Pure Joy!

I never knew grandparents so the best thing about these times is I know we are making memories. I know what we say and do will have a strong influence on them.
The thing about being a grandparent is the love is so unconditional, it's our only job.

I spent my first week with my granddaughter Mackenzie this summer. Because Mac is from Waterford she doesn't have friends in the neighborhood to play with so I signed her up for golf lessons. We gifted her with clubs for her birthday in April.

It turned out her teacher Lisa was her mom's highschool basketball coach. Small world. It was pure joy to watch her pony tail swinging as she carried her clubs to join a group she was unfamiliar with. How fast she has grown!

It seems like yesterday I was splashing with her in the plastic backyard pool. And it seems like yesterday when she was young enough to sit on my lap or hold my hand. It seems like yesterday I helped her mom teach her how to ride her bike.

It was pure joy to see her smiling face each morning at the breakfrast table. One day we made a cake for a friend of her mom's. Cooking and baking isn't my "thing."
I couldn't find our cake pan anywhere! She told me, "Nana you need pampered chef!" "I need more than pampered chef!" I answered.

I made a quick dash to the store to purchase a new pan. She watched TV while the cake baked and tested it once to see if it was done. It wasn't so after a few more minutes I tested it again and the door slammed shut! I haven't baked a cake in years let alone "flop" one. She couldn't believe the big hole in the middle of the cake! She laughed and laughed. "Oh Nana!" she said.

That afternoon we decided to ride bikes. She hopped on mine while I struggled to push the seat down on Pops bike. With the seat down all the way my feet still wouldn't touch the ground but I didn't have a choice. Mac told me to begin riding standing up and push off then sit down. Which I did and only fell twice!

Then there were the little everyday things that she noticed and kept track of over the course of the week. A stone left a crack across my car windsheild. I dropped my cell phone and it cracked as well. I lost my house key and had to get a new one made. Then I realized I lost my driver's lisence. Pops figured I never put it back in my wallet after taking it out at the airport when traveling the week before. I'm ADHD, did you notice?!

Jeez, Nana! She rattled off the litany of events all in one sentence! I said, "Now when you get home don't tell your mom and dad these things. Only tell them the wonderful things. Like when Lisa the golf coach said, "Oh I know you-I read your book! Again she laughed and I smiled knowing her parents would get a blow by blow of everything.

Her mom is "Susie Homemaker," the opposite of me. I knew she would take the "flopped cake" story home as well.

It was pure joy for "Pops" to take her to the movies twice that week. It was pure joy for both of us to be with her five days in a row. She brought a youthful playful energy into our home that has been absent since her mom and aunts left home.

It was pure joy to see the similarities between her and my daughter. It was pure joy to have her ask, "Can I buy something for my brother?" (while at the mall shopping for a jean skirt)

She's gone now. I'm storing enery for the final week of July. This time she'll attend basketball camp at Aquinas college. I'm ready for her. My windsheild and cell phone and drivers license have been replaced.

And our home will be ready for the youthful energy and love. Pure joy-that's what granddaughters and summers are for!

Flying By The Seat Of My Soul

Flying By The Seat Of My Soul

A Tomatoe Plant and Pink Geranium

My parents are in their late eithties. It's a struggle to watch them grow old. It's sad to see them experience so many physical losses. I love my parents. I appreciate them and long ago I forgave them.

But this doens't make the visits easy. I usually have to talk myself into going. I make it as fun and interesting as I can for both them and me. I long for the days when they could go out to dinner on a moments notice or go to the movies and actually see the big screen. I long for the days when their health, doctors visits and aches and pains weren't the topic of our conversations.

Now they wait patiently for Roger and I to visit. We call in advance and when we arrive my mom will have her Sunday clothes on usually be in her wheelchair waiting for us at the table watching my dad sorting his endless bottles of prescrption medicine. Waiting...waiting... patiently waiting for me to come with stories about my work, my road runs, what I made for dinner and what I watched on TV. Ordinary everyday stories about ordinary everyday events that's music to their ears.

They want to hear what's new with my children and my grandchildren. Have I seen them lately? How are their jobs going? When are they coming to visit next? Does Mackenzie still play the violin? Is AJ in drama classes yet? Normal everyday stories they only experience vicariously through me and my visits.

My parents hang onto my every word, savoring them slowly as if to make these magical moments last longer. Our stories become their daily news they can now pass on to my sisteres and brothers when they call or visit.

My visits are a connection to an outside active life they no longer have access too. Aging and physical limitations have stole that from them. They will never get it back.

Because we live only 45 minutes away we visit them once a week unless we are out of town. We usually go either Friday night or Saturday afternoon.

Living on a farm for most of their lives they have a love for gardening and nature. My mom asked me to bring her a pink geranium before my last visit.

Roger and I stopped at the Farmer's Market on our way out of town. I couldn't help but buy everything I saw that reminded me of their healthier and younger days gone by.

Our first purchase was mom's pink geranium. But then I saw three pink peonies and purchased a bunch of them as well. My mom loved flowers and always had time for her flower garden in spite of 12 hour days in the fields planting and harvesting vegtables. I remember when my brothers Stan and Chet graduated from high school she picked and pinned a couple of the old fashioned roses from her garden onto their lapels. I think of that day on my daily runs each time I pass old fashioned roses in someone's garden.

We saw patio tomatoe plants and we bought one of those for my dad. We grew tomatoes on the farm and sold tons of them at the farmer's market from July through October. As a kid I became familiar with names like, "early girls, big boys, jet start, and fireballs." We sold them by the pound, 1/2 peck, whole peck, and bushel baskets. We ate them for breakfrast, in the field right off the vine, on our bologna sandwiches for lunch, in goulash for dinner and canned them for winter months. I think my dad was prouder of his tomatoes than his sweetest watermelon or largest prize pumpkin. My dad had a love affair with his tomatoes.

I also bought a homemade raspberry pie that made me drool all the way to Spring Lake. My mom always loved to bake. Because we burned so many calories working on the farm we basically ate whatever we wanted and whenever we wanted. We used to sit by the oven waiting for her cakes and pies to finish baking. They barely had time to cool when we relentlessly begged for permission to cut into them.

My sister Helen's birthday was July 14 and that was the week the raspberries were in their prime on the farm. We ate them by the handfuls as we filled pint after pint for the market. We also would make raspberry jam, pies and milkshakes with my mom. We ate them at the farmers market quickly popping one or two in our mouth as we displayed them at our booth.

Mom and dad were thrilled with their gifts from the farmer's market. We cut the pie in large pieces and sat on their patio reminicing about the good old days. My dad immediately watered his tomatoe and noticed it was "a healthy one."

My mom asked if I would bake brownies for my nephew Josh. It was his birthday and he'd be over that evening for dinner.

While we were there my sister Barb and her friend Greg stopped over and brought news of my nephew Matt's graduation from Saint Louis University the weekend before.

In spite of feeling ambivalent about visiting I always feel wonderful and happy when we leave. I have a feeling my mom and dad do as well. They will watch the tomatoe plant and pink geranium grow all summer and relive the day of our visit over and over in their mind. They will smile and wait...and wait...and look forward to our next visit.