When I was small, I slid some sheets of crepe paper into jars of water, and my jaw dropped when the water turned red, blue and green.
I kept the jars at the backyard of my grandparents’ house, believing that I discovered something the world doesn’t know. I covered the jars with sheets of something, maybe plastic, in that pretend lab, promising I’ll get back to it, thinking about it with mad concentration that night. The next day was rainy day and since grandparents didn’t approve of wet grandchildren, I stayed indoors, imagining the oh so many things I can do with colored water, like making dinner soup, a potion (!), cure-all medicines, anything that it’s not – because that’s what crepe papers and jars of water are all about – turning things into something else, in a time when a box is not just a box, but a house, a time machine, a request booth where one can make the rain stop.
The next day was sunny and I returned to empty jars. Somebody threw the contents.
(photo: my nephew Marcus, Playing Doh)