Memorable date

In my topmost dresser drawer, where things valuable to me beyond the ordinary are kept, there is a parking ticket from the Erlanger parking garage dated 5 Feb 06:42 2003. I stopped by the hospital on my way to work, to see my son and daughter-in-law on the morning that her OBGyn was to induce labor on their first child, somewhat overdue. The parking attendants were not yet on duty when I left, so I kept the ticket.

That precious child observes her seventh birthday today. I spoke to her on the telephone this afternoon, listened to her bright stream of talk, told her that her Granny Babs and I loved her and would see her later this weekend. She said she had received our birthday card and enjoyed it, and I told her we would be participating in a special birthday gift jointly presented by parents and grandparents. She was sweetly grateful.

We love her so.

Hearts and Children

We are looking forward to keeping our grandchildren from mid-day today until tomorrow morning, part daily child care for their working parents, part giving the parents a night to themselves, and all for our own delight. The grandchildren, as I often say, have our hearts in their keeping.

Turtles All the Way Down

Yesterday, we took the grandchildren to the Tennessee Aquarium here in Chattanooga. Although they had been several times to this attraction, they were quite excited. Among their favorite creatures were all the various turtle species, large and small. Each display case and tank containing turtles and tortoises drew exuberant comments and cries to one another to look at the latest shelled wonder.

The Joys of Ball Games

If I set the Wayback Machine to thirty years ago, I can see my sons rounding the bases and chasing fly balls in the short outfields of first T-Ball then Dixie Youth Baseball. These were happy times sitting  in the bleachers at Senter Field on Lookout Mountain. (No, not Center Field, the field was named after Nick Senter, major supporter of Dixie Youth on the Mountain.) Both boys grew to men retaining their interest in baseball.

Energy to burn

Now there are grandchildren, a girl and a boy, six and four, respectively, playing softball and T-Ball. We have been to see games, and will again on into the summer. T-Ball and Softball are even better with grandchildren to watch.

For their parents, three or four games a week at far-flung parks mean long evenings following long working days for both. They are the best of parents, though, and even help coach the T-Ball team. They keep volunteering for things. I am proud of them both, they are giving their children a gift beyond price, of infinite meaning for the rest of their young lives. They are giving their time and participation. I love my sons, I love my daughter-in-law (I always wondered what having a daughter would be like, and now I know – wonderful.) I love the grandchildren

Mommy urging him on, Daddy carries bat.

immoderately, as does their Granny Babs, and we agree that this is the best of times,  among many good times, watching the girls and boys of summer.

Play Ball!

Stars and Cars

A week after our wedding, I finally completed my move from bachelor apartment to Babs’s house this past Thursday. Four years of my life were spent in a comfortable, two-bedroom, two-bath apartment that saw the grandchildren on a regular basis, often for overnight visits. Their Granny Babs and I share many happy memories of those visits. Early on, one winter night just at bedtime, Reese stood up on her bed, stretching her two-year old height to look out the bedroom window. She could see down the wooded hill, leafless then, and watch the stream of headlights and tail lights on the four-lane road far below. She looked up at the clear night sky, and exclaimed to her granny, “Oooh, look, Granny Babs, I can see stars and cars tonight!”

Last week, after packing up the last bits and pieces in the children’s bedroom, I stood alone where Reese had stood, looking out the same window. It was winter again, and the lights of traffic flowed along the street. The night was overcast after a day of showers, so no stars shone above the cars. In my memory those lights and those stars will be as permanent, though, as I am sure they are in a little girl’s growing store of wonder and delight.

My  throat constricted and my eyes watered, as I whispered, “Oooh, look, Reese, I can see stars and cars tonight!”

Black Out

Last night, I watched my grandchildren for a few hours while their parents were away. I supervised the evening meal, answered their many questions about food, when their Mommy and Daddy would be home, and tried to referee their hyperactive competitions. They are nearly six years old, and four and a half. A constant delight, even when they are very active and mischievous.

A half hour after finishing supper, they were playing in their little playroom while I sat on the couch in the next room. Suddenly there was a loud explosion outside, down the hill below the house as well as I could judge. The lights went out immediately.

Much excitement and many question from the two children, the older burbling on about a “blackout” at her school a year ago. I determined in a few minutes, after locating the telephone in the dark house, that the power company was on the way, and that five houses total were without electricity.

For the next hour, the children were relatively inactive, unable to see their toys, or the TV, or anything else. We sat on the couch in the living room and talked. They asked many questions, and I answered, as best I could. Most of the questions concerned what I remembered as a little boy their age, and what I remembered of them “back when we were babies.” A matter of a few short years, by my scale of time, but eons for them.

In many ways, that hour was wonderful. The peripatetic children rarely hold long conversations, and the hour before bedtime last night I will remember for a very long time. The power was still out when their bedtime arrived, and I took them up the dark stairs to their respective bedrooms. They each insisted on open curtains and blinds in their rooms, since they had no night lights. No question of bedtime stories, since there was no light to allow reading.

But we had made our own stories for the past hour, and within minutes they were both asleep, not their usual routine. What a wonderful night. I am sure the power company fielded many impatient calls over the two hours of outage, but I had a wonderful time.

Highs and Lows

This weekend has been very busy, between a large and splendid event on the river, the annual Head of the Hooch regatta, and the overnight visitation of the grandchildren from Saturday mid-afternoon until late Sunday morning. I took many photos of the hundreds of boats and thousands of people on two beautiful days. I will store many images of two beautiful grandchildren in my mind’s memory core. It is getting harder to manage a camera whilst dealing with the peripatetic grandchildren, now complicated by Lucy the Wonder Dog. So much for the highs of the weekend.

The lows concern the endless and depressing coverage of the presidential race, with occasional sidebars on other national races. I have resolved that no more news broadcasts will trempt me to the television. Every exposure rots my brain a bit more, and numbs my sense of decency, long since past the outraged stage. I can’t even truly look forward to the end of the campaign, for then one of the two dim lights running will face problems that would daunt miracle workers, and we will have only a politician to guide us.

Pfui. Back to the grandchildren. They are smart as whips (why are whips smart? whatever the reason, the grandchildren fill the bill.) The little girl, fast approaching six years old, can write decent sentences, with a little spelling help. She can read simple stories, with an occasional flight of fanciful invention where the devices of the story are too tame for her. The grandson, almost four and one half, can recognize a number of words and construct shaky versions of them on paper. Both  are inventive and energetic finger paint prodigies, who can also draw recognizable pictures with various  media. All the while chattering, giggling and interrupting themselves to race around the room, wrestle and pounce on the compliant Lucy.

I am tired today, Barbara is more than tired, and had to work again tonight. She managed two flying visits to see the children before bedtime yesterday, and greeted them with pancakes this morning. She went to work his afternoon, and I had already visited the regatta for the second time. What joy. Fie upon politics, economics and other dismal sciences. Grandchildren Rule.

Putting on a Show

The other night I sat with the grandchildren for a few hours, at their house while their mother worked late. Babs had to work, so other than a phone call during which both grandchildren talked full-tilt, and their grandmother got only a word or two in, she missed all the other fun. Both children were wound up, capering and giggling and chasing each other around the house, to ineffectual efforts by their grandfather to contain their energy.

At last, the granddaughter came up with an idea that appealed to her brother and involved a considerable amount of preparation. The two would put on a “show” themed on Sleeping Beauty. My grandson actually acceded not only to the show, but to wearing a “costume” consisting of velour pants and his regular Incredible Hulk t-shirt. He was the Prince, of course. And the granddaughter was a vision in layers of gauzy skirt, multiple necklaces and a scarf. Sleeping Beauty would have been envious.

The grand entrance was announced from the hall doorway by the Prince who then galloped into the living room, followed by Sleeping Beauty, trilling wordless songs. After a few miscues by the Prince at the point when a dance was scripted, finally the two swirled around the living room, the Prince twirling Beauty, and kissing her hand at the end. Then they did the whole thing over again. And over. And over. I applauded each time with appropriate sounds of encouragement. At least they were not leaping from sofa to chair to floor, knocking over random pieces of furniture.

When I told Babs of what she had missed, and described the multiple re-starts, after the Prince kept flinging himself to the floor in fits of giggles, she was quite envious. We laughed. A lot.

Two great show business careers have been launched, I have no doubt.

Change I Can Believe In

Um, no, not that sort of political change, I speak of the miraculous changing of my grandchildren over their quite brief time on this earth.

Yesterday morning through midday today, we kept the little girl and boy, overnighting at Granny Babs’s house. We visited a superior toy store, getting a couple of presents for now, and ideas from the sources as to likely Christmas gifts. We took the children to the neighborhood playground, a favorite place of theirs. This morning we took them to Coolidge Park to run, watch for turtles surfacing in the river, and ride on the carousel. Finally, we all had lunch and returned them to their parents.

Each time we see them, the children become more and more small people of admirable complexity, with learning curves that are streaking for the stars. Last night, Granny Babs supervised finger painting on her front walk, with water-soluble paints. No fool, Granny Babs. The pictures were swirls of mixed colors, with a little representational fidelity, and a lot of creativity.

Today we are very tired grandparents. So tired, and I think the children were a little tired. But their recovery rate, like their learning curve, is far more accelerated than ours. Change. Yes, we need change, individually and collectively, and the youngest of our extended families effortlessly show us the change that really matters.

Joys of a Grandfather

This morning I went to church, as I usually do on Sunday, but to a later service. I like the first service of the day, at 8:00 a.m., a simple service lightly attended, with one lesson, no hymns and the Rite I liturgy of the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. Rite I preserves more of the Elizabethan flavor of the Anglican prayer books grounded in King Edward VI’s first BCP.

But today, for various reasons, I went at 10:30 a.m. to the full-bore, exuberant, music-filled Rite II service, packed as usual. As I rose to file up to the altar for communion, out of the corner of my eye small, waving hands caught my attention. There were my son, my daughter-in-law and my two grandchildren, Reese and Logan. The children were bouncing in the pew, waving and grinning at me. I waved and grinned back, attracting a few glances from those around me. Most of them were amused. For those who were unamused, I care not. Grandchildren rule.

I came back from communion up the side aisle closest to their seats, and the young family presently followed, my granddaughter demanding to be picked up. Of course, I did so. We left the nave, not even waiting for the final thanksgiving. I felt no guilt. Suffer the little children, and all that.

We visited for a while outside the church, as members of the congregation poured out, heading to other places. The children were invited to a child’s birthday party at…:shudder: Chucky Cheese. I have been to Chuckie Cheese. My son and daughter-in-law were similarly unexcited at the venue, but they are wonderful parents, the kind to suffer Chucky Cheese for their children’s sake. I went on to work out at the gym.

My day was shining brighter for such unexpected pleasure, and I am truly thankful.