The Oddest Synchronicity

Life is full of hidden gems waiting for us to uncover. Too often we overlook the importance of what is right in front of us digging deeper and deeper for a complicated explanation, assuming of course, that everything in this world is just that; complex. Perhaps we humans do things a bit backwards. Maybe just maybe the answers to some of our most pressing questions have a much simpler resolve lying in nature, numbers, music; subtle signs of guidance. I recall with such fondness the memories of my childhood during a time when I was struggling to find my place. Not a single detail escapes me in recollection as my story truly is of the oddest synchronicity.

My tale takes me back to the beginning of sixth grade. I was eleven years old and anxiously awaiting my final year at Lusby Elementary School. My summer break was a bit lonely as my two very nearest and dearest friends, Miranda and Kelly, had gone away to soccer camp, and this was the first summer without my besties. The three of us had been thick as thieves since Kindergarten, enjoying so many activities, especially outdoors in the seasonable state of Maryland. We rode our bicycles for hours, built elaborate forts, and sought to catch butterflies on sunny afternoons in one of the many open fields home to Lusby. We had known one another so long, and were so close that we often would complete each other’s sentences. We shared the same love of dolls, and enjoyed many rainy days playing with my larger-than-life dollhouse. Oh, how coordinated we were, just like synchronized swimmers moving beautifully together.

Much to my surprise, the return of the new school year, and reunion with my best friends was everything except parallel. Miranda and Kelly came back taller, about an inch each, and more developed, looking older than our eleven years. One summer away with Miranda's thirteen-year-old sister, Michelle, and a camp full of young teenage girls changed my friends. All of a sudden, the common ground the three of us had shared for the past six years was no more. Dolls were outdated and deemed for "babies." Gone, were our long bike rides exploring Lusby, replaced with shopping mall visits in the next county on weekends. I tried to give it, a go, but the truth is that I was not interested in doing laps around the mall or hanging out at the arcade, which, now, was the cool thing to do. And, what was "cool" supposed to mean anyway? I was eleven. I did not care for talking about boys or clothes or getting ready for junior high next year like Miranda and Kelly did. I wanted to remain a little girl for as long as I could be one.

One amazing constant I had in my life despite my struggles was music. For just over a year, I had been taking flute lessons from my Nanna. Nanna, a retired music teacher and a gifted flutist, moved in with Mother and me when I was four, shortly after the divorce finalized from my father. Mother, also a teacher, taught math at the junior high school. In addition, she had quite a knack for gardening, and could bake the finest apple pies in all of Lusby. Indeed, I was fortunate to receive an upbringing from two intelligent high spirited women, and I knew that I would follow their example and teach one day from a young age. My ultimate goal was to be an expert flutist just like my Nanna, and teach music to children.

Although I remained friendly with both of the girls, we did eventually go our separate ways. I embraced other friendships, but none of them had quite the same connection or closeness. I felt like part of me was lost somewhere. Mother and Nanna were supportive of me, and explained to me that life is constantly changing. They told me that I would change too; in fact, they said I would encounter many periods of development in my lifetime. They said the key was learning to go with the natural flow in life, and never to rush. Specifically, Nanna told me that through music, I would learn to quiet my mind of all the internal conflicts, and find my unique inner voice one day. She said this inner voice would never steer me wrong.

As the school year moved along, I tightened my skills with my metal flute Nanna gifted me on my tenth birthday. My scales were coming along, and she said my days as a beginner were nearing an end. For Christmas, she gave me a beautiful Native American flute, also known as a courting flute. I wanted to play just like Nanna, but she reminded me to have patience, and that the flute was the hardest of all musical instruments to master. The flute requires substantial core control and excellent breathing techniques that, in due time, would come to me.

A few days after Christmas, December 28th, to be exact, I took some advice from Nanna, and decided to practice my flute skills outdoors. She said that being out in nature may help me in ways that she could never teach me. I was unsure as to what exactly she meant but agreed. This particular winter season was unseasonably warmer than usual as if Mother Nature was personally extending her hand in invitation to come along. I chose the abandoned house adjacent to ours as a spot to play. It had been empty for just over a year without any prospective buyers. It was a small two-story white home ideal for a first-time buyer or perhaps a small family. I especially loved the old white oak tree that hung over the front. It gave the place character, and was a perfect refuge for shade on a hot summer’s day.

I will never forget that very first evening, playing at my newly anointed haven. I had never played outside before, and usually always had Nanna beside me, coaching me along. I recall lifting my metal flute to my lips pursed to play, but the sound came out all wrong. My attention was quickly diverted to the screech of a barn owl somewhere up in the old oak tree. I paused for a moment, and the screeching stopped. I began to play again, and as before, the barn owl screeched. The screeching went back and forth, and I think the owl was unhappy with my playing. I stayed next door until just after dusk when Mother called for me to come inside.

For the next two weeks, this same kind of behavior continued by the owl who was out of my sight somewhere high up in the rafters of the old oak tree. It was odd that the owl made itself known everyday simultaneously without fail. Finally, one day, on a Friday in mid-January, the owl made an appearance. She flew down close enough so I could see her, but still at the height of safety. I recognized her as female by her dark russet coloring, and many black spots across her flanks. I decided to call her "Gracie" because she finally graced me with her presence.

It was this very same day that Gracie stopped squawking when my flute sounded. Perhaps she was scared before and felt threatened. Whatever the reason, she now sat out in the open as if she were comfortable, possibly even happy. She would waver only when I made a mistake or had a hiccup, as Nanna called it with my flute. Gracie would make a slight hop motion up from the branch, and back down like she understood my mishaps. Could this be possible? All I know for sure, is that her company calmed me, and gave me a sense of inner peace. An odd pair, we were. If she could speak, her words would be "slow down, relax, breathe, and exhibit complete self-control." Those are the words that kept playing through my mind whenever I saw her; the same time, the same place, and every day of the week. It was beautiful and straightforward synchronicity.

Gracie’s silent wisdom accompanied me without fail for six months to the day. In fact, on June 28th, the day before my sixth-grade graduation,, we had the most magnificent practice session ever. This particular day I broke out the Native American flute for a different vibe, our celebration. I sat up nice and tall under the old oak tree, something which needed practicing. I closed my eyes and felt the summer zephyrs caress my bare shoulder blades. I felt as if I were one with the flute for the very first time. When I opened my eyes, much to my surprise, Gracie was sitting on the fence just a few feet away from me. We looked each other in the eyes briefly, and off she flew. Not only was this Gracie’s biggest hello, it sadly would be her fondest farewell.

The next evening after a celebratory graduation dinner with Mother and Nanna, I was excited to get home to see Gracie again. Pulling up in the driveway, I noticed that someone cut the old oak tree from next door down. All that remained was a tree stump and some much-needed yard cleaning. Mother broke the news that a family bought the little white house and would settle in by summer’s end. They had the tree removed to allow more sunlight to hit the property. I was utterly heartbroken and angry as that was mine and Gracie’s special place.

I spent most of the summer immersed in the flute, especially the courting flute, as I found a special attachment to it. I also dreamt about Gracie every night, recalling her words in my dreams; "slow down, relax, breathe, and exhibit self-control." Those words became my mantras, making me feel she was close by even though I would never see her again. This notion kept me strong as my flutist skills were approaching the intermediate level. Nanna told me that I was finding myself, and she could feel it each time I played. I appreciated her sentiments, but I still felt that something was missing.

August that year brought the arrival of my new neighbors. Mother told me that the family had a daughter my age, and that I should pop on over to say hello. My curiosity got the best of me when I heard piano music coming from an open window. It was beautiful even though I could not recognize the song or composer. I followed the melody to the doorbell. After a brief pause of the piano keys, the front door opened. Standing before me, was a young girl with russet hair, and the darkest freckles sprayed so eloquently across her cheekbones. I instantly felt a familiar kindred spirit.

“Hello, my name is Heather Powell,” the young girl spoke. and then she giggled. “My parents call me “little owl” because they say I have wisdom beyond my years. I think they just took the name from my surname as a joke”.

With eyes as wide as saucers, I replied, "My name is Lillie. You are a wonderful piano player."

"I write my own songs." Heather beamed. "I also have heard you play your flute. We should play together. It would be quite lovely."

And it was pretty lovely, that is. Heather and I began playing and composing together instantly. As a matter of fact, from that day forward, we met at the same time, at the same place, and every day of the week.