Susan Writes

I promised myself to be mindful of Heart Tugs, the times when heartstrings tighten.  To appreciate happy moments and imprint them in my head and heart.  To make notes so I’ll remember.  I’ve shared Heart Tugs previously, and during this time of upheaval when life isn’t normal, I cherish these moments even more. 

            When all eight Grands were here together in January, they wanted tradition.  (For children, a tradition begins when we do something they like one time.)  “When are we going to the gym and playground?” they asked.  At our church gym, eight-year-old Daniel followed his big cousin, Samuel, who is six years older. Did Samuel realize that Daniel tried to dribble a basketball exactly like he did?  That Daniel stood right beside him and looked up to him?  

            At Heart of the City Playground, five Grands, ages 4-8, played Follow the Leader.  The two eight-year-olds took turns being the leader and the last person in line because, as Lucy told Daniel, “So the little ones will stay between us.” 

            Charlotte, age 4, held Elsie’s hand.  “Gran! Did you know my favorite cousin is Elsie?” Elsie, age 12, smiled and swung hands with her little cousin. While taking a bath, Charlotte hid under a thick layer of bubbles with only her face showing.  “I love bubbles! I love bubbles!” she shouted.  That same exuberance ensured that I’ll continue making dried apple stack cakes.  Charlotte chewed her first bite of cake slowly, leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and then sat up quickly and said, “I love apple cake!”

            A balloon, blown up and tied with a knot, was Henry’s favorite toy for two days.  It was a ball to throw and kick and bat. A pillow to lay his head on.  When it began to lose air, my six-year-old Grand squeezed his balloon until it was flat.  With ceremony, Henry held the deflated balloon over a trashcan and announced, “Well, that was fun! Good-bye balloon!”

            On a cold February day, ten-year-old Annabel and I sat side by side during a journal writing time.  It occurred to me that my Grand was writing on the handmade harvest table that my great-grandparents ate meals on.  That my mother used in her basement for canning beans and soup.  That I use to lay fabric on to make pajama pants for Grands.  And now, Annabel is writing on it.  I held my pen still and looked at Annabel, who said, “Gran, what are you doing? You said to keep writing non-stop for ten minutes.”

            “I’m writing,” I said.  And I wrote, ‘I’m sitting on an old ladder back chair that came from Granny’s house and writing on a table that belonged to her parents, David and Elizabeth Rich.  What a blessing.  Annabel sits beside me.  This table belonged to her great-great-great grandparents and the chairs were her great-great grandmother’s.  A tranquil moment.  Burn it in my heart, my memories.’             Heart Tugs.  I’m catching all I can.

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