100 Essays I Don't Have Time To Write - Plot & Excerpts
On motherhood and stools (the furniture kind) When I was twenty-six, I directed my own play under a pseudonym. I used whatever limited furniture I had in my own living room for the set, and I purchased a small velvet stool from a junk shop in Providence. I loved this stool because it spun, and on stage it could transform a psychiatrist’s office into a barbershop. I kept this stool all these years, and never did I imagine that one day my three-year-old son, William, would also love this stool. Only now, for William, it is a steering wheel. Every morning he goes to the velvet stool and becomes a captain, turning the wheel, sometimes a ship, sometimes a train, other times a rocket. He goes to his stool and says to his twin sister, Hope, “If you want to go to India, say ‘Acka Pimo!’” And she screams, “Acka Pimo!” and he turns the wheel, giddy with joy. I do not know why this stool feels so important to me and why William’s game gives me so much pleasure. Perhaps because, often, the demands of motherhood seem divorced from the demands of writing, and I can see both imagination and motherhood in this dilapidated velvet stool.
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