A Gift of Joy: Finding a Long Lost Toy During Lockdown
As the lockdown continues, there is a relentless sameness to the days and weeks. The flowers and trees have bloomed. But little else changes. It’s encouraging that some scarce goods are finding their back. That toilet paper procurement no longer occupies brain cells best deployed for more critical tasks.
But it’s feeling a little like “Groundhog Day’. The movie where Bill Murray finds himself waking up to the same day over and over again. A numbing sameness has set in. And with it, a visceral longing for the world to move forward once more.
At least the earth’s orbit around the sun continues. The seasons are not under lockdown. On a warm day, towards the end of April, I retrieved my large pots of lavender from the garage. They had wintered in that unheated space, protected from the snow and wind, but little else. By Chicago standards, this had been a mild winter.
I know little about the hardiness of lavender. But on this spring-like day, I hoped that sunshine and warmth might lull them back to their scented glory. One by one, I set them down in front of the small enclosure that housed our garbage cans. And brought them to the deck from there.
Returning for the last pot, I spied a tiny Lego man lying face- down in the dirt, close to base of the garbage can. This unexpected visitor had a white body and a sweet smile on his yellow helmet- shaped head. Two tanks (oxygen?) were strapped to his back. He was dusty and dirty with grit settled into every bendable joint and opening. But otherwise in excellent condition.
Where had he come from? I remembered my son’s many Lego figures. Tightly clutched in his small hands, he took them everywhere. He probably lost this one more than twenty years ago. Missing for decades, perhaps it adhered to the pot, when I brought it into the garage for the winter. And was shaken loose by the heavy thud when I set it down outside. Maybe.
I was intrigued by this tiny traveler from a simpler time. A welcome surprise when unexpected guests had become the stuff of fantasy.
I was eager to indulge in some magical thinking — a shield from the endless barrage of grim pandemic headlines. And with my own travel on hold, happily imagined his adventures en route to this moment.
I brought him into the house for closer inspection and a deep cleaning. I gently lowered him into a small bowl of warm soapy water, hoping to loosen years of grime. A few hours later, the water had darkened. Grey grit had settled at the bottom of this makeshift bath. Progress.
My husband and son (back at home and working remotely) noticed the bowl on the kitchen counter. They gently inquired about its origins. I removed him briefly from his bath and showed him off, “look how sweet, do you believe that smile?” Who knows why he had dropped in? Of course I had to save him”. They simply smiled. No questions asked.
I rinsed him under the tap and settled him into another bowl of fresh soapy water. Some hours later, there was more grit at the bottom of the bowl. I marveled that something so tiny could absorb so much dirt. The soaking continued with fresh water each evening. At the end of the fourth day, the water was clear. He was ready for prime time.
My son texted photos to his sister, “look what mom found”. With their father, they developed a hypothesis explaining my over-the-top affection for a lost Lego toy. I was channeling pent-up longing to see my grandchildren. I conceded it was possible.
My upbeat façade during frequent face time calls was mostly genuine. But draining.
I thought about Star Trek. How the captain ordered “shields up” to protect the Star Ship Enterprise from danger.
Sometimes, with the ship damaged and in a weakened state, all available energy was diverted to critical functions. There was not enough to sustain the shields. As week number 10 of lock-down approached, my shields were losing power. It was harder to be cheery on those calls. The energy to mask how much I missed them was in shorter supply.
Until mid March, I travelled every 3 to 4 weeks to visit my almost 4-year old granddaughter and her now 5-month old baby brother in San Francisco. I hadn’t seen them in three months. I didn’t know when I would see them again. Before the pandemic, I never ended a visit without having the next trip on the calendar. It took the edge off saying good bye.
The baby was changing every day. Sweeter by the minute. And I was watching it like a movie on a tiny screen. I only wanted to nibble those silky, soft, chewy folds. I would never get this time back. I was grateful that his big sister knew me. We could talk. Not nearly the same. But something.
They were onto something. This tiny toy signaled survival from a happier time. I wanted to bring him into the present. Something sweet that might energize those shields. And keep that cheery façade intact.
I wasn’t alone. At the end of long ZOOM-filled days, my son was re-reading his Harry Potter books. He told me that the fantasy world he had so loved as a child still felt magical. A welcome escape that brought new pleasures when viewed through his now, adult lens.
I discover that energy can also be mined from counting blessings. We are not on the front lines of the pandemic. Working remotely is possible. We are not short of food. There are so many things to be grateful for. I know that. But I work at feeling it.
The garden offers up its own lessons of patience and persistence. The lavender had survived.
After some aggressive pruning, the plants are growing again. Their branches tilt toward the sun. I rotate the pots every few days to encourage even growth.
As I walk by, I swish my hands through the fragrant leaves. I take a few deep breaths as the soothing scent wafts into the air. The shields feel strong.
