Of Tinkerbell and Trucks

I first met her dad years ago, in Yellowknife at a conference in the height of summer where we all golfed until just after midnight and then sat on patios overlooking the water in Old Town until the wee watches of the morning when the sky got slightly less golden and we returned to our hotel rooms to try to get a couple of hours' sleep.

I next met Greg in the bleak midwinter - February, where I was advised to leave my vehicle running for my whole visit due to the extreme temperatures and where there was only one (ONE!) orange at the grocery store because the supply planes and trucks had not been able to make it in. I was cold and his friendly face and kind acceptance of me cheered me up immensely.

We met at conferences and training sessions over the years, more so when he moved to Saskatoon. In time I met his wife, Inge, and in even more time his daughter, Samantha.

This week as I worked in Saskatoon I went to call on Greg, the new Law Library Director, and had the opportunity to meet Samantha again after about six years.



Tinkerbell's house - she enters
and exits through the
cunning trapdoor in the roof!

 You know how some people can seem to spy a little vacant spot in your heart and are able to fit themselves right into it without even trying? That's Samantha. Immediately when I saw her she showed me the house she had built for Tinkerbell. She carefully brushed off the glitter - green and purple - that she had scattered about to make the beautiful fairy feel more welcome. Then she confided to me that Tinkerbell writes her the occasional letter as well: in one such letter Tinkerbell told Samantha that apart from Lizzie, the girl in the movie, no other girl except for Sam had built her a house where she could be so comfortable. 

Then it was time for lunch. Greg and I had planned to meet for lunch, and with Sam along, what would have been a very enjoyable time became magical. Montana's it was, of course. Cheese pizza and spinach dip and a red truck with a side dish served in its bed. "This is a great truck!" exclaimed Sam. "Do you know that every Montana's has a red truck in it somewhere? Look right above us!" And sure enough, there were the front wheels of the old red truck in this particular Montana's restaurant.

After lunch we popped over to where Sam's Mom had been called in to work. When she saw her, Sam launched herself into her mother's arms, chattering about her day and how she really, really needs a blue sparkle-covered notebook for school.

Soon enough it was time to say goodbye, but not before a mango smoothie for two and a coffee for me. "I'm going to do gymnastics and jazz and Dad and I are going to go swimming when school starts!" she chattered excitedly.

And that's the thing about this precocious, precious eight year old. She's smart and entertaining and compassionate and well mannered, and she loves both her parents fiercely in return for the secure knowledge that she is utterly loved and accepted for who she is by each of them.

It's because of these exceptional parents that Sam is happy, healthy and has her own art gallery in Dad's new office. And it's because of her parents that Tinkerbell feels free to visit Sam's home and now has transportation in the form of a little red truck that will roar to life some night soon, just after midnight.