Toward Peace 'n Quiet: is there room enough?

Sometimes I am a virtual-babysitter for my young grandson, who will turn 4 years old in a few months. Occasionally his mom will initiate a FaceTime call to me and then dash off somewhere within their home to bring in the dog or to put clothes in the washing machine, etc. It is my task to (via IPhone) creatively engage the preschooler, who lives 120 driving miles away.

Flashback to a day when I learned to temper my virtual play: Grandson is about two years of age and I intone, “I’m watching you,” in a semi-spooky voice all the while slowly moving the IPhone camera lens nearer my eye, the sight of which causes him to squeal with laughter, albeit a laugh tinged with wariness, not unlike perhaps, the reaction elicited by a well-timed “peek-a-boo.” In his frightened glee he tumbles to the floor.

[Note-to-self # 263: Do not overstimulate a grandchild via FaceTime to the point of falling when both of his parents are completely out-of-vocal range.]

He picks himself up, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay, buddy?” “Yes, Mimi.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” "Alright, then let’s dust ourselves off.” He follows my cue and we both make the semi-slapclap motion one might use if one were to satisfactorily remove the final dust from one's hands, I clean my hands of it, it’s time to move on. Only he says excitedly, “Do it again, Mimi. Make your eye big again, Mimi."

Today, nearing the age of four, he is savvy enough that if he can manage to get his hands on Mom’s phone he can FaceTime me all by himself. So as I loll in bed on a cool Fall weekday morning, reading a captivating bit of fiction, the phone rings. The clock reads 6:45 a.m., about the time that Grandson’s Dad would have just left the house for work:

“Hey, buddy, good morning."

“Mimi, will you watch, ‘Room on the Broom’ with me?”

“Where is Mom?”

“She is here. She can put it on the television for us. Hey, Mimi, look at this!” He walks, IPhone in hand across the living room and places his back up against the television, knowing to hold the camera so that I don’t lose sight of him. “Look, Mimi. I’m glued to the television,” he says laughing. A minute or two later, still immobile, “See, Mimi, I’m still glued to the television” he repeats in a lilting voice.

Mom tunes the television to Netflix. Grandson and I will be viewing a televised version of a book I first read to him a year ago, “Room on the Broom,” written by Julia Donaldson and illustrated by Alex Scheffler. As Mom goes about her morning prep, Grandson carefully places me, Virtual Grandmother, by his side on the sofa and together we watch the 25 minute show. (Mom peeking her head in every so often to check on our wellbeing.)

I'm familiar with the book, but it's my first viewing of the movie version. I'm pleased to find how carefully it follows the book’s plot, narration and theme. I sip coffee as we watch and I keep a running commentary (to let Grandson know that I am fully attentive.)

The theme is about developing friendship and the positive results of kindness, sharing and unity. The verse utilizes Seussian rhythm, rhyme and repetition, rendering it ideal for the open minds of young children (or even closed-minded adults).

Here is a sample of the cadence and rhyme:

"The witch had a cat and a hat that was black,

and long ginger hair in a braid down her back.

How the cat purred and how the witch grinned,

As they sat on their broomstick and flew through the wind."

From the above verse you can see that a witch and a cat live a harmonious life and that they traverse on a broom.

As the witch “cooks," (my interpretation of the witch’s bubbly and sometimes experimental cauldron concoctions) the witch keeps an array of earthly delights at her disposal. The ever-wanting-to-be-helpful cat angrily shoos away insects, that happen to be caught in the act of nibbling leaves the witch has gathered. Seeing the cat’s reaction, the witch indicates that there is enough for everyone by giving a whole leaf to each bug.

I ask Grandson, "Is the witch nice or not nice?" "She's nice," he responds.

In flight, the witch loses a series of personal objects that are of meaning or importance to her. As witch and cat search, they meet unique characters who assist them in recovering the lost items. As each distinctive newcomer joins the group, friendships are formed and each asks, “Is there room on the broom for a _____ like me?" The witch welcomes each newbie to share a spot, despite their added weight and the depletion of space on the broom.

The characters:

Witch: An mature woman who is kind, generous and accepting of others, peculiarities and all (or should I say “warts and all” as the witch, herself, has a prominent wart on her nose.)

Cat: The feline’s protective nature toward the witch is encumbered by his suspicion and jealousy of each seemingly odd newcomer.

Dog: Like most dogs he is eager to please (he also seems to suffer from itching due to fleas?) He incites uncertainty in, and yet displays respectful admiration for the cat, perhaps like a younger child might to an older sibling.

Bird: A lonely displaced green-feathered bird, who seems to have been subjected to painful rejection by her black-feathered flock.

Frog: An obsessively clean amphibian who dislikes the polluted swamp into which he’s been born.

Dragon: A villainous, hungry beast with a particular hankering for "witch and chips for my tea” (did I mention that the author is from the U.K.?)

From the moment the dragon spots the witch, his intention is to devour her, to abate or satisfy his hunger. He seems disinterested in her companions.

At some point the crowded broom cracks under the weight of its diverse occupants. The broomstick snaps in two and they fall to the ground. The witch and her motley misfits, on different broom sections, become separated.

The dragon, spotting the witch alone and vulnerable, and moves in for the kill.

As the dragon lifts the dazed witch with his claws, her companions, who have collectively fallen into a murky bog, emerge clinging together as a single form, unrecognizably mired in gunky muck. The dragon senses danger in the large, looming creature with multiple, odd-shaped limbs, heads and eyes, wide-open eyes, all fixed upon the dragon. And thus the dragon’s false bravado is exposed.

The not-so-brave-after-all dragon releases the witch and slinks away, you know the head down, mumbling to oneself, tail-between-the-legs kind of shameful retreat.

Reunited with the witch, the animals alight and rinse the muck from their bodies with fresh water. They take a look at the irreparable broom. The ever-optimistic witch begins to cook up a potion. Being aware of the array of diversity before her, she asks each companion to choose an item to share, something of meaning or value to add to the cauldron. Someone, perhaps the frog I guess, tosses in a waterlily. The dog, of course, throws in a bone, and so on. The witch takes a stir of the potion and pauses, perhaps sensing that something is yet missing. She espies a red mushroom with white spots, an item with which she has previously had potent reactions, she plucks it and tosses it into the cauldron and incants, “Iggity-ziggety-zaggety-zoom."

**POOF**

Out comes a much improved, super duper state-of-the-art broom AND it has room to comfortably fit everyone (it even has a built-in shower for the frog.)

My take on the magic of the spotted mushroom is that it is some kind of game changer, like love or, perhaps it is vulnerability, or compassion, but whatever it is: look out and hold onto your seat, because it is some kind of powerful...

The story is a good moral lesson about the benefits of helpful kindness toward others. A tale that recognizes the power of unity, and what can be accomplished when everyone’s input is valued, when we are fully accepting of the natural differences inherent in all beings and when we make an effort to discern what will best benefit everyone.

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Happy Halloween!

and happy 5 year blogiversary to me ;)

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