The Memory of Magic Jenny...

     As I was ringing a customer's items at the store where I work, she commented about two little girls who walked by us, hand in hand.  They had just had their portrait done in my store's studio.  All ribboned hair and cutesy little girl clothing, they walked side by side holding hands.  The site of the two little girls had triggered a sweet memory for my customer.  She made the comment about how every little girl had that sweet moment of holding hand with a special little friend, and she wished life was that simple again.  As I considered the thought I realized that I did not have such a treasured memory.  "I don't have that kind of a memory," I commented.  Surprised, the lady said, "You don't?  Why is that?"  I began to explain that as an only child I was raised in a neighborhood where there were no other children.  I spent a lot of time alone.  My imagination and my pets were my solitary world in childhood.  It usually required an extraordinary effort for my parents to make arrangements for me to spend the day at a friend's home to have a playmate for a day.  Those times were few and far between.  I didn't have many friends in my childhood.  "I'm so sorry for you," the lady said with sad compassion in her voice. "No, it isn't sad at all," I told her.  "I'm an artist, you see.  That solitary time forced me to be more creative.  It's okay.  I just have different memories from you, that's all.  I just don't have the little-girls-holding-hands memory."  With that comment, she then asked me what my fondest childhood memory was.  I told her that would have to be my memories of Magic Jenny. 
     When I was about 6 or 7 years old, my grandparents owned an apartment house in Akron, Ohio.  Whenever I visited them, part of the ritual of the visit included visits with some of the tenants in their apartment house.  A lady who lived next door to them was also someone I was sure to include in the visiting.  Her name was Jenny, and her home was like none other I had ever known.  She was from another time, a time before "The Great War", WWI.  Her family had been prominent in the area and she had once come from "old money" as the phrase goes.  As a lady of society she had entertained with high teas in her English garden.  The house was smaller than one would have expected.  Everything was antique French doors that would be dressed with delicate lace curtains from ceiling to floor.  There were etched glass wind chimes in each of the rooms.  Always there was a delicate tinkling sound from the wind chimes as the gentle summer breezes moved through the house.  I can remember the stone frog doorstop by the door to her garden.  I was sure that it came to life at night.  Jenny always gave me cuttings of lavender from her stone walled English garden.  The smell of lavender always transports me back to her garden and those special visits with her.  Eventually when I was in my twenties, I pierced my ears, quite daring for the time.  It was the 60's and ear-piercing was growing in popularity.  I didn't tell anyone my real reason for doing it.  Jenny's delicate amethyst earrings had always fascinated me.  It was something I had always identified with what an elegant lady did and how she adorned herself.  Another odd memory from visits with Jenny was that of the etched glass hookah she owned.  Little had I known at the time, she smoked opiated hashish in her waterpipe.  It was something that ladies of society had done and now she still was doing it, addicted from many years of use no doubt.  Jenny would give the newspaper delivery boy money enough for her hashish and for a candy bar for me, and cigarettes for him.  I was smitten with him as he was "an older man" in my life.  He was red-headed and all of 12 years old or so.  He was older, and it didn't occur to me that he was still too young to be smoking.  I can remember going with him to a little neighborhood store that sold newspapers, sundries, tobacco and cigarettes, and a little dope on the side, as I realized much later in life.  Red-headed Jimmy was always kind to me, and quite protective.  Nothing bad ever happened on our little walks to get Jenny's package.  Though I had not smoked any marijuana during my college days, I immediately recognized the smell.  Oh, my gosh!  So that is what Jenny had been smoking all those years!  As a child, I simply accepted that she was smoking tobacco. 
     The lady I had shared my memory of Magic Jenny with was fascinated with my story.  She thanked me for sharing my memory with her and lamented that her little-girl-hand-holding memory sure was lame compared to mine.  "No, no.  It is a sweet memory for you, and a happy place for you to return to.  I just have different memories, that is all that is.  Your special memory is something that has affected your life and caused you to be tenderhearted toward little girls.  That is a special treasure, believe me.  I just don't have that sweet memory.  Thank you for sharing that one with me." 
     It is amazing to me how a single life experience can spin off into so many other things in one's life.  The memory of Magic Jenny has caused me to love wind chimes and lavender.  I pierced my ears because I loved the way Jenny's amethyst earrings sparkled as they dangled from her crinkled earlobes.  I love small private English gardens.  The site of crystal reminds me of all the glass and crystal ware in Jenny's home.  I have created many photographic images with inspirations triggered from Jenny's memories.  And lately, I am even writing a murder mystery centered around the character of Magic Jenny.  And who knows, I may include the little girls who hold hands as they walk in friendship into my story, thanks to the customer who shared her memory with me.  Yes, it is summertime, and I see that Jenny is still spinning her magic for me.  Good times!