Imagination

By Allegra Alessandri Pfeifer

Imagination reveals itself in the balance or reconciliation of opposite or discordant qualities; of sameness, with difference; of the general with the concrete; the sense of novelty and freshness, with old and familiar objects. --Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I don't consider myself as a terribly imaginative person, but I know imagination when I see it and I see it in the growing and developing mind of my toddler. She is free from most of the rules and regulations I live by. Her thinking is unconstrained by what she has learned, as she has neither time nor interest in formal learning. Her learning comes from experiencing the world her way, with eyes untrained by the strictures of society.

I was cleaning house and decided to concentrate on the accumulation of pre-maternity clothing. I reviewed these old, slimmer-figure fashions by tossing a four-year-old work wardrobe into a garbage bag for the Salvation Army. I was cleansing my closet and my conscience by donating what no longer fit.

My new life as a mother means that I am not nearly so efficient as I was before making a family. In the old days cleaning the closet took minutes. Now it means several hours accumulated over the course of days and weeks. My toddler and I sit in piles of old clothes reviewing Cosmo magazine, trying on what we like and tossing the rest. This seemingly straightforward task is complicated to a toddler. Matea doesn't see a poochy stomach or widening hips. She doesn't bother about drooping breasts or sallow skin. Matea, God bless her, sees a world of possibilities. I like seeing what she come up with. She imagines new combinations that I never had the creativity or the nerve to wear. She also finds hundreds of uses for the stuff I simply considered clothing. That black velvet jumper becomes the Amazon river. My slinky tropical mini-skirt is a turban. And those push-up bras, well, they are still push-up bras.

Days later I've accumulated two trash bags full of old clothes. My husband has graciously contributed his cast-offs as well. It takes a week or two before we get around to moving the over-stuffed bags from the foyer to the rear of the station wagon. In the meantime, while I am desperately cleaning house, removing clutter and unused clothes, Matea is discovering the world of soft sculpture. When things grow too quiet I seek her out to see what trouble she's in. To my great surprise and delight - and, to a certain degree, my consternation Matea has opened the Salvation Army bags and is arranging various outfits on the floor. "This is Mama. This is Papa. Here is Annabella. I am Matea..." she chants meditatively as she carefully smoothes out Tshirts and pants, skirts and tops. She is attentive to detail. Matea makes sure everyone is wearing underclothes, socks and shoes. We save the display for Papa, and then I clean it up after bedtime. The next day a new parade of figures appear. This time the characters fill the foyer, living room and march into the bedroom. Matea's sculptures become more detailed. She sees these 'people' need heads and arms. If they are wearing skirts or dresses they need legs. Pencils, crayons, socks, string..., anything that looks remotely limb-like finds its way into the sculptures. All of her people need shoes. On cold days they need hats, scarves and jackets.

A couple of weeks pass and I am exhausted by the number of times I need to clean up. But more importantly, I am moved by Matea's imagination. I decide the play has run its course and the bags finally make their way to the garage. When Matea realizes where the bags have gone she is devastated. These old clothes, these cast-offs, are the food for her thought, the stuff of her creation. I assure her that there are many folks who need something warm to wear and we are helping others. She is consoled temporarily and soon finds another distraction.

We have a few little pull toys given as gifts from well­meaning friends and relatives. There is a Dachshund that seems to run when pulled, a duck that waddles and a bunny that hops. Matea takes turns running with each of these. Somehow, they do not satisfy her need to pull, run and imagine simultaneously. She is busy with something, so I know that it is a time for me to appear busy with my own work. Nonetheless I pay close attention to her mind at work.

While I am making dinner, Matea joins me in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards and shelves. "Hi Cutie, Matoo-tie! Can I help you?" I query. "No, thanks," she responds, intent on something. She finds the plastic salad spinner and heads back to her play room with it. I follow after a few moments and find that she has dismantled the spinner and is dragging the top by the spinning cord. A rabbit or a duck was not good enough. She has made her own dog. With the little pull ring she holds her green plastic 'dog' and walks it. When she is finished walking she hangs the pull ring on the coat rack so the 'dog' won't run away. Only the green spinner top will do for Matea. She wasn't satisfied with an ordinary Dachshund - her imagination insisted that she work harder and create her own.

My daughter's intense creativity is an inspiration. Her example challenges me to see my world and daily tasks with fresh eyes. I am pleased when I can break out of an old habit, try something different, or do something in a new way. It takes effort. It takes energy, attention and thoughtfulness. It means I must be conscious of everything I do. The beauty of parenting a young child is seeing that the imagination cannot be inhibited. It must transform the concrete into the general; old and familiar objects into something novel and fresh. The imagination makes the ordinary into something extraordinary. Through my parenting I can witness the unfolding and awakening of the miraculous human mind.

Allegra Alessandri Pfeifer, a graduate of the Sacramento Waldorf School and Georgetown University is the mother of two toddlers and a Waldorf high school teacher in San Francisco.