11 October 2007
No, I'm not taking a trip to India. I was playing air sitar in my car. Also, air glockenspiel. Doesn't everybody? What better daydream than to imagine creating lovely music?
A friend at work gave me a story by Alice Adams to read ("Rose, Rhododendron"). I read it last night before I settled down to begin the last few chapters of Anne of Green Gables, and now I am finding it hard to remember which story had the roses, which story had the mayflowers, which story...
In both, two small girls meet and recognize the other as a kindred spirit. Flowers figure in both stories, but the flowers in "Rose, Rhododendron," are screens to hide something less lovely and more dire than either girl really knows.
(I was reminded of Hawthorne's great story, "Rappaccini's Daughter," with its toxic garden...)
Anne's flowers represent nothing more or less than pure beauty, and each time she interacts with them, they become lovelier. What pleasure to be reading her story now!