Written by the Treasureguide for the exclusive use of the Treasure Beaches Report.
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| Drawing on Wood Scribbled Over. |
And time is never planned.
It's not on any chart,
You must find it with your heart.
Never Never Land.
It might be miles beyond the moon,
Or right there where you stand.
Just keep an open mind,
And then suddenly you'll find
Never Never Land.
Just the other day - seventy-something years later, I stood alone in the stillness of another house - the one where my mother passed away not long ago - surrounded by the scattered flotsam and jetsam of our family. Mom and dad carried their belongings with them through two big moves; first from my childhood home to Florida when they retired, and then mom brought her belongings when she moved to the Treasure Coast after dad died.
As I surveyed the objects from the different homes and time periods, one of the several pieces from our first home stood out to me. It was the Ranch Oak coffee table.
As a six-year-old, I laid on my back under that table and with a pencil drew a pirate ship, complete with masts, sails, ratlines, skull and cross bones, and pirates with swords. If you try real hard, maybe you can make some of that out in the picture at the top of this post. It isn't easy. My sister came along later and scribbled over my drawing.
I never saw the ocean at that point in my young life and never saw a sailing ship or pirates. My vision cane from either TV or books. I'm betting on TV.
For my entire life I remembered in detail the drawing on the bottom of my parent's first coffee table, but for decades, I never looked at the drawing. Why would I? I could see it in my mind like I was still under the table the day I drew it.
Whenever I see that table, I see the six-year-old boy under the table, and the drawing. But I see more than that. It seems to be at the center of everything in my life. It is something like one of those signs that points in the direction of a myriad cities and tells the number of miles. 4,937 mi. to Timbuktu, for example.
To one side of the coffee table was the couch where I laid when I stayed home from school with the measles, then on the other side of that wall is my parent's bedroom, then on the other side of the outside wall is the hay field on the hill that changes with each season, and over and beyond that more farms, then the village of Prosperity, the cemetery, the Little League ballfield, the creek and covered bridge, and West Virginia and finally Florida. To another side of the table is the wall with the picture of a stagecoach coming down a road, and the lamps and the fireplace, and outside of that wall the swings, pussy willow tree, and the place where my baby duck ate a mushroom and got sick. Continuing out from there is the 1949 DeSoto, the Hart farm, Cooper farm, and the Mounts farm on the ridge where the sun disappears every evening. I could go on forever with that, but you get the good idea. The point is, that at the center of it all - and I do mean all - is the coffee table on the bottom of which was the six-year-old boy's drawing. For me, that is at the center my world. It is at the center of my psyche.
In many years, I never had an urge to look under the table - until recently. Although many of her belongings are still there, mom's house now seems empty. She's not there. I said goodbye to her when she took her last breath in the next room. No one is there, except for me, left with the task of cleaning it all out.
As I stood in the deeply silent room, I noticed the heavy beats of a clock marking each second and thought of the crocodile stalking Captain Hook, and his fear of the beast that had already taken a part of him.
And for the first time in seventy something years, I felt it was time to take one last look. With some hesitation I lifted the coffee table to look at my drawing. I don't think I can fit under the coffee table anymore, so when I lifted the table, I could see the drawing plain as day, despite the scribbling and fading. But I saw much more than that. I also saw the six-year-old boy and all that I described above. I put the table down and will probably never look at the drawing again.
I don't know what will happen to the table and the drawing, but I know that it will be with me wherever I am. Even if my memory fades, and I don't know my name anymore, it will remain at the center of who I am and who I was.
I'll finish the song now. Picking up where I left off...
You'll have a treasure if you stay there,More precious far than gold.
For once you have found your way there,
You can never, never grow old.
And that's my home where dreams are born,
And time is never planned.
Just think of lovely things.
And your heart will fly on wings,
Forever in Never Never Land.
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Art used to be powerful.
I'll end there for now even though there is a lot more I'd like to say. I'll use this post in the future to illustrate some other treasure hunting and related topics.
Funny that my childhood pirate ship pointed to Florida. Coincidence or somehow prophetic of future interests? Coincidence, of course.
Good hunting,
Treasureguide@comcast.net