scary, me: too many restrictions to list here) we checked an early Pippi movie out from the library. It was one from 1975; I even remember going to the tiny Northgate movie theater to see it when it came out.
We watched it together, and, blessedly, it was so low-key and so utterly devoid of any dramatic tension that she loved it, and after a few moments of wanting to poke my eardrums out so I could get the cursed theme song out of my head, I found myself, well, if not enthralled, then very very charmed.
What was most striking-besides the fact that the whole movie must have been shot on a budget of about 49 dollars, was the thought that it would not be made today as it was then. The old-school Pippi was actually made for children: incredibly slow-paced (long shots of the kids riding a horse across a meadow...and then back again) and almost no plot: She lives alone. She is very strong. And rich...but doesn't care about it at all!! I am convinced that were this movie to be made today, it would turn into some sort of action-packed, Home Alone-style flick with non-stop excitement, not little Swedish kids lying in the grass after a picnic doing, well, just about nothing. The whole movie is like that!!! Playing in the snow, going to the fair, making cookies for Christmas, all without the interference of those pesky grown-ups and all their silly rules about bedtime and attending school and things like that.
But she loved it, and now with the books safely ordered, we can read even more Pippi. If anyone out there knows of any other children's movies that are very, very slow-nay, BORING to a grown-up, have not one tinge of sadness or drama, by all means, please let me know! Until then...it is just me and the theme song running through my head, over and over and over.

A Little Note and a Little Manipulation

I've come to the realization that there are some skills that serve parenting quite well, but don;t necessarily translate into the adult world. If I think ab9out it too much, some guilt and bad feelings arise, but I am quite good at NOT thinking about things that might bother me. That in itself is a good skill to have as well.
I am talking about the endless nagging that seems to constitute more than half of my interactions with Flipper, the reminders regarding manners, to pick up clothes and toys and books scattered across her room, and to brush teeth, wash faces, and so on. This doesn't translate so well into an adult relationship (at least for me)-surprise, surprise, most adults I know dislike being told what to do about ten thousand times a day. Children, blessedly, seem to tolerate it more. Adults are also resistant to feeling manipulated, but the ability to do so works just fine for children, at least most of ht time. And when it works, it is a thing of beauty. Really.
Last night I found myself crouched over a tiny slip of paper, attempting to disguise my handwriting by writing in cursive, something I haven't done since 6th grade (thank you, Mrs. Painter) and inscribing a teeny-tiny note with teeny tiny letter from the Tooth Fairy to Flipper, who finally, after a month of holding onto her first lost tooth, was ready to Give It Up. Of course, by having an extra month I was lulled into a false sense of having endless time to get something precious, and my pleas to try to have Flipper wait one more day fell on deaf ears, (plus tears) I waited until she fell asleep, then rummaged through the all-purpose kitchen junk drawer, that holds a myriad of useless and useful things like bills and migraine pills and wooden ice cream spoons and a broken, decorated goose egg that was my grandmother's but I cannot part from, and found, lurking in the back, a cloudy bag of colored, polished stones. YAY!! I crammed them into her Tooth Fairy box, then turned my attention to what was going to be a short "hello and good-bye" note. But then the more Machiavellian aspects of my brain started working and I saw the perfect opportunity to plug a little dental hygiene, and perhaps even reduce the nagging in our house. And so the "Tooth Fairy" thanked her for the beautiful tooth...and for brushing her teeth so well! It almost (only almost) made me feel guilty to see her astonishment and joy at the note, the rocks, and the request for clean teeth. They have been brushed twice already today...and it is only 10:00.

Tall mountains and a taste of the future. Maybe.

We are far away, about 2000 miles away, to be exact. I've returned to a place that, for many reasons, I thought I would never return. Southwest Colorado, in the heart of the San Juan Mountain range. Telluride, Ophir, Ridgway. 9000 feet above sea level. That's almost 2 miles!! I have come to the conclusion that the dominating emotion in my life is neither happiness nor anger nor sadness, but feeling bittersweet about almost everything. This didn't come to pass until Flipper arrived, and now it seeps into almost all that I experience. But it isn't a bad thing, it just is. There is something about living in a place that is staggeringly, spectacularly beautiful that I can't explain. To be surrounded, day after day, with physical beauty is something that cannot be reproduced or duplicated, and no substitute can be found.
I think Flipper is a bit too young to be as awestruck as most people are if they visit this area; the mountains are bigger than she has ever seen, (12-14,000 feet) but her main focus is riding a bike along the river, trying to spot the fingers of snow that linger year-round in crevasses, and searching for marmots sunning themselves on the exposed ski runs as the gondola whisks us up and up and up to the top of the ski area. I look around and can't believe I ever lived here, and then I can't believe I ever left. I wonder where Flipper's own sense of adventure and independence will lead her one day, will she move somewhere, sight unseen? Will she stay on the nice but far less dramatic East Coast? Will she be, at heart, a Beach Person? (I think most people are drawn to the beach or the mountains). I have lived in both, and like to visit the beach...but love the mountains. The thought of her moving far away makes me feel...bittersweet. I want her to be independent enough to strike out on her own, headed off for something new, and yet I know that I would both worry and miss her greatly. Just recently she has moved from a stated desire for us to live together forever, to being able to visit each other often. And that too will change; when I lived here I saw my parents just once a year or so, and never at Christmas-it is any ski town's busiest time. But like my own parents, I would survive, and hopefully thrive. We'll see where life leads her-and me. I would like it to lead us out west again one day. But until then, we'll stay in the South, and hopefully visit often, giving me just enough to have the "sweet" outweigh the "bitter."

Rocks Everywhere.

Last night Flipper and I came home from the pool and my attention was immediately caught by a round, tan, shiny glob of poo on my carpet, doubtless from one of the dogs. I gathered paper towels, prepared to pick it up...when I discovered that in fact is was a rock covered with Scotch tape. WHAT??? Why is my house covered with rocks both large and small? They are wrecking my dryer, my vacuum cleaner, and now my sanity. And the poor dogs almost took the fall! I cannot understand her obsession with rocks, both large and small, but usually small. All of them are pretty, even the blue-gray driveway rocks, all have some sort of potential (in her eyes) to be valuable geodes or diamonds in the rough. The VERY rough, might I add. While I typically love and embrace any signs of a budding "collection" because I know that her passion will be fleeting, the rocks-love has been going on for months and months. Please make it stop.
I can't tell you how many rocks I have gotten out of the washing machine, which has become some sort of de facto tumbler that an elderly rock hound might use, how many stones I have chucked off the deck after finding them in the most bizarre places; the bathroom, the crayon box, the dog beds. It never stops. When I ask Flipper about them, she looks at me as though I am the crazy one, that anyone normal and rational would spend many minutes every day picking up rocks and stashing them in pockets to be admired later. BUT...in a few weeks' time we will be heading to the Linville area for some camping and exploration of nearby attractions, one of which is Gem Mountain, a "find-it-yourself" gem mining attraction where I can plunk down money for a bucket of gravel and let her search to her little heart's content. I am hoping this experience can actually show her the difference between a driveway rock and something a little more special. Train her eye to look for the very best, as it were, although I don't have high hopes for garnets and emeralds in Bolin Creek. But you never know. Perhaps her love of rocks will lead to a career in geology, or something like that. Or perhaps she will be as lucky as the woman that found a 1000 karat ruby last summer at Gem Mountain, and I will embrace the rocks on every windowsill. Until then, we'll just keep checking pockets and saving for a new vacuum cleaner. And dreaming of big, big rubies.

Pleasure (and treasure) delayed is...

...pleasure intensified, at least according to my father. This is one of his favorite quotes. He has several of these "character building" life mantras, but I remember the delay-of-pleasure one the most. It never sank in for me, me who craves(d) instant gratification and was unable to wait for ANYTHING as a child. I got much better with age, and have even swung around to embracing the "wait for what you want" philosophy, and "pleasure delayed is pleasure intensified."
This streak of impulsiveness and instant gratification that was-and occasionally still is- so strong in me seems to be skipping a generation.

Flipper lost her first tooth Saturday at the evening fun in Saxapahaw. Unwilling to look at it jutting from her gum at a right angle, I yanked it out. It was so ready to fall that it barely bled at all. She was BEYOND thrilled, happy, excited...all of those emotions that accompany the loss of a tooth. Except that she is willing to delay the arrival of the Tooth Fairy for several weeks. Why? She wants to take the tooth, currently living atop a satin pillow in a small box-to Colorado. Apparently, she thinks my sister, her beloved Aunt Kathryn, is just frothing at the mouth to see a tiny, square white tooth. With a tiny bloody stump where it was connected to her mouth.

Flipper is convinced-and rightly so-that the Tooth Fairy can find her wherever she is, and whatever pillow this tiny tooth finally decides to rest. But I do find this amazing, that she can willingly and eagerly wait-and wait and wait-for the Tooth Fairy to show up, even at 9000 feet in the San Juan mountains on southwest Colorado.

Now I have to remember to take whatever it is the Tooth Fairy will leave!