Hope and Other Luxuries Read Online Free

that, a few centuries ago, my four-year-old daughter would have gotten people burned as witches.
    And God help us when Elena’s grade school sat down to watch videos. The unimaginative staff there had no idea what kind of terror an old movie like
A Christmas Carol
could unleash in a sensitive six-year-old. I had to sit by Elena’s bedside to save her from the ghosts, and she cried herself to sleep for several nights. Monsters in stories were more real to her than the trees outside her window. We routinely found her in bed in the morning with Valerie.
    But at the same time, Elena’s vivid imagination brought her in touch with the feelings of others and inspired in her a boundless curiosity. And even in early childhood, she began to detect true stories, beautiful stories, in the commonplace world around her.
    I would like to be a rose
, she wrote on a school worksheet when she was six.
I would like to be a rose. It would be fun. I would hope a person would water and care for me and never pull me out of the earth. I would try not to get into a person’s way, but I did! I loved to get pruned. I loved it in the soil, it feltgood. I did not like it when the kids pulled off my leaves, but I lived with it. I loved being a plant. I loved to watch the kids swing. I loved the soil. I loved the earthworms. Then I died a sad death. The end
.
    Elena was the kind of child who saw a human soul in everything. She had conversations with ladybugs. She rescued injured bees. She once drew eyes and whiskers on a sweet potato that looked like a seal. Then she couldn’t bear to let me cook it.
    One spring afternoon when Elena was seven or eight, she and Valerie sat down at the kitchen table to sort through their Easter baskets. After a few minutes of digging through the crinkly green plastic grass, Elena mournfully announced, “I’m out of candy.”
    Valerie, my prudent, practical girl, who asked for things like coats and desks for her birthday, had had the foresight to ration her treats. Now she took pity on her impulsive sibling. “Here,” she said, and she handed Elena a marshmallow-filled candy egg with a hard sugar shell. It was about an inch long, sealed in clear plastic, and it was bright blue.
    Elena was delighted.
    â€œCome here, little candy!” she ordered, marching it up her arm toward her mouth. “No, no!” in a high squeal, and the candy turned around and darted back down to the table.
    This continued for several minutes. The candy ran away and hid behind the salt shaker and the napkin holder; it leapt into Elena’s sweater pocket. Finally, in desperation, it begged for its life. As I remember, it was very eloquent.
    Valerie watched this little romp with increasing irritation. “Are you going to eat that or not?”
    â€œI can’t,” Elena admitted. “It would hurt its feelings.” And the candy nestled trustingly in her hand.
    â€œWell, then give it back! I’ll eat it.”
    â€œNooo!” screeched the candy, bolting to the safety of Elena’s shoulder, where it huddled, shaking.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Elena crooned, petting it. “
I’ll
save you!
I’ll
keep you away from the evil giant!”
    And Valerie appealed to a higher power:
    â€œMOM!”
    But what could I do? Solomon couldn’t have settled that one. It was the collision of two different world views.
    As playmates, the girls weren’t well matched. In fact, they couldn’t have been more different. Elena was the queen of the split-second decision. Valerie liked to ponder and weigh and debate. In group play, Elena was quick to take offense and raise her voice, but if Valerie got her feelings hurt, she usually left without making a fuss and went home to have a quiet cry. On the other hand, it was Valerie who remembered these slights and acted on them for months. Neighborhood children wondered sadly why she wouldn’t play with them anymore, long after