Visiting Texas, I’m very aware of the difference in land and plants from my home in Virginia. We hiked today through Mother Neff State Park. I wondered who Mother Neff was and how the park got its name. Perhaps I’ll research that another time. However, since it is late, here is a six-word-memoir for today.
Change of landscape lifts my soul.
So
Many
Memories
Returning today
As we make bread dough
Cup by cup with water
Yeast, flour, sugar, salt, and oil.
Soon our senses will burst with smells
And tastes of homemade goodness and love.
Maggie loves to draw, paint, and color just like many Kindergarteners do. I wanted to encourage her so I brought her a sketchbook when I came to visit. This morning, she had her sketchbook and pencil all ready for our outing to the zoo. This was totally her decision. I thought, “I wonder if she will really use it today.”
I was delighted when she stopped to draw the cougar, the monkey with the baby on its back, and the turtle swimming in the aquarium. She was serious and working hard to draw what she saw. I hope that she will not lose confidence in her drawing and will continue to work at observing and noticing.
Tonight I told her about my friend who started keeping notebooks at a young age and now has 89 notebooks. Maggie’s eyes got big. Perhaps she’s starting to identify with being someone who writes and draws in a notebook. I couldn’t be more pleased.
My love affair with my granddaughter, Maggie, who is almost 6, is real and unexplainable. Maybe it is that she is the first baby of my last baby. Maybe it’s that I adore the name, Maggie. Maybe it’s that she is exuberant about life and makes me laugh. Maybe it’s that she talks so fast she can barely breathe and can always think of a fun game to play. Or maybe it’s that we have grown our relationship this past year with talking bitmojis, FaceTime, cards, and letters.
Those of you who know me, know that I am not a morning person. However, today I got up at 4:30 a.m. so I could be on a 7:00 a.m. flight to Texas to see Maggie, Johnny, and their new baby sister, Molly. (Are you also thinking of the e.e. cummings poem “maggie and milly and molly and may?” For your enjoyment, you can read it here.)
After a quick lunch at the local “Whataburger,” we drove to the Whistle Stop playground in Temple, Texas and played hide-and-seek. I pushed the kids on the swings until I thought my arms would fall off. It was a glorious, sunshiny day to be outside. A really, really long train rumbled past which gave some credence to the name of the park.
May I tell you how Maggie won my heart today? Well, there are a number of ways. She is starting to read. She knew th is called a digraph. She gave up her room for me to sleep in and left a love note on my pillow. And so sweetly, during the blessing on the food at dinner, she gently rested her head on my arm. What more could a grandma ask for?
“Do you want to see what I made?” Evelyn asked.
“Sure!”
She opened her red and white striped canvas tote. Gently, she lifted a bright array of colors, prints, rickrack, and ribbons. It was a riot of color and joy. You see, my sister has always loved to sew. It is her love language, I believe. She expresses herself in fabric, the way others might on an instrument or page. She touches fabric the way a mother strokes her baby. She can envision what it might become.
Evelyn had made 3 little sundresses for my new granddaughter, Molly. I’m leaving to visit them tomorrow, and Evelyn wanted me to bring her gift with me. I could cry when I think about the time she spent, the creativity she unleashed, and the pure delight these summer dresses will bring. They are perfect for hot summer days in Waco, Texas. She even gave me extra ribbon for Maggie, Molly’s older sister, to wear in her hair.
Tomorrow, I’ll be writing from Texas, which just might feel like heaven.
I’ve been reading Kristin Hannah’s new book The Four Winds. It is set during the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl years in the Texas panhandle. The main character, Elsa Martinelli, is a strong, determined woman who labors fiercely in order to provide for her children. A bleak landscape and lack of employment cause great suffering. It makes me realize that while we have faced our own hardships with COVID19, my family has been fortunate to have food, clothing, employment, and the things we need. I am grateful indeed.
Inspired by the tireless work ethic of Elsa Martinelli, I decided to attack my kitchen floor as if the Dust Bowl had been through town. The “lick and a promise” I have afforded that floor in recent months would make my mother turn over in her grave. I confess it has been a while since I cared much about housework. No one is coming over, right?
As I gathered my supplies, a memory kept flashing across my mind of my mother on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. Back then, a good scrubbing was followed with a coat of wax. My mom knelt on a folded bathmat to protect her knees. I saw myself as I used to see her. I wondered why I never offered to help or do it for her. (She probably wouldn’t have let me.) I remember her saying that if you wanted the floor to really be clean, you had to get down on all fours.
So with Mr. Bronner’s Pure Castile Soap, a bucket, a brush, a sponge, and several cloths, I got down on my hands and knees and started scrubbing. First, I put extra soap and water all along the grimy edges where the floor met the wood moldings. I let that sit for a few minutes. Then I began the attack. I scoured that seam with a vengeance. An old toothbrush helped. Then I scrubbed a row of tiles with the sponge, followed by a wipe down with clean water and a wet cloth. Then I dried the floor with another clean cloth. I repeated this process for the next hour as I moved the trashcan, chairs, and recycling bin out of the way taking care not to bump my head under the table. Man, I worked up a sweat!
Somehow, when it was all done, I felt my mother closer. Maybe she was even a little bit proud.
I learned this morning that my oldest son’s best childhood friend passed away. I don’t know any details, but I don’t really need to. It’s a tragedy no matter what the cause. Only 42. The boys met in Kindergarten and became fast friends all the way through high school. Always welcome at each other’s houses. Always hungry. Always laughing, wrestling, listening to music.
I’ve been sad all day. I considered not writing, but I know writing helps. I’m sad my son lost a part of his childhood. I’m so sad for our friend’s parents. I think that is the part that I am carrying today. How do people go on when they have lost a child? One breath at a time.
It’s late. Be safe. Sleep well. All my love.
In September, I started teaching my granddaughter to read over Zoom. It’s one of the blessings of being retired. I have the time to build a relationship with Alice that I missed with her older siblings all the years I was working full-time at school. Alice has come a long way from not knowing all her letters and sounds to this week’s lessons using -nk.
-ank. bank. ank.
-ink. pink. ink.
-onk. honk. onk.
-unk. junk. unk.
Some of you may recognize this drill for teaching students word parts. Alice and I have been working with this pattern. She was ready to give it a try in a book called Stink Bugs.
We were reading along and Alice was decoding very well. She decoded rostrums which was pretty impressive. Did you know that a stink bug has a rostrum which is like a long straw for a mouth? It can stick its rostrum into berries and flowers to drink. When not eating, it tucks the rostrum under its belly between its legs. Pretty handy.
Next we read about the life cycle of the stink bug. The pictures were vivid. I was having a great time learning about stink bugs (which have migrated to Virginia only recently). Alice clearly wasn’t having as much fun.
“Excuse me, Grandma. I don’t mean to be rude, but why are we reading THIS book?” She was so earnest. I had to chuckle a little as I explained that we were reading it to practice -nk words. Then I mentioned that it’s good to read nonfiction because we can learn cool stuff. “But Grandma, stink bugs are gross and icky!”
What do you think?
Feeling somewhat depleted, I absent-mindedly scrolled through Facebook for the umpteenth time. I stopped when I saw that my granddaughter’s kindergarten teacher had posted a new photo. I always love seeing Maggie no matter the setting. Today’s picture was celebrating “Colorful Day.” Mrs. S. is a young teacher in her second year of her career. I have been so impressed with how she has navigated this school year so that Maggie is happy and having a great introduction to school.
I touched the picture and spread my fingers to get a closer look. Where was my Maggie in this crowd of kindergarteners? “Ah, there she is!” I thought and smiled.
Then, imagine my delight when I could see that Maggie was holding hands with her friend, Kenzie. Is there anything more heartening than kindergarten friendships? It just made me so happy. For a moment, I wasn’t afraid she would get sick, or that she was breaking a rule. For a moment, I saw only kindergarten love.
I had finished teaching on this blustery first day of March. I knew chores and bill paying awaited me at home. Considering the time, I texted my daughter to see if she was at home. She was.”Yes!” I said to myself.
My daughter’s apartment is on my way home from teaching. I was there in 2 minutes. As I walked up the steps, my heart felt light. I didn’t mind the wind or cold.
When I opened the door, I smelled the delicious aroma of homemade minestrone soup. We greeted and she handed me her Peter, now 5 weeks old. I sat down in the rocker. He fussed a little, but then he settled into my arms. He held my finger and was soon asleep. I couldn’t help but stare at his eyelashes, his little hands, his soft cheeks. We rocked, and I chatted with my daughter. I waited until he gave up a big sigh, knowing that I could hand him back without waking him.
Every now and then, it feels good to know that you can still give what a baby needs, and by that, receive what you need. It was exactly what I needed today. Thirty minutes of Peter.
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