A Bell

The image of Simone, the 8-year old I babysit, with me on a Sunday afternoon comes to mind when I think of a ringing or unknown bell. . .

There she is, ordering around her younger siblings, telling them how to play a game that she simultaneously creating with her imagination. I see the power and control in her. She orders Noelle, "You stand there and throw to Solo. But you have to throw it hard." Noelle follows her orders and throws the ball.

We are all riding our bikes, down the street, laughing and enjoying the wind in our face. But it's a cloudy day and the sun is hidden. It's going to rain. Yet Simone looks around and states, "It's beautiful out." Though naive to say so, she had unconsciously recognized the natural, pure beauty of the world. Everything was beautiful.

She speeds up. She screams back to me, "I'm going 100 miles per hour!" I chuckled. Her eyes were wide and filled with excitement. I can feel her heart beating in me. She was free and alive.

It's bed time. I dress Noelle and Simone dresses Solo. I put each of them to bed and kiss them good night. But it is Simone who always gets the last word, the last good night kiss, the last "I love you." Her love is so powerful and each day it grows and strengthens. She saw that family was important, that they would always be by your side no matter what.

Now it's her bed time. She's reading her book in bed, flipping page by page, fully immersed in the story. She enters into another world of art, without even knowing it. She knows that "art is life and life is art" (Hannah Goldstein).

She is a lively, ringing bell and she doesn't even know it. She teaches me everything I need to know about life.