"This Little Light"

"She was a triumph of image over reality. I'm not even sure if she knows what

reality is anymore, she's so busy creating this image of herself."

Still Life -- Louise Penny

The first time I chose to re-invent myself I was four years old. The family had moved to Santo Domingo where the house fronted a beautiful flower garden. My mother had often read the tale to me of Ferdinand the reluctant bull who never wanted to enter the ring to face an elegant matador bent on total destruction. Ferdinand wanted peace in the world and beauty. My cup of tea! I wanted to Be Ferdinand. Consequently, I decided to go sit under a tree in the midst of the tropical flowers, And just like Ferdinand, I was bitten by a bumblebee. Oh, the agony. The incident made me re-think re-invention. I tried being Joan of Arc until I realized the ending would not be peaceful. At the age of eight, I discovered Gene Autry's tumbleweeds and set out to be a cowgirl. My Aunt Stella had gone to school with Gene Autry's wife so an autographed 8X10 glossie was arranged. I was thrilled when it arrived as a surprise in the mail with an inscription, "To Christine, the Singing Cowgirl." However about the same time, my Uncle Henry sent a magnificent art book, Indians of the Plains, a reminder of the fact that I was the descendant of an Apache. I squared this with my cowgirl persona by putting feathers in my hair. At age 11, I became friends with Lola, Marcia, and Connie who came over to play what we termed, "Olden Times" which my dad immediately dubbed, "Olden Dames." My friends and I were low on board games so we acted out stories. I was Lorraine, who had melodramatic near-death experiences from either consumption or smallpox. One day, I ventured to go ahead and die. Connie, the literalist among us, said I couldn't play anymore because I was dead and she didn't believe in ghosts. I settled that problem by saying, "It's my house." Lorraine miraculously recovered and the blame for her "death" laid at the foot of zombies. Olden Dames continued until we all read Nancy Drew and re-invented ourselves as spy catchers. There were plenty of them around. In high school, I yearned to be Willa Cather writing lyrical novels of places I had never seen because of spending too much time in the tropics. By college it was clear that none of my re-inventions were going to happen. The next decades had people suggesting I become a politician or go on the stage or run an orphanage. My dad thought I would make an excellent cub reporter but I had read Shakespeare by then and stuck with, "To thine own self be true." It was less dangerous than Ferdinand or Joan and I could spend my leisure reading all about characters, as in Louise Penny's quote above, without having to drain the budget with a major investment in outfits. Although...I guess it wouldn't be out of the question to have one last transformation. How about I try being...nah. Never mind.

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...may the blessings of your little lights shining be with you this primavera week...