There is a book case at my parent’s house that holds many memories. Amidst Disney movies, photo albums and books are the home movies of plays and musical performances that my sisters and I would create.
I have a vague memory of being 4 or 5, the house was filled with cardboard and paint, my mom and sisters were busy at work making the set for our compelling interpretation of The Cookie Monster and the Cookie Tree book. My mom and sisters took turns putting me in a cardboard box and pushing me around to entertain me. Eventually, I think they were a little worn out of, a left me alone in the box in the living room, while they finished putting the cookies on the cookie tree.
It dawned on me, that trying to imagine that the box was a car, was a lot less fun than the box just being pushed around in a car-like motion. I huffed and puffed and threw my head back, “MOMMY. Can someone push to box?!”
“No baby, we have to finish this. Use your imagination!”
There is a pause as I sit in the box and look around.
I close my eyes.
I close my eyes tighter.
“MOMMY. My imagination doesn’t woooork.”
My mom would retell this story to me in infamy. Oh, Colie, with the dysfunctional imagination. She loved to remind me of this when I was frustrated, feeling uninspired, or generally unmotivated. She had the ability to create wonderful, creative things for us. I had a magical childhood filled with song, dance and occasionally spandex and crimped hair. I can’t wait to make things that amazing for our future generations.