Yesterday, May 12, the Flower Moon reached a peak illumination at 12:56pm EST. The Flower Moon gets its name from the abundance of flowers blooming during this time of year. The day before was Mother’s Day. Flowers, Mother’s Day. I get it!

My daughter, Lucille and her beau, brought tulips (and chocolate) from The Callicoon Pantry yesterday, which reminded me of the stories and poems she had recited, and that I had jotted down verbatim when she was five, and then eight: 

At five:

“Once upon a time, there were two spoons. Their names were Mommy and Dadoo [her word for Dad]. They were talking about the time an egg named Lucy hid behind a tree and waved scarves at them. They became angry at the egg and on December 30, they invited her for dinner. When she arrived, they tickled her until she cracked in half.”

“Once there were two cranes. Their names were Mommy and Dadoo. They were talking over a fish named Lucy. The mommy swooped down and picked Lucy up, and then dropped her. The Dadoo played the fiddle and then went back to talking. After that, the fish was not comfortable with Mommy and Dadoo delicately flying over her head.”

“My mom was born on Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day stands for love. Love means saying yes all the time. But my mom refuses to say yes. She says no. ‘Can you make me a stuffed lion?’ I ask her. ‘No,’ she says.”

At eight, she became a poet:

Do your math in the bath and forget about table, label, cable, Mabel. She is sort-of weird and she disappeared near fear, clear, here.

Buy an eraser, pacer, lacer, chaser at the store for nor, core, door 

And buy yourself a brand new nose, bows, choose, flows, clothes

And while you’re walking through the wrong aisle 

Make sure to buy a pizza dial

And next day you’ll do your math in the bath

And finally, here is a  portion of her poem eight, which she recited aloud for an hour while click clacking on a manual typewriter. 

Eight, eight, eight, eight, eight

I love to say eight

Eight, eight, eight, eight, eight

Eight, eight, eight, eight, eight

It’s my favorite number

One, nah

Two, nah

Three, nah

Not for us

Not five, six or seven

Eight, eight, eight, eight, eight

Yes, yes, yes

Eight, eight, eight, eight, eight

Yes, I love eight, yes

Yes, I love eight, yes

And I’ll never forget it

Yes, eight, yes eight

I love you

Eight, eight, eight

I love you so much 

Eight, eight, eight

I wanna talk to you

Eight, eight, eight

Everything’s fine

Eight, eight, eight

You’re my favorite person

Eight, eight, eight

I’m fine, eight

I love you eight

She followed the poem ‘eight’ with the poem ‘Numbers Today’, which started like this:

The poem of one, two, three, four, five, and numbers today

Number eight is my favorite

No other number but eight

Eight, eight, eight

What are you doing today eight?

I’m doing fine

I’m having fine time with mommy

Was it Mother’s Day back then? Were flowers blooming? I can’t remember. All I remember was eight, and the happiness I felt when she turned nine. She’s an adult now, and her first book, Space Cat (by Lucille Jan-Turan), is currently being featured during author’s month, May, at the Callicoon Library.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.