My-Stories
The Magical Adel Finch
My Grandmother and the other ladies from town loved her. Come spring and summer, you'd hear talk of Adel's tea parties. She'd set tables right out in the garden, white tablecloths spread over everything. They said she made you feel like you were the only person there.
We boys never got invited to those. We just wondered what went on down at the end of that road.
Adel was past sixty when Justin and I were maybe eleven or twelve, that age where you're halfway between building forts and noticing girls. She had silver hair she pinned up with things that glittered, sometimes actual clips, sometimes what looked like fishing lures or bits of chandelier. Her laugh wasn't a giggle. It started deep in her belly and erupted outward, made her blue eyes sparkle like she'd just pulled off a prank.
And maybe she had. That was the thing about Adel. She used to be a magician's assistant for "The Great Alistair." She still had faded posters in her attic showing a young Adel in sequins, floating beside a man with a mustache and a turban. She didn't talk about it much, not to brag anyway. But she'd show us. She could tie a knot that vanished with a flick of her wrist. Make a quarter disappear from behind your ear (and it'd end up in your pocket). Then there were the silk scarves. She had them tucked everywhere. She'd pull them from her handbag like there was no bottom to it.
Justin and I couldn't get enough of her. Other neighbors gave us cookies. Adel did too, though hers were shaped funny and tasted like lavender. We'd watch her in the garden, lips moving like she was telling secrets to the roses. Or walking Fluffernutter, her fluffy white dog. She talked to him like they were planning something. She wasn't weird. Just different in a way that made you want to watch.
It was a Saturday morning in January. The snow was perfect, deep and packed tight. Adel poked her head over the fence. "You boys want to go sledding?" We were already grabbing our coats.
"My niece Sarah is visiting," Adel said. Sarah was quiet, maybe seven or eight. She usually hid behind Adel's legs when we saw her. "She's a bit shy, but she needs some fresh air. What do you say, boys? Want to join us for Operation: Avalanche?"
Justin and I looked at each other. Sledding was always fun. But sledding with Adel? That could be anything.
"Sure, Mrs. Finch!" I said. I tried not to smile too big.
"Excellent!" Adel clapped her mittens together. "Grab your sleds! Meet at my purple palace in twenty minutes." She winked. "And be ready for anything."
Twenty minutes later, Justin and I were on her porch with our plastic sleds. The door opened, and there was Adel. She wore a bright pink snowsuit. It looked slick like plastic. She had a rainbow scarf that went on forever and mirrored sunglasses, even though it was cloudy. Sarah stood next to her in blue, holding an old wooden Flexible Flyer. That sled looked older than my Grandpa's truck.
"Right then!" Adel waved us toward her station wagon. It was an old boat of a car she called "The Periwinkle Peregrine." "All aboard!"
Getting into that car was something else. The back seat was a mess of blankets, birdseed bags, and a gardening glove. There was even a rabbit puppet back there. Adel swept her arm across the seat to make room, and sunflower seeds spilled onto the floor. Sarah squeezed in between Justin and me. Her hat was so fluffy it looked like she was wearing cotton candy.
The drive to Miller’s Hill was eventful. Adel hummed opera off-key. Then she’d stop and say things like, “Did you know squirrels can remember 3,000 spots where they buried nuts? Fascinating!” She didn’t pay much attention to traffic lights, either. I don't know how we didn't crash. Maybe that magician training came in handy.
Miller's Hill was packed with kids and parents. We piled out of the Peregrine, and Adel had four cups of hot chocolate waiting. No idea where she'd been keeping them. She handed them out, then knelt down and adjusted Sarah's scarf. "There you are, poppet. Warm and cozy, just like my tea parties." Sarah smiled and took a sip.
"Liquid courage!" she said. "And sustenance!" She pulled out a bag of cookies shaped like snowflakes. They tasted like peppermint and... something else. Justin whispered later that it might have been sawdust. We ate them anyway.
Sarah's eyes went wide at the crowd. Adel knelt down and fixed her hat. "Now, poppet. First rule of adventure is a brave heart. Second rule is... well, there are lots of rules, but mostly, have fun. Stick with your Auntie Adel and the boys here, and you'll be grand." She hugged her quick. Sarah nodded and smiled.
The first few runs were normal. Justin and I flew down on our plastic sleds, yelling the whole way. Sarah took her wooden one down slower. Adel gave her a gentle push, and she let out a little squeak as she slid to a stop. Adel walked back up, pulling Sarah's sled, that rainbow scarf trailing behind her.
But this was Adel Finch. Normal wasn't her style. I could feel the quiet part of the day ending.
On about the third run, just as Justin started down, Adel pulled a green silk scarf from her sleeve. "Needs more flair!" She flicked her wrist and tossed it. The thing fluttered down and landed perfect, draped right over Justin's head as he shot past. He yelped, couldn't see, and veered into a snowbank. Came up sputtering, covered in powder, the green scarf sitting on his head like a turban. Adel roared with laughter from the top of the hill. Even Sarah giggled.
Now it was my turn. As I pushed off, Adel shouted, "Hold on tight, Peter! Adding a little acceleration!" I have no idea what she did. Maybe she gave my sled an extra-hard shove, or maybe it was just the power of suggestion. All I know is I flew down that hill faster than I ever had. The wind stung my eyes, the snow blurred past, and I swear the sled lifted off the ground a couple times. I skidded to a stop at the bottom, heart pounding, grinning like an idiot.
"See?" Adel called down, hands on her hips. "A touch of magic!"
Things got wilder from there. Adel decided Sarah's wooden sled needed "aerodynamic improvements." She tied silk scarves to the back like streamers. Where did she keep all those scarves? Sarah's next run, they flapped behind her, made her look like a tiny shooting star streaking down the hill. She was laughing now, really laughing.
Then came "synchronized sledding." Adel convinced Justin and me to sled side by side, holding opposite ends of her giant rainbow scarf. "Balance! Teamwork! Panache!" It lasted maybe ten feet. Justin hit a bump, I swerved, the scarf went tight, and we both tumbled into a heap of limbs, plastic, and rainbow fabric. We couldn't stop laughing. From the top of the hill, Adel's laughter boomed down at us.
Then Adel wanted to show us her technique. She sat on Sarah's wooden sled, adjusted her sunglasses, and pushed off. Instead of just sliding, she wiggled. This strange shimmy that somehow made the sled go faster, weaving down the hill. Halfway down, she pulled out something small and glittery, maybe a mirror, flashed it at the sun, yelled "Ta-da!" and slid sideways into the snow by the trees. Disappeared up to her waist. We rushed down, worried for a second, but she popped up laughing and brushing snow off her pink suit. "Minor miscalculation in the flourish! Happens to the best of us!"
The absolute peak was the "Sled Train." Adel said we needed a grand finale. She produced a length of rope from somewhere. Her pockets were like magic portals. She ignored the looks from other parents and tied Sarah's sled to Justin's, Justin's to mine.
"I shall be the conductor!" She positioned herself behind my sled, hands on my shoulders. Sarah was giggling nervously up front, Justin looked resigned in the middle, and I just gripped the handles and braced.
"All aboard the Adel Express! Next stop: Victory Lane... maybe!" She pushed. Hard. Started running behind us to give us momentum, her rainbow scarf flying. But the snow was slicker than she thought. One foot slipped, then the other. "Oomph!" She pitched forward and landed flat on her stomach right behind us.
That pink snowsuit wasn't just bright. It was slick. Like greased lightning. Instead of stopping, Adel became a human toboggan. She started sliding, arms out like Superman, sunglasses still on.
"Whoa, Nellie!" she yelled, snow spraying behind her.
Our sled train had a head start, bouncing and swerving down the hill. Sarah shrieked with delight. Justin yelled something like, "She's gaining on us!" I looked back. There was Adel, a pink blur against white, sliding on her belly and catching up fast. It was so ridiculous I laughed out loud even while trying to steer.
Then the commentary started. Even sliding face-first down the hill, Adel couldn't help herself.
"And Adel Finch makes her move on the inside!" she shouted over the wind. She slid past my sled. "She's passing young Peter on the left! Incredible speed from the Pink Comet!"
She drew level with Justin. "Justin holding steady in second, but here comes Finch! She pulls alongside! Look at that form!"
She zipped past him. "And the Pink Comet takes the lead! Sarah in the Flexible Flyer is giving chase, but Finch is opening up a gap!"
She kept going as she approached the bottom. "She's into the final stretch! The crowd goes wild! Can anyone catch her? It's Adel Finch for the win!"
She shot across the flat area and skidded to a stop in a spray of powder, maybe twenty feet ahead of where our tangled train piled up. She sat up, pushed her sunglasses back, and beamed at us.
We untangled ourselves and just stared. Even the other parents were laughing now.
Adel brushed snow off her front like it was lint. "Well," she said, standing up. "That was unexpected! But a win is a win! First place goes to the Pink Comet!" She bowed.
We were soaked and freezing and exhausted, but none of us could stop laughing. Sarah recounted the whole thing with wide eyes, her shyness gone. Justin kept shaking his head. "Only Mrs. Finch..."
The afternoon light faded, turning the snow pink and gold. Adel produced thermoses again, this time with warm apple cider that smelled like cinnamon and cloves. We sat on our overturned sleds, sipping cider and watching the last few kids leave. The chaos was over, leaving behind that warm feeling you get from a really good day.
"Good adventure, team?" Adel asked, nudging Sarah.
Sarah nodded hard. "Best sledding ever, Auntie Adel! You won the race!"
"Definitely memorable, Mrs. Finch," Justin said, still chuckling.
"It was brilliant, Adel," I said. I meant it. It was chaotic and probably broke every sledding rule there was. But it was pure joy. The kind of day you knew you'd remember.
On the drive back, squeezed into the Peregrine with the smell of peppermint cookies and damp wool, Sarah fell asleep in the front seat, leaning against Adel's arm. Justin and I were quiet, tired in that good way.
Adel hummed softly, something gentler this time. When she pulled up to my house, she turned around. The mirrored sunglasses were off now.
"You know, boys," she said, her voice softer. "Life's a bit like that sledding hill. Sometimes you go fast, sometimes you tumble. Sometimes you end up sliding on your belly." She paused. "The trick is to find folks willing to ride the crazy sled train with you. Laugh when you fall, especially when you're the one falling. And share hot cider at the bottom." She winked. "Never forget the hot cider."
We thanked her and climbed out. She readjusted Sarah carefully in the car, gave us one last wave, and the Peregrine rumbled away. Justin and I stood there on the sidewalk, cold air on our faces.
We didn't see Sarah much after that winter, but Justin and I still talk about that sledding day. It wasn't just the funny falls or the scarves or Adel sliding down on her stomach. It was Adel herself. Her refusal to be boring, her ability to turn a simple Saturday into something you'd never forget.
Before Adel, being different felt awkward. Something to hide. But watching her embrace her quirks, even sliding down a hill on her stomach in front of everyone, made us realize it could be something else. A source of joy. And finding people willing to ride with you, who laugh with you through the tumbles. That's rare. The kind of thing that keeps you warm long before the snow melts. =]:)
Getting into that car was something else. The back seat was a mess of blankets, birdseed bags, and a gardening glove. There was even a rabbit puppet back there. Adel swept her arm across the seat to make room, and sunflower seeds spilled onto the floor. Sarah squeezed in between Justin and me. Her hat was so fluffy it looked like she was wearing cotton candy.
The drive to Miller’s Hill was eventful. Adel hummed opera off-key. Then she’d stop and say things like, “Did you know squirrels can remember 3,000 spots where they buried nuts? Fascinating!” She didn’t pay much attention to traffic lights, either. I don't know how we didn't crash. Maybe that magician training came in handy.
Miller's Hill was packed with kids and parents. We piled out of the Peregrine, and Adel had four cups of hot chocolate waiting. No idea where she'd been keeping them. She handed them out, then knelt down and adjusted Sarah's scarf. "There you are, poppet. Warm and cozy, just like my tea parties." Sarah smiled and took a sip.
"Liquid courage!" she said. "And sustenance!" She pulled out a bag of cookies shaped like snowflakes. They tasted like peppermint and... something else. Justin whispered later that it might have been sawdust. We ate them anyway.
Sarah's eyes went wide at the crowd. Adel knelt down and fixed her hat. "Now, poppet. First rule of adventure is a brave heart. Second rule is... well, there are lots of rules, but mostly, have fun. Stick with your Auntie Adel and the boys here, and you'll be grand." She hugged her quick. Sarah nodded and smiled.
The first few runs were normal. Justin and I flew down on our plastic sleds, yelling the whole way. Sarah took her wooden one down slower. Adel gave her a gentle push, and she let out a little squeak as she slid to a stop. Adel walked back up, pulling Sarah's sled, that rainbow scarf trailing behind her.
But this was Adel Finch. Normal wasn't her style. I could feel the quiet part of the day ending.
On about the third run, just as Justin started down, Adel pulled a green silk scarf from her sleeve. "Needs more flair!" She flicked her wrist and tossed it. The thing fluttered down and landed perfect, draped right over Justin's head as he shot past. He yelped, couldn't see, and veered into a snowbank. Came up sputtering, covered in powder, the green scarf sitting on his head like a turban. Adel roared with laughter from the top of the hill. Even Sarah giggled.
Now it was my turn. As I pushed off, Adel shouted, "Hold on tight, Peter! Adding a little acceleration!" I have no idea what she did. Maybe she gave my sled an extra-hard shove, or maybe it was just the power of suggestion. All I know is I flew down that hill faster than I ever had. The wind stung my eyes, the snow blurred past, and I swear the sled lifted off the ground a couple times. I skidded to a stop at the bottom, heart pounding, grinning like an idiot.
"See?" Adel called down, hands on her hips. "A touch of magic!"
Things got wilder from there. Adel decided Sarah's wooden sled needed "aerodynamic improvements." She tied silk scarves to the back like streamers. Where did she keep all those scarves? Sarah's next run, they flapped behind her, made her look like a tiny shooting star streaking down the hill. She was laughing now, really laughing.
Then came "synchronized sledding." Adel convinced Justin and me to sled side by side, holding opposite ends of her giant rainbow scarf. "Balance! Teamwork! Panache!" It lasted maybe ten feet. Justin hit a bump, I swerved, the scarf went tight, and we both tumbled into a heap of limbs, plastic, and rainbow fabric. We couldn't stop laughing. From the top of the hill, Adel's laughter boomed down at us.
Then Adel wanted to show us her technique. She sat on Sarah's wooden sled, adjusted her sunglasses, and pushed off. Instead of just sliding, she wiggled. This strange shimmy that somehow made the sled go faster, weaving down the hill. Halfway down, she pulled out something small and glittery, maybe a mirror, flashed it at the sun, yelled "Ta-da!" and slid sideways into the snow by the trees. Disappeared up to her waist. We rushed down, worried for a second, but she popped up laughing and brushing snow off her pink suit. "Minor miscalculation in the flourish! Happens to the best of us!"
The absolute peak was the "Sled Train." Adel said we needed a grand finale. She produced a length of rope from somewhere. Her pockets were like magic portals. She ignored the looks from other parents and tied Sarah's sled to Justin's, Justin's to mine.
"I shall be the conductor!" She positioned herself behind my sled, hands on my shoulders. Sarah was giggling nervously up front, Justin looked resigned in the middle, and I just gripped the handles and braced.
"All aboard the Adel Express! Next stop: Victory Lane... maybe!" She pushed. Hard. Started running behind us to give us momentum, her rainbow scarf flying. But the snow was slicker than she thought. One foot slipped, then the other. "Oomph!" She pitched forward and landed flat on her stomach right behind us.
That pink snowsuit wasn't just bright. It was slick. Like greased lightning. Instead of stopping, Adel became a human toboggan. She started sliding, arms out like Superman, sunglasses still on.
"Whoa, Nellie!" she yelled, snow spraying behind her.
Our sled train had a head start, bouncing and swerving down the hill. Sarah shrieked with delight. Justin yelled something like, "She's gaining on us!" I looked back. There was Adel, a pink blur against white, sliding on her belly and catching up fast. It was so ridiculous I laughed out loud even while trying to steer.
Then the commentary started. Even sliding face-first down the hill, Adel couldn't help herself.
"And Adel Finch makes her move on the inside!" she shouted over the wind. She slid past my sled. "She's passing young Peter on the left! Incredible speed from the Pink Comet!"
She drew level with Justin. "Justin holding steady in second, but here comes Finch! She pulls alongside! Look at that form!"
She zipped past him. "And the Pink Comet takes the lead! Sarah in the Flexible Flyer is giving chase, but Finch is opening up a gap!"
She kept going as she approached the bottom. "She's into the final stretch! The crowd goes wild! Can anyone catch her? It's Adel Finch for the win!"
She shot across the flat area and skidded to a stop in a spray of powder, maybe twenty feet ahead of where our tangled train piled up. She sat up, pushed her sunglasses back, and beamed at us.
We untangled ourselves and just stared. Even the other parents were laughing now.
Adel brushed snow off her front like it was lint. "Well," she said, standing up. "That was unexpected! But a win is a win! First place goes to the Pink Comet!" She bowed.
We were soaked and freezing and exhausted, but none of us could stop laughing. Sarah recounted the whole thing with wide eyes, her shyness gone. Justin kept shaking his head. "Only Mrs. Finch..."
The afternoon light faded, turning the snow pink and gold. Adel produced thermoses again, this time with warm apple cider that smelled like cinnamon and cloves. We sat on our overturned sleds, sipping cider and watching the last few kids leave. The chaos was over, leaving behind that warm feeling you get from a really good day.
"Good adventure, team?" Adel asked, nudging Sarah.
Sarah nodded hard. "Best sledding ever, Auntie Adel! You won the race!"
"Definitely memorable, Mrs. Finch," Justin said, still chuckling.
"It was brilliant, Adel," I said. I meant it. It was chaotic and probably broke every sledding rule there was. But it was pure joy. The kind of day you knew you'd remember.
On the drive back, squeezed into the Peregrine with the smell of peppermint cookies and damp wool, Sarah fell asleep in the front seat, leaning against Adel's arm. Justin and I were quiet, tired in that good way.
Adel hummed softly, something gentler this time. When she pulled up to my house, she turned around. The mirrored sunglasses were off now.
"You know, boys," she said, her voice softer. "Life's a bit like that sledding hill. Sometimes you go fast, sometimes you tumble. Sometimes you end up sliding on your belly." She paused. "The trick is to find folks willing to ride the crazy sled train with you. Laugh when you fall, especially when you're the one falling. And share hot cider at the bottom." She winked. "Never forget the hot cider."
We thanked her and climbed out. She readjusted Sarah carefully in the car, gave us one last wave, and the Peregrine rumbled away. Justin and I stood there on the sidewalk, cold air on our faces.
We didn't see Sarah much after that winter, but Justin and I still talk about that sledding day. It wasn't just the funny falls or the scarves or Adel sliding down on her stomach. It was Adel herself. Her refusal to be boring, her ability to turn a simple Saturday into something you'd never forget.
Before Adel, being different felt awkward. Something to hide. But watching her embrace her quirks, even sliding down a hill on her stomach in front of everyone, made us realize it could be something else. A source of joy. And finding people willing to ride with you, who laugh with you through the tumbles. That's rare. The kind of thing that keeps you warm long before the snow melts. =]:)
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