One day in preschool the kids were busy scooping beans. It is an activity with no purpose other than enjoying the sound and feel of tiny pebbles as they ripple through your fingers and spill into the box. Often words have no place at the table. But that morning they showed up.
"George is coming to my house," a boy announced. George had no comment. He was busy with beans. After a moment another child spoke.
"George is coming to my house." The comment had an edge to it, as if to negate the first child's social calendar.
"George is coming to MY house," the decibel level took a jump.
"George is coming to MY HOUSE," came the rebuttal.
George meanwhile was fully present and available, should either child choose to notice him standing next to them.
It seemed out of character for three year olds, who in my experience are saturated with now, not next week.
Grown ups on the other hand, often miss what is within arm's reach while they day dream about later. Sometimes when I hear about other people traveling to exotic places I fall victim to envy. My thoughts hydroplane like a van on a rain drenched street and land in the ditch. It seems most ludicrous when I am surrounded by the things and people I love. A stack of fabric, a well stocked pantry, music, my family, are here now. Why do I need sand too?
I don't really know, but these beans sure feel great. Plus George is with me.
