Who's Your Patronus?

It's not a meme, but I'll get to that in a minute.

This is how strange it was here today:



I don't know if you can tell from the picture, but it's snowing and the sky is blue. For most of the day today, we had snow squalls and bright sunshine. It was very weird.

Okay, so here's the thing. If you know Harry Potter (or if you don't, I'm going to explain it), but I figure that if I had a Patronus, it would probably be a little old man in an overcoat and a fedora.

This isn't exactly a meme, just a question I asked myself, and answered. Feel free to give it a shot.

In Peter Pan, the children must "think lovely thoughts" to make themselves fly. Harry Potter must think of his best possible memory in order to create his Patronus, a powerful protective charm that takes the form of an animal or creature of some kind.

So here's the question: which memory of yours would make you fly, or let you summon a Patronus?


I am anywhere between eight and fifteen years old. It's a Friday afternoon, after school but before dark. It's a scene that takes place once a month or so. Grandma and Grandpa are coming for the weekend.

They're coming from the city, by bus. If I'm younger, they're coming from the Bronx, a 45 minute trip. If I'm older, it's a two hour ordeal from Brooklyn.

I know they're coming, and I can't sit still; ultimately I can't stay in the house at all.

I wiggle my way onto the sidewalk in front of my house, waiting and watching. Our street is three blocks long and we live near the end of the second block. At the far end of the first block, where the street starts, is the highway, and the bus stop. That's where they'll be coming from. There's a slight rise in the street, so the first thing I will see will be the top of Grandpa's hat as they come over the crest towards me.

I am too little to cross the street, too little to run up to the end of the block so I can wait for them to cross from the first block to the second. But I edge my way, first past the house to our left, then to the house to the left of that. I will usually stop before I get to the Krugs' house, because they have a mean, scary, barking dog. I dance my way back and forth, not too far for Mom to yell at me, far enough to see. At last!

I see Grandpa's hat, and then Grandma's, and I can see them coming! He is carrying two suitcases and anything else she could hang on him; she has her purse and a couple of shopping bags. I race past the barking dog and stand on the corner, hopping from one foot to another. (If I am older, I have already been waiting on the corner, and race carefully across the street to meet them as they make their way down the first block.)

We are walking towards the house now, I am hopping all around them, and perhaps have been allowed to take a shopping bag to carry. No hugs yet, just smiles. When we get to our house, the front door open and waiting, I have only to open the storm door and hold it for them and then they are inside!

Before we can blink, Grandma has put down her bags (but not her purse) and with her coat and hat still on, she will grab either my sister or me, whoever is closer to her, and begin to dance. She sings the same tune each time: ta YA TA! ta ya ta! ta yatatatataTA! as she dances us around the living room, one at a time. When she's finished, Grandpa has put down the suitcases and hung up his overcoat and hat in the closet and we get to hug him, one at a time, always standing in the little entry area of the living room in front of the mirror. When I am older, we are on eye level; I have been five foot two since I was twelve, and he has been five foot three since about 1910. It is the best hug ever.

By the time we have hugged Grandpa and danced with Grandma, her coat is hung up too, and we are helping them carry their things upstairs. They sleep in my room when they are here, and I happily take the extra bed in my sister's room. I would share a room with my sister forever if only they would come and live with us, the most wonderful thing I can imagine.

Once they are settled in my room, Grandpa comes out into the hallway for a low-voice conversation with both of us, with my sister and me. He reaches into his deep pants pockets and starts to apologize, because they are not wealthy people and he cannot give us more. We are already saying "No, Grandpa, don't give us anything! We're happy that you're here!" because we are and because we know that they are poor. He forces us each to take a dollar from him, and then we ask if he has gum, because he always has a flat yellow box of Chiclets in his left front pants pocket. He does, and gives us each a piece, and we chew, happy and contented. Grandma and Grandpa are here for the weekend.



WATCHING WIFE SWAP :: ENTRY #1958
READING: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke