Sunday Scribblings: Toys (a ramble, and a rough draft at that)

No tabula rasa
From the beginning
some toys appeal
others don't

For me,
no matchbox cars, Lincoln Logs,
or fantasy fashion creations
No glitter
No sequins
I never did like masks
not much a fan of Barbie

That skyblue piano, though,
all of two octaves long,
with color coded keys
or the EasyBake oven
and ceramic tea set
The fake alligator-print
pleather-covered
diary -- locked with a key --
purchased at the Anne Frank house
Every book
All of these have found their
grown-up counterpart:
matured from toys to tools
to sometimes toil.
Each absolutely essential.

Then there are the
momentary passions --
the linoleum blocks and
tubes of Speedball ink,
sable brushes,
cotton batiks intended
to become swirling skirts,
the chess board,
without which any home feels incomplete,
badminton rackets
and croquet hoops
the ping pong table, now in pieces
in the rafters of our garage,
the dusty bicycle
I really intend to ride
as soon as our roads are graded
and the weather clears

--all of it carried from state to state,
from one house to another
never used
never relinquished
always relegated to "someday..."
memories from a future life

Maybe Thoreau would say
Beware of all enterprises
that require new toys.
Or something like that,
And caution me against
skis or skates or
kayaks or canoes
weaving looms and paper presses
Every expensive habit or
any time-consuming recreation

Wise advice, I'm sure.
But not for anyone who
ever wants to change.
Children, for example.
And grown-ups who aren't yet dead.

So that explains my recent purchases:
This orange paper with the gold stars
The volumes of poetry I continue to buy and never quite read
The box-making supplies
the alpaca wool that maybe could be felted into a hat
(if I could felt! if I could make a hat!)
the chinese checkers tin (with a checkerboard on the back)
the pocket harmonica
and the kaleidoscope
the coral bells and Johnson geraniums, lily of the valley
and tiger lilies, too
Wild hopes for someday.
That's me,
Still hoping that someday
someday comes.

Sunday Scribblings