Braided with Imagination
- Elizabeth Ricketson
- 2 minutes ago
- 5 min read
By Elizabeth Ricketson:
My daughter, Emily, and her family arrived last Thursday to spend a few days with us and enjoy Vermont in February. Ski bags, a stack of comingled children, and adult skis and outdoor apparel decorated the garage and the tile floor at our backdoor. Impossibly small turquoise ski boots for Ellis, five, and Josephine (Joey), two and a half, rested on their sides just waiting to be employed.
I had done a lot of prep to make sure the house was filled with what everyone enjoys eating and drinking, right down to the Heady Topper chilling in our fridge for my son-in-law, Jon. Homemade chocolate-chip cookies and blueberry muffins. Yogurt and fruit. Pouches and snacks. The promise of hot chocolate and marshmallows post-skiing was agreed upon and reconfirmed several times with the girls. Thursday afternoon our side yard of rolling hills was dedicated to sliding.
"You and I know enough to know it's warm
Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm.
But all the fun's in how you say a thing.
'You've lived here all your life?' "
— “The Mountain,” Robert Frost
Eight inches of fresh powder arrived overnight Thursday into Friday. Heavy moisture-laden snow made sliding sticky, and while there were no complaints, there was observation and discovery. Large bipedal prints with an expansive stride tracked through our yard from the wetlands to the woods. The lengthy stride disappeared into the woods behind our home. Not deer tracks or bear, but instead a long ped with a narrow heel and what may have been toes. An outdoor exploration led by Jon and a couple of the children went in search of Sasquatch. "Could be just the one or maybe a family," Jon mentioned to me with my eyes as big as a child’s. He assured me that he/they were just traveling through and were no doubt friendly.
I had purchased a refresh of games, books, and a new princess dress for Joey—her daily apparel preference. Joey was all in to wear her new fashion: a vibrant purple tulle tutu. Matching leggings, of course. The long-sleeved bodice a canvas of princesses. Joey looked up at me as I stretched a long synthetic sleeve over her toddler arm and asked, “Who am I?”
The transformation was underway. Her imagination wanted mine to meet hers. Josephine’s eager, expressive dark-brown eyes waited for me to understand. Should I take the easy, albeit uninspired, way out? The obvious choice was to say "Joey." There was no fun in that, and I was not wanting to be the spoiler of fun or the source of my granddaughter’s disappointment. I responded, “The dress is magic, Joey. You can be anyone you want to be.” A message I hoped she would carry with her even when her princess days are long behind her.
She processed my response and, with an intensifying smile, she made her decision. “I will be Elsa.” Elsa, the Disney princess from the movie Frozen.
The dress was on and fit perfectly. We had established who she would be, and now the only missing ingredient was duplicating Elsa’s long, thick braid. In the movie, the braid and the run is a powerful moment. Braiding Joey’s hair was next and critical.
"Hurt by Anna’s harsh words, Elsa lashes out—and accidentally shoots ice from her uncovered hand, revealing her powers to everyone in the room. Elsa flees the kingdom, leaving a trail of ice that sets off an eternal winter in her wake."
I have had a lot of practice braiding my daughter’s long, wavy hair over her many young years, from soccer games to gymnastics and even running. Fancy occasions, too. I had learned to be quite quick and accomplished at the French braid. To date, I have also braided Ellis’s hair in a similar fashion, especially when she is painting at my easel. A French braid helps keep her hair from being dipped into cobalt blue. Their three heads and hair are so genetically familiar to me.
I asked Joey to stand in front of me so I could braid her hair, and she happily complied. Fine, silky curls slid through my fingers as I needed to work rapidly to weave in the shorter hair. Success was swift, and our goal was met. As I placed a colorful soft elastic at the base of the braid, Joey’s sweet, small hand reached back and ran her fingers over the braid. Checking my work, possibly, but most importantly she was now in character.
Joey assumed position at the entrance of our living room and motioned to her mom that she was ready. Emily assisted with her cue. They have worked out this scenario many times, and it never disappoints. Soon Joey’s—oh, excuse me—Elsa’s feet were in flight. Moving her toddler body with a strength and an observation that truly mimicked the character was remarkable. Arm and head position resembled the animation as well as the tilt of her body. Reciting dialogue and singing “Let It Go” while she torched around my house headed to the imaginary North Mountain.
The focused and determined look was reminiscent of her mother. I had witnessed the exact intensity and certainty so many times while bringing up Emily. I had seen this exact look on her mother’s face through many sports competitions, especially as she rounded the high school track to win the TVL trophy. It was in the air, and I knew my daughter had a plan. She wanted to win the 1000 m track event at the Tri Valley League High School Championship. My brother, Bob, and I were seated next to each other on the bleachers and shared the same confidence in Emily’s want.
In her red and black Holliston High School Panther track kit, she rounded the final corner with so much power and focus that the win would be undeniable. Bob and I stood up as if to offer our support for her final flashing push, but she needed nothing from us. She wanted it. She was going to make it happen. The look in her intensely dark eyes saw nothing but the finish line as her ponytail flew behind her.
“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.
That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts.
That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief.
And I believe that love is stronger than death.”
— Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts on Common Things
A graduate of Providence College with a BA in English, Elizabeth Ricketson has always had a love of literature and the fine arts. In the 1990s, she studied figure drawing at the Rhode Island School of Design, spending years dedicated to understanding human form, movement, and anatomy. Elizabeth’s essays focus on life experiences and life in Vermont. Essays available for consideration.
Website: elizabethricketson.net
Comments