For my youngest sister-in-law, Happy!
Have you ever opened a chest in the attic that was locked and forgotten or opened a closet door in a room that is no longer used for people? It could be a house that belonged to your parents, maybe your grandparents, but it could belong to your friend. But inside those buildings, inside those houses, where love shines bright, inside all those closed doors and cedar-lined chests, there would be a treasure trove of memories and fabrics. They would be old and, at times, dusty. Sometimes faded, perhaps filled with the smell of old mothballs. They would be oversized dresses that would trip you up when you tried to dance about the place. There would be gingerbread man shoes that would constantly let go of your feet and take off in a run. And then, there would always be the shirts and coats that slip off your shoulders ever time you had to sneeze. And, let’s not forget the “Blind Man’s Bluff” hats that would slide down the forehead and cover the eyes so you would bump into the wall across the room, or be surprised when the desk or table decided to attack you at the knees and shins. Did you marvel at those treasures when exploring these houses? Did you put on those articles of cloth, those inanimate things, that sit lifeless on shelf, or hanger, or in box? In the wearing of those “things,” did you feel or smell those people who wore the items? Did you remember? Or did you simply become? Or, even more fun, did you travel in time, you know, to those days that all adults talk about with stars in their eyes? Or did you put on those togs just so you could know what it was like to have stars in your eyes?
Well, if you answered “yes” to any and all of those questions, or wore the clothes to ask your own questions, give me your hand and let me take you to a place, a fun place. It is a place with many doors, all closed just this moment, but it will be okay to touch, even open. The doors are metal doors, sturdy doors, meant to be opened and closed all day, every day. There are hallways upon hallways of these doors in this place. And behind each door, you will find a special something; inside each door, there will be something extraordinary to wear. Inside each door, there will be a life. And in this place, we shall play, perhaps be an actor, paint our faces and lounge under lights.
It is a place for laughter. It is a place for possibility when the rest of the world is gray and rainy. It is a place where unhappy does not exist, no “wrong” or “bad” or “bully” can live here in these halls. It is a place where bad thoughts get shaken out of your pockets, and out of our heads, to be swept up and/or kicked out like dust bunnies eating socks. Each door opens, no door is locked. It’s a place for games and giggly bits. It’s a place for secrets shared by friends and secret oaths. It is where marshmallows get roasted over campfires, and lightning bugs float as faeries, or distant stars, deep in the night. It is the place I go to when I feel alone. And since everyone says that I must, we will call the game that we will play here: Get a Life.
I know that what you see is simply concrete, fluorescence, and steel. I know that to you it feels hard and stone cold, but I do promise, if you come with me to open each and every door, it will change to a soft warm blanket and the smell of great grandma’s cinnamon, sugar, yeast house. It will be safe. It will be exciting. It will be an adventure. Please. Dare if you can. Will you join me and play the game, Get a Life?
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