We’ve all got one; in fact, we couldn’t get rid of it even if we wanted to, which I don’t. It goes with us everywhere and can be our friend or our worst enemy. It can be wild and outlandish or even send us false messages. Our imaginations!
Have you ever heard a noise, or thought something was true when it wasn’t, and someone told you, “It’s only your imagination?” It has happened to me, more than once. Thing is, we have to tame that wild imagination or it sometimes gets the best of it. But then, we could put it to good use and write fiction!
Children have wonderful imaginations. A child is always ready to pretend or play make-believe. One of my precious nieces had an imaginary friend for quite a while. The friend went with her everywhere, even sitting down to eat with her. Having taught kindergarten, I am well acquainted with childish imaginings. After all these years, I still remember two of my little kindergarteners for their vivid imaginations. They would tell me some pretty out-landish stories.The only way I could tell the stories were made up, was by watching their eyes. The wilder the story, the wider their eyes.
Remember the old Dragnet series and the line, “Just the facts, Ma’am?” Sometimes, it’s good to deal with only the facts. The trick is, finding out what is fact and what is fiction. And then again, sometimes the facts are so dull that they need some brightening up. Right?
On this first day of a brand-new month (by the way, Happy July, everyone) if I were to listen to my imagination, I would probably crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. There’s a feeling in the air of unrest and the wind seems to be whispering secrets to the trees, which nod in agreement. The sky is a murky gray, as if it can’t make up its mind about the day. However, I don’t plan to let my imagination taint this beautiful summer day which is actually full of all kinds of possibilities. I’ll just have another cup of Folgers, sit down at my computer, and corral those errant feelings. They would work quite well in a cozy mystery. I can see it now…She paced the floor, a niggling worry nibbling at the her frayed thoughts, as wind and rain pounded against the windows…
“My tongue is the pen of a ready writer” (Psalm 45:1).
Would that imaginary friend’s name have been Malinda by any chance? ;- )
Yes! Malinda was her name. What happened to Malinda? Did she grow up too?
I’m not sure where Malinda went or when. I do remember Daddy nearly sitting on her on the couch once. She had long straight brown hair and bangs. I really only remember her in Tahlequah. She might not have been able to come with when we moved to Minnesota for some reason.
It’s good to hear. She was a most interestimg person.