Long-Lingering Kindness

 "White coral bells, upon a slender stalk,

Lilies of the Valley line my garden walk.

Oh don't you wish that you could hear them ring?

That can happen only when the fairies sing."

We are standing on the porch holding hands, my first friend Kathi and I, ringing the doorbell and hoping for tea time with Mrs. Atcheson.  It was a different time back then, in that we were quite young, likely 4 or 5, and on our own.  I don't remember this being an invitation or even set up by our parents, but rather, I think we just showed up on the whim of two little girls who were pretty sure this would be a good way to spend part of an afternoon.  We'd done this before.

An older woman greets us, all smiles and happy surprise and the door is opened and we are shown to the table.  Plain biscuits are quickly and easily brought out of the cupboard - were they Arrowroot or shortbread, I'm not sure - and 'tea' is served (which is really apple juice in tea cups).  We chat about our day, and she asks us questions about what we've been up to.  And we are listening in fascination to her gentle Scottish burr, and drawn in by her sincere interest.

Mrs. Atcheson could play the piano really well.  So after tea, we're taken into the front room, all warm and decorated in rich, dark colours, a little like a Victorian era parlour, quiet and comforting.  We are given our positions on each side of the piano bench.  A flourishing intro, and we sing together the song about coral bells and fairies.  She plays it beautifully, and tells us both we have lovely singing voices.  I can't remember if we ever accomplished it as a round, but we might have.  We might have sung other songs at other times too, but this is the one I remember.

This would be one of those songs that I learned the lyrics to before I understood them.  Honestly, I don't think it was until much, much later when I actually put the tiny white flower together with the song.  As in 'Oh!  These are the white coral bells!"  I only remember that at the time I really, really wished I could hear the fairies singing and the little bells ringing, and listened for it for a long, long time.  And Mrs. Atcheson's genuine kindness.  I remember that.

There is so much kindness in this memory for me.  And reminiscing with my still-friend (who now goes by Kate and isn't it kind of incredible that we're still in touch more than six decades later, thank you Facebook) it's the same for her.  She remembers too.  And I have to wonder at the power of kindness to make a memory go so deep and indelible.  And the feelings of it; of being seen and delighted in and invited into life.

I have no idea what other important things Mrs. Atcheson had to do on any of the days we came to visit.  If you had asked me, I would have told you that Kathi and I, and our little visit for tea and biscuits and singing a song, was the singular most important thing for her in that moment.  Because likely it was.

And here I am, all these many, many years later, happily discovering Lilies of the Valley in our new yard at the back, hearing the song in my head (or is it the fairies?), and remembering Mrs. Atcheson, and feeling important.  And quiet inside.  Yes,  Quiet.  (pause to clarify) I'll call if safe.

Friends, we have this.  We have the same power to make things better and it's really so easy.  In a world of complicated politics, and taking sides, and anxious economics, don't we all need to know we're safe and important right now?  We might not have much we can do about all the big things, but we can do this.  

Kindness is no small thing.  It can make a difference that could linger for a long, long time.

Thank you Mrs. Atcheson.  I think I can hear those coral bells ringing now.