1. Having lunch with our grandtwins at their new school for this year.
2. Slightly cooler mornings and evenings here in Savannah (in the 70’s), making our walks much more doable.
3. An alternative definition of “Pro-Life.”
On the bulletin board at our local health food store.
4. Reverent Dusk.
The spires of the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist near us on our evening walk last night.
5. Having Tybee Island (Savannah’s beach) just down the road from us.
I hope your weekend is filled with treasures.
Being silly with grandson Gabriel back in 2010 when we were shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
Gabriel today …
One of the joys of being a grandparent is that you can just do absolutely crazy things and get away with it.
Today was granddaughter Isabelle‘s first day of pre-K.
Isabelle’s expression … “I’m not so sure about this school thing.“
A great first day of school! So much to learn. So much to do.
So last night I was scrolling though my 25,557 photos (seriously?!) in the “Recents” section of my iPhone. (Recent?!)
And l came across a short series of silly pictures.
It all started when I was grandtwin-sitting Matthew and Madison. (Circa 2013. They were about one at the time.)
They seemed a little bored. Staring out the window, obviously looking for greener pastures.
I really knew something had gone awry when Matthew started chewing on my shoe strings.
So I came up with a solution to the babysitting challenge. And I’m sure you probably do this too: when all else fails, sit the little ones in containers. Yes? I thought so.
I decided that I would join the fun … until I realized i couldn’t.
Matthew: “Let’s just look out that window again.”
The twins today and their end-of-the-year school awards ceremony …
Youngest granddaughter Isabelle’s 4th bday party today, featuring Mirabelle from Encanto.
Isabelle being presented with a plaque declaring her an honorary candle protector. (Have you seen the movie?)
On Isabelle’s 4th (and many more to follow):
“May she be happy. May she be healthy. May she be safe. May she be at peace and live her live with ease.”
Happy Birthday, Isabelle!
Grandson Daniel, who you may remember just finished a run as Joseph in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” here in Savannah, is at a three-week drama camp.
I have been sending him silly cards of encouragement. Here is my latest. In order to understand it, you must know that the family dog is named Coastal. (We live in Savannah, next to the Atlantic Ocean, and my daughter’s medical company is called Coastal Care Partners.)
Puppy dog Coastal …
And here’s the card …
1. HR coming down some stairs at the Gibbes Museum of Art in Charleston.
2. Always having enough food to eat.
3. Grandson Daniel on closing night of a three-week run as Joseph in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” here in Savannah. Robert and I gave him a poster listing all the colors in his coat (from lyrics in one of the songs)
4. Excitement about the wonderful possibility of very soon here in Georgia having the nation’s first black female governor. But more important than that incredible first, having the indisputable best candidate win back Georgia for the good of our state.
[A not-so-happy sidenote: Yesterday someone keyed the side of our car near the Abrams’ decal. The battle for Georgia’s soul is not pretty.]
5. The joyful beauty of looking up.
Hope you see a beautiful weekend ahead.
Here’s a post from a decade ago dealing with the death of my father-in-law and my young grandson Daniel’s struggle to understand.
My father-in-law passed away earlier this week. Death, of course, is difficult for anyone to cope with, but perhaps especially so for young children. Because they are still so close to birth, little beings of the morning, and because their life experience has been with newness and fresh discovery, with joy and giggles, death must seem unfathomable, foreign, outside of understanding.
But like most kids, my four-year-old grandson Daniel likes to understand: “Abu, why can’t I sit on top of your car? I could see a whole lot better.” “Abu, my teacher won’t let me bring my sword to school and fight like the blue Power Ranger. Why not?” “Why can’t I say potty words?” “Why do we have to wear clothes when it’s hot?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?”
When his parents arrived at the funeral home north of Atlanta the other evening, they told me that Daniel had, as usual, been plying them with questions about the current subject which went beyond his grasp–his great-grandfather’s death. “But if Papa is in heaven, why will everyone be sad?” “Where IS Papa?”
I played with Daniel and his little brother Gabriel in the large kitchen area of the funeral home, where friends had brought mounds of food. Their mom and dad, Amy and Orte, walked through large white windowed doors and down a narrow hall that eventually led to a sitting room where the family received guests who came to pay their respect and offer condolences. Papa looked pre-cancerous in a striking gray suit, snow-white shirt, and brown and gray tie patterned with tiny crosses. He had been a Methodist minister in the North Georgia Conference. A large United States flag, achingly resplendent in red, white and blue liveliness, lay across the unopened lower half of the coffin. Papa was retired Air Force.
Every few minutes, Daniel ran over to tiptoe and peer through the windows of the white doors, gazing down that long hallway which twisted and turned but allowed no view of Papa. “Where are Mama and Daddy? I want to go too.” A few minutes later: “Why can’t I go in?” “Is Papa in there? Where?” “Let’s go in there, Abu.”
A while later, when we were eating lasagna in the kitchen, Daniel was still asking, asking. I made a decision, a decision you may not have made. I asked Daniel’s mom and dad if I could take him in to see Papa. They agreed, mainly (I think) because they trust me, and they know how much I love D.
I picked Daniel up and asked him if he knew what had happened to Papa. “He died,” came the quick answer. I told him that yes Papa had died. “And he’s in heaven,” Daniel added. His confusion centered on who or what was down that hall that everyone kept traversing. He wanted understanding, answers. He wanted to walk down that hall.
So we did.
The kitchen had been noisy with visitors loudly talking, eating, reminiscing, and occasionally laughing at the past. Its tiled floor amplified the clicks of my boot heels as we walked, Daniel in my arms, toward those doors, dividing doors which in my grandson’s mind led to answers. As we passed through them, my heels, like everything and everyone on that other side, grew quieter on the deep carpet.
We entered the viewing room, and walked past adults talking in hushed tones. Daniel kissed his Nana (Donna is the oldest of the four daughters of Papa), then his Great-Grandma, who sat regally next to the coffin. But his eyes were looking, searching.
Not expecting Papa to be lying down (why didn’t I think to tell him that detail?), Daniel finally found his great-grandfather.
He looked for a while, and finally asked quietly (Daniel doesn’t usually do “quiet” very well), “Is Papa sleeping?”
“No, not really sleeping. He died, remember?”
We stood there for about a minute, Daniel growing heavy in my arms.
“Are you ready to go, baby?”
Other folks waited patiently for their turn behind us. Daniel started to lean over toward the coffin, paused and looked at me for permission (and like “quiet,” D doesn’t always do “permission” well). I nodded, and Daniel touched the white satin edges of the liner and then Papa’s right arm.
Giggling just a bit, Daniel said, “It tickles.” I smiled.
“You ready now?”
We walked back through the hall, toward the kitchen. When we got to the doors, I saw through the windows my daughter Amy and Orte, waiting. I put Daniel down, and he pushed open the door. His dad asked him, “Are you okay, Daniel?”
But he was already off, running on the noisy tile, chasing his little brother. Doing “loud” once again.