Twirling Into Two
- Elizabeth Ricketson
- 5 days ago
- 3 min read
By Elizabeth Ricketson:
A princess dress. Crinoline and tulle. Saturated raspberry pink fabric with a simulated diamond brooch. Small adornments and netting. Sparkle and shine. The swish and swirl of a twirling toddler. Two years old this August day. Curls tightly formed in golden brown ringlets. A bow nestled snugly on top of her crown.
A birthday celebration. A hot summer day. Festive dress required. Imaginations also expected to attend. Tuesdays often are a non-descript day but since my youngest granddaughter, Josephine, turned two, it would be anything but.
Entering through the front wooden door, Josephine ran to greet me and flew into my arms. Wrapping her young arms around my neck while she rested her head against me. Our hearts beating together. With a toddler’s urgency, she popped up and cradled my face with her small hands. Holding my face steady while studying my aging features as if to better understand me. They are curious to me as well. Soon shifting her focus to my wavy tresses. Playfully fluffing my hair. We share a genetic sisterhood of coils.
Gifts were opened with a gentle rhythm. Trucks and puzzles. Magnetic blocks too. New books were read. I had ordered a Ms. Rachel cake from a local bakery. The children’s show was a favorite.
My daughter Emily asked her eldest daughter, Ellis, to get two birthday candles from a kitchen cabinet. I asked her for one more. "Why?" my daughter asked. "For good luck," I responded. My mother would always add a candle “for good luck.” The request sparked a sweet memory for both Emily and I.
Instructed to move to the living room while Emily and Ellis walked cautiously from the kitchen with the candles ablaze. They entered the room, and a chorus of "Happy Birthday" began. Eyes sparkled and danced as the celebration was toddler approved. Enthusiastically we sang. Not one virtuoso in this modest crowd, but love abounded. Josephine’s big sister assisted in wish making.
A family photo was requested by my daughter. We seldom remember to do so. We leave behind a spotty photojournalistic trail. Dutifully, we lined up on the couch. Cozy and shifting into place. Adjusting the camera as we did not want to miss a family member or a moment. Emily had arranged her phone on the fireplace mantle directly across from the sofa. Setting the timer while quickly calling to my son in law to join the group. Jon rushed in and took his seat on the arm of the couch. The first take we missed our shot. The timer went off, and we were ill-prepared. Laughter erupted at our typical photographic behavior. We tried again. And again. Yet upon review, the “perfect” photo still had eluded us.
On the fourth try, Emily instructed us to look to the right. The direction for the perfect image. The smiles were interrupted by comments and instructions. We were determined to get this photo right. So and so wasn’t looking into the camera. So and so wasn’t ready, etc.
"Let’s try again," Emily suggested, since each photo was “off” at some level. We tried again while lowering our expectations. The reality was that each image was exactly as it should have been. A story was told in each frame. The delightful imperfections of a family were quite perfect.
“My granddaughter's birth has made me want to create things she will love.”
— Billy Crystal
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
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