I Have Become the Tree

We all read about time management and how utterly important it can be in our success or failure. I had all those axioms and all that advice floating around my head as I sat at my jewelry bench this morning, attempting to get my share of productive time in when the unthinkable happened. My persistent little French Bulldog, Aelinor, decided it was time to play and she was recruiting me. Bark. Bark, bark, bark. Bark. BARK. BARK, BARK, BARK!!! BARK!!! BARK!!! BARK!!! I raised my voice. I actually yelled at this beautiful little creature that we flew halfway around the world to come live with us, this wiggling bundle of love. The look on her face, the wet, twisted threads of her chew toy thumping to the ground, utterly abandoned because of my need for time management. A moment I don’t share with any part of pride.

I grew up with the great, good fortune of having all four of my great-grandmothers in my life; sweet, doting ladies who simply wanted to love me and watch me grow. I spent many summers visiting Great Grandma Nina’s house, in Petoskey, Michigan. There stood in Nina’s front yard a great old oak tree that had survived more northern Michigan winters than many of us would care to contemplate. And one of my favourite things as a small child was a good game of flashlight tag with all the neighbourhood kids, just after the sun went down over Little Traverse Bay. That oak tree was “safe”, make it back to stroke that rough bark before you got tagged or you were IT! When our little gang wanted to go fishing we’d meet under the tree before heading off to the river over the hill, maybe even find a few extra worms in the dirt that surrounded it. We used to sit under that tree and compare our hard won treasures of Petoskey stones. When it was lunch time we’d all return to that tree to see what was in our lunch sack and eat as only kids can with grubby hands and dirty faces.

As I sat in my chair today, briefly contemplating Aelinor’s shiny furred little black face, which looked so startled by my harsh voice, all those memories of that oak tree in my great grandmother’s yard flooded through my mind. And as I abandoned my chair for the carpet to share a snuggle and tug with my cheeky little dog I realized that to Aelinor I am not one of the parents who sat in the gloaming on that front porch somewhere in my distant past to watch a group of kids play and sing out to one another in their sweet, piping little voices. To Aelinor, I am the tree. I am safe. I am the beginning and the end. I am her day. As I stretched out onto the floor this morning I realized one unsung element of time management; make time to play with those that love you the most.