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Summertime…..A Good Visitor

Posted on September 20, 2012 by susanrray

I’m not finished with summer.  I want more warm days to play in the swimming pool.  “Watch me, Gran!”  my oldest Grand says.  He runs the length of the diving board and jumps into deep water.  “Did you see me?”  he says as soon as his mouth breaks the water’s surface.  Of course.  I applaud and promise to watch as he dives underwater to pick up a toy that lies on the bottom of the pool, four feet deep.

“Swing me around, Gran.  Really fast,” says my five-year old Grand.  She adjusts her goggles, twists the water wings on her arms, and tightens her closed mouth.  I hold her hands and rotate in a circle, around and around and around.  When I say I’m dizzy, she says, “I’m not.  I’ll throw the ball and let’s see who gets it first.”  She dog paddles and holds the floating ball high in the air.  “Did you know I can swim really good on my back?” I watch as she lies on top of the water and kicks across the pool.

“Gran, hold me.  I don’t want to get my face wet.”  My three-year-old Grand locks her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.  As I walk into water deep enough to reach her chest, she tightens her grip.  I remind her that earlier in the summer, she put her face in the water and blew bubbles.  “I don’t want to.  You can,” she says as she buries her face in my shoulder because her big brother and sister splash water close to us.

It’s not just fun in the pool that I don’t want to end.  I’m not ready to give up late afternoon pontoon boat rides and sunsets at Center Hill Lake.  And I’ll miss my smallest bird friends.  A hummingbird feeder hangs outside my kitchen window, but now it’s time to take it down and encourage the hummers to head south.  I haven’t eaten all the locally grown watermelon and cantaloupe and yellow squash I want, and I need at least one more mess of fresh green beans.

I like hosta plants with green leaves, not wilted yellow and brown leaves.  My knockout roses are knocked out for this growing season, and the blooms of my red impatience flowers are drooping on the end of long thin stems.  I like long days with sunrise at 5:30 a.m. and sunset at 8:00 p.m.  Plus, I’m not ready to give up comfortable summer clothes – shorts, tee shirts, and flip-flops.

The backyard deck is my favorite summertime room.  It’s where I listen to the songs of night creatures and greet the day with my first cup of coffee and eat lunch with my Grands and read in the late afternoon and cook on the grill.

Just like a good guest, summer comes for a visit.  Then leaves while I’m still having fun and promises to come back.  I’ll be ready.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Family, Friends, Grandchildren | Tagged: , | Leave a comment »

How Girls are Wired

Posted on September 13, 2012 by susanrray

Last week I visited a kindergarten class.  Two little girls sat on the floor side-by-side and stacked blocks on each side of a balance weight scale.  I watched and asked them what they liked about school.  Millie answered quickly.  “I like my two best friends.  Lydia and Lora.”  She didn’t know their last names.  Lydia said, “I like my teacher.  She’s nice.  And my two best friends.  Millie and uh……..What’s her name?”  I laughed.  It’s good to know that some things about little girls haven’t changed since I was a child.

Young children are friends and don’t know each other’s last names.  And sometimes, just like Lydia, they don’t know first names.  And it hasn’t changed that girls have best friends.  Boys have friends, but seem to run in packs.  During the twenty-five years that I taught elementary age students, and more than that as the mother of a son, I’ve never known a boy who wrote BFF (best friends forever).

According to a study reported in TIME Science and conducted by researchers at the National Institute of Mental Health and Georgia State University, girls are hardwired to care about one-on-one relationships with their best friend forever, while the brains of boys are more attuned to group dynamics and competition with other boys. (http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1911103,00.html)

I was ten when my best friend’s family moved twenty miles away and my friend went to a different school.  I cried for three nights.  Who would I sit with at lunch?  Who’d swing with me on the playground?  And who’d ask me to spend the night?  On Friday, the girl who sat behind me in my 5th grade class wore her red shirt that was just like mine, and she went home with me after school.  And the next Friday night, I stayed all night at her house.

We females latch onto a friend and declare her my BBF.  In high school, a best friend loans her glittery sweater and keeps secrets.  As maid of honor, she stands beside us when we say, “I do.”  She babysits so we can get a haircut when our days are filled with dirty diapers and play dough.  She picks up our children at school when we’re sick.  She plans our surprise 40th birthday party.  She’s the first person we call with good news.  Or bad news.

Among a listing of Truths for Mature Humans I read, “I think part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history when you die.”  I agree.  And I hope she cleans my bathroom and throws away the molded casserole on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator before my relatives arrive.

As Millie and Lydia grow up, I predict that they’ll have many different best friends and they’ll know their names.  First and last names.  But the names aren’t important.  What’s important is that they have a close friend for each stage of their lives.  That’s just the way girls are wired.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Friends | Tagged: | Leave a comment »

TTU Purple Pride

Posted on September 6, 2012 by susanrray

I’m searching in my closet for purple and gold.  Purple shirt and purple sweater.  Gold scarf and gold eagle pin.   All to show my Tech Pride.

Last week when Husband told me that TTU football coach Watson Brown would speak at Business before Hours, hosted by the Chamber of Commerce, I wanted to go.  Because I was curious to hear about the player who transferred from the team that wears orange jerseys.  Coach Brown told how hard work and determination won the OVC last year and that this year’s team includes a senior quarterback, a group of freshman receivers, and a solid defense.  And I heard two phrases that I liked about the newest team member:  ‘there’s no I in team’ and ‘a second chance.’

I’m a long-time Tech sports fan.  I attended my very first football game at Tennessee Tech when I was a high school student.  As a Tech student, I missed very few games.  And I loved homecoming.  We girls wore wool suits, with skirts, high heel shoes, and corsages.  A corsage made with a huge yellow mum and purple ribbon.  I wasn’t a fair weather fan.  One homecoming, my brand new leather shoes, bought just the day before, were ruined by a torrential rain.  Homecoming 1969, when the temperature was below 30 degrees and snow fell, I was there to cheer on my team.

Tech Pride runs wide and deep in my family.  My dad, husband, son, brother, niece, nephew, and a host of in-laws all earned degrees from Tennessee Tech.  And at the beginning of every school year when I hung my Tech diploma on the wall behind my desk, (because my principal told us teachers that’s where our college diplomas belonged) I was proud.

I’m sorry to admit that my Tech Pride has waned for a time.  There’s no good excuse.  But last week my Tech spirit soared.  After hearing Coach Brown’s comments, I was eager to see the first game of the season.  And I was there, along with 10,000 other people.  It was a great night for Tech football.  Tents and tables welcomed tailgaters.  The student side of the stadium was filled.  Cheerleaders led the fans in cheers and did a push-up for every point the Tech team scored.  The band entertained at half time.

And the players won their first game of the season.  A team win.  The quarterback threw passes that both freshmen and veteran receivers caught.  When Tech’s lead went from 31-7 to 31-24 in the third quarter, Tech’s defense got tougher.  And the player who used to wear orange?  He looked good in purple as he caught passes, one for a touchdown.

My Tech Pride is revived.  I’m ready to put on my purple sweater and cheer on my football team this Thursday night at Tucker Stadium.  The tailgate park opens at 4:00 p.m.  Kickoff is at 7:00 and it’s Take a Kid to the Game Night.  A perfect outing with my Grands.  And they already have purple shirts.

Filed under: Everyday Life, sports | 4 Comments »

Fun with My Youngest Grand

Posted on August 30, 2012 by susanrray

Last summer my youngest Grand liked being swaddled in a blanket.  He ate and slept.  I changed his diaper and rocked him.  Then he ate and slept, ate and slept, just like most newborns.

This summer my Grand and I play.  We sit on the floor.  I toss a small plastic alphabet block into the air.  He runs under it, picks it up from the floor, and puts it in my hand.  I balance the block on his head.  He laughs and tilts his head back, trying to see the block.  I stack red and blue blocks.  One, two, three, four, five…he swipes his hand across the tower and the blocks tumble onto the floor.  He laughs.  “Heh, heh, heh, heh.”

My Grand chooses Machines at Work from the book basket.  He turns the pages faster than I can read.  “Bulldozer, backhoe, digger.  Ker-plop, the dirt falls to the ground,” I say.  He echoes, “KER PLOP, KER PLOP!”  Then he’s up and walking.

My Grand is constantly on the move.  If he wore a pedometer, I’d have proof that he surpasses 10,000 steps a day.  He circles the kitchen table.  Through the living room.  Around the coffee table.  Down the hallway.  Outside he mows the concrete patio with his toy lawnmower.  He pushes anything and everything, even a water play table, without the water.  He picks a geranium leaf and rubs it between his fingers.  And he bangs two landscaping rocks together.

It’s lunchtime.  I eat a chicken sandwich.  He has chicken, sweet potatoes, and kid-sized pasta.  I put small bites of all three on his high chair tray.  He picks out and eats he pasta, pushes the chicken and potatoes to the edges of his tray, and says “Mmmmmm,” meaning ‘More.’  Next time, I’ll offer pasta last.

As my little Grand sits facing me on my lap, I sing Pat A Cake.  He slaps his legs and in his own language sings along.  He stretches his arms high to ‘throw ‘em in the pan.’  His hand touches my nose.  I say “Bonk.”  He laughs and touches my nose again.  “Bonk!”  Again and again and again.  The game ends when he slaps instead of touching.

His momma and daddy wave good-bye and say, “We’ll be back in a little while.  You and Gran have fun.”  My Grand flings his body against the door and wails for three seconds.  I pick him up and hug him and gently kick a roll of red duct tape across the wood floor.  No more wailing.  My Grand runs to the rolling tape, picks it up, brings it to me, and then walks, as fast as his fourteen-month-old legs will move, back to the exact place where the tape stopped.  I roll.  He fetches.

My Grand and I play.  Just like grandchildren and grandmothers are suppose to.

Filed under: Family, Grandchildren | Tagged: , | Leave a comment »

Traveling with Lucille

Posted on August 23, 2012 by susanrray

Husband Allen and I made a road trip.  1290 miles, to and from Washington, DC, plus a few detours.  Some intentional, some not.  Just Allen, me, and Lucille.  Lucille was a helpful companion.  However, there were few breakdowns in communication, and we became frustrated with her.  Probably not as frustrated as she with us, yet Lucille never raised her voice.

Allen drove.  Lucille directed.  I tried to interpret Lucille’s directions or I stayed quiet.  (Many years ago, Mother told me that there are times when a wife can best help by being still and quiet.)  As we left Arlington National Cemetery, Lucille said that our hotel destination in Alexandria was 5.2 miles away.

Lucille:  On the round about, right turn at the second exit.  Three lanes of traffic swirled around a statue. “This one, right?”  Allen asked.  We’d just passed a street.  Did it say one way – no exit?  There wasn’t time to discuss if the upcoming street was the first or second exit.  We drove across the Arlington Memorial Bridge over the Potomac River and straight toward the Lincoln Memorial.

Lucille:  Keep right.  Continue on for four tenths of a mile then left turn.  A second crossing on the Arlington Bridge, in the opposite direction.  It was 6:00 p.m. Sunday.  Allen maneuvered our van across four lanes of traffic and made the turn.  Destination 7.4 miles.

Lucille: Slight left merge onto South Washington Boulevard.  Then an immediate right. “This left?”  Allen asked.  I agreed.  We were obviously on a side street.  Two cars, no tour buses.  Destination 8.6 miles.

Lucille:  In two tenths of a mile, left turn.  We passed the Imo Jima Memorial.  Allen had spotted it on a map before we left Arlington Cemetery and said that he’d like to see it, but we wouldn’t be driving close by.  I didn’t tell him that the memorial is impressive.  Destination 9.5 miles.

Lucille:  In one tenth of a mile, turn right.  We drove over heavy metal plates, the kind that’s used when a road is being repaired.  “This is no fun,” Allen said in short controlled syllables.  I agreed and said that Lucille would eventually get us to Alexandria.  “When?  Tomorrow?”  Allen asked as he turned the steering wheel.

Lucille:  Right turn ahead.  Then in eight tenths of a mile veer left onto George Washington Memorial Parkway.  Destination 9.1 miles.  At last, we were headed in the right direction.

Lucille:  Continue on George Washington Parkway.  “Which lane should we get in?”  Allen asked.  I waited for Lucille’s answer.  Surely she knew we were in the middle of five lanes of heavy traffic, traveling 70 miles per hour.  A few more turns, and finally, we heard the long-awaited announcement.

            Lucille: You have arrived at your destination.  I’m thankful Lucille traveled with us.  But she didn’t see the sights around the National Mall or the White House.  She rested inside our van in the hotel parking lot for a few days while Allen and I rode the Metro and the Hop On-Hop Off Trolley in our nation’s capital.  I don’t think Lucille would have liked the road construction detours or the one-way streets.

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Facebook – Not Just for the Young

Posted on August 23, 2012 by susanrray

“Really, you do Facebook?” a friend asked.  Really, I do.  But I was skeptical when I first heard about social networking websites.  I thought such things were created by and for young people, not those of us who are considered over the hill.  My introduction to an online social network was listening to three young teacher friends while we ate lunch together.

“Did you see my Facebook post last night?”  Julie asked.

“No, what’d it say?”  Ann asked.

“I saw it,” said Cindy.  She turned to Ann.  “ Julie wanted to know whether she should wear her new walking shoes or her old ones when we walk after school today.”

“I’d wear the new ones.  What’d you tell her?”  Ann asked.

After listening quietly, I had to speak up.  “Wait.  I don’t understand.  Why’d you ask something like that online?  Couldn’t you all just talk to each other?”  The three laughed.  They insisted they were talking to each other.  “Is that the kind of thing people put on Facebook?”  I said.  For the rest of lunchtime, they told me what their friends had recently written and described pictures that had been posted.  I shook my head.  Some of it sounded like an old-fashion party line gossip.  But I did want to see pictures of a friend’s new house.  That was about six years and ­­­530 friends ago.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by a few friend requests.  “Are you the Mrs. Ray who taught 4th grade in Sparta a long time ago?”  Von asked. He linked me to other friends who were my very first students.  Now I know about Abby’s children and grandchildren and Caroline’s success as an elementary school teacher.  Another former student is a stand-up comedian.  As a 6th grader, he shared a joke at the beginning of most school days, but he never learned the names of European countries.  I laugh every time Monty posts a picture of himself on stage at one of his shows.

I like that our daughter’s friends, girls who slept on our living room floor at slumber parties twenty years ago, let me peek into their lives.  And I’m glad that our son’s friends, now grown-ups and daddies, share pictures of their children.  Birthdays, anniversaries, and weddings – all are celebrated among FB friends.  Pleas for prayers for those who are ill circulate quickly.  Pictures of newborns, less than an hour old, announce births.

Skimming and scanning, I make my way through Facebook posts.  I’m hooked.  In fifteen minutes, I know what’s happening with friends and family who live near and far.  I skip past reposts and long quotes.  I read personal updates.  I marvel over pictures of sunsets, hummingbirds, and old barns.  I take virtual trips to Italy, the Great Smoky Mountains, and the beach.  And then I see the best pictures of all.  Pictures of my Grands.  So I linger, longer than fifteen minutes.

Yes, I do the online social networking thing.  And I’m pretty sure that the creators of Facebook never imagined how much this grandmother would appreciate their invention.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Family, Friends, Technology | Tagged: , | 1 Comment »

Three Little Words

Posted on August 23, 2012 by susanrray

Three little words.  When my two-year-old Grand shouts them, I punch my patience button.  Another three little words.  When my two-year-old Grand shouts them, I celebrate.

Ruth ran to the kid shoe basket that sits beside her family’s kitchen door.  Her mother had just announced, “Let’s go outside.  Everyone get shoes and jackets on.”  Ruth threw shoes onto the floor.  “Get your brown Crocs.  You can slip them on yourself,” said Mother.

“New pink shoes!”  Ruth said.  New pink shoes with Velcro straps across the top.

“Then you might need someone to help you,” Mother said as she took lightweight jackets off the coat rack.  My Grand’s older brother and sister quickly put on their slip-on shoes and their jackets and ran outside.  She sat in the floor holding her new pink shoes.

“Here, Ruth, let me help,” I offered.  I pulled a kitchen table chair close to her and sat down.

“My do it!”  she said.   Three little words.  I punched my patience button.  Her mother raised her eyebrows, nodded to me, and went outside, carrying Ruth’s jacket.  My Grand shoved her toes on her right foot into the left shoe.

“That shoe goes on your other foot,” I said.  She jerked the shoe off with such force that it flew over her head.

“My get it!”  With a shoe in each hand, she sat on the floor and placed her shoes directly in front of her feet.  “Like that?”  I agreed, like that.  One top strap on each shoe was loose.  Two other straps were fastened securely.

Ruth tried to shove her feet into her shoes.  Her brow wrinkled.  “If we loosen all the straps, it’ll be easier, “ I suggested.  If Ruth heard me, she ignored me.  I sat on my hands so I couldn’t pick up both shoes, loosen the Velcro straps, slip the shoes onto my Grand’s feet, and fasten the straps.  Her brother, sister, and mother were outside in the sunshine.

Ruth pushed and rocked her feet until she finally had both shoes on.  She stood, looked down, and wiggled her toes.  “This right?” she asked.  Yes, her shoes were on the right feet.  She bent over, from the waist, and fastened the loose Velcro straps.  She stood straight.  Hands open and stretched high over her head.  Feet apart.  Eyes twinkling.  “I DID IT!”  she shouted.  Another three little words.  Time to celebrate!  I lifted her onto my lap for a two-arm hug.

“Outside!”  Ruth ran straight to her mother.  “I DID IT!”  She looked at her feet.

Mother clapped her hands and hugged her daughter.  “Now, let’s put your jacket on.”  Mother held the jacket for Ruth to slip her arms into.

“My do it!”  Ruth said.  I watched as her mother laid the jacket on the ground and reminded her daughter to lie on top of it, slip her arms in the sleeves, and then stand up.  I reset my patience button.  I didn’t want to miss the next celebration.

My do it!  I DID IT!  My two-year old Grand shouts three little words.

Filed under: Family, Grandchildren | Tagged: , | 1 Comment »

Who’s the Tomato Queen?

Posted on August 23, 2012 by susanrray

June declared that her mother is the Queen of Tomatoes. I really don’t like to argue with friends, but June didn’t know my mother when she and Dad grew a huge vegetable garden.
Mom served tomatoes every meal. Sliced, with eggs and bacon for breakfast, on a BLT sandwich for lunch, and chopped in coleslaw or quartered for supper.
Mom canned tomato juice, whole tomatoes, and tomato soup with vegetables. No tomato – not even a green one – went to waste. At the end of the growing season, green tomatoes were sliced, coated with cornmeal and fried. Fried green tomatoes. Delicious. And if there were too many green tomatoes to fry before the first killing frost in the fall, Mom picked them from the vines. Then she wrapped them, individually, in a torn piece of old newspaper and laid them in a single layer on a cardboard tray. The green tomatoes were stored, with hopes that they would ripen, in the darkest corner of the basement. The unused coal bin. And when those tomatoes turned light pink or red, she cooked them in spaghetti sauce or with Salisbury steak.
June said that her mother, Nell, buys home grown tomatoes from neighbors. “Searching for, talking about, and preserving tomatoes all loom large in my mom’s life each summer. She would never consider serving a meal of fresh summer vegetables and hot cornbread without luscious, fresh tomatoes.” Nell handles each tomato with special care. Wrapped in tissue paper. “Each Christmas she collects used tissue paper –all colors – and cuts perfect squares. She gently wraps all tomatoes, one by one, and places them on small trays and stores them on the floor under her bed.” There an air vent provides the perfect storage temperature. Nell’s tomatoes go straight from under her bed to the dinner table. (And all these years I thought my kitchen counter was the perfect storage place for ripe tomatoes.)
At the end of the season, Nell buys whatever tomatoes she can find. Red and green and all shades in between. She even travels fifty miles from her home in South Pittsburg to Pikeville to buy the best green tomatoes around. She wants to serve homegrown tomatoes as long as possible. It’s a sad moment when she announces, “These are the last of the home grown tomatoes.”
Nell’s goal is to serve tomatoes for her family’s Thanksgiving dinner. If she can keep them until November, that accomplishment comes with bragging rights. June said, “Although we are thankful for the turkey and fixings, we always talk about and wonder how long those tomatoes stayed under Mom’s bed. My mom truly is the Queen of Tomatoes.”
Does Nell’s wrapping each homegrown tomato in squares of Christmas tissue paper and sleeping with tomatoes under her bed trump my mother’s growing and canning and storing tomatoes? Maybe. How about this? June’s mother is the reigning Tomato Queen and my mother was the former queen.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Family, Food | Tagged: , | 2 Comments »

Tomatoes – So Many Ways

Posted on August 15, 2012 by susanrray

I simply said, “I ate one of my favorite summer lunches today. Home grown tomatoes and cucumbers with cottage cheese.” You’d thought I’d violated a chiseled–in-stone code of ethics for eating summer’s reddest fruit. Didn’t I know that plain, with a little salt, is the best way to eat a tomato? That question made me curious so I asked a few friends, “What’s your favorite way to eat summer tomatoes?” Answers varied as much as the size and shape of garden tomatoes.
Janet likes the little ones, cherry tomatoes, like the kind she picked and ate while standing in her Grandpa’s garden. Jim wants a whole meal. “Peeled, sliced, and lightly salted tomatoes. With fried taters and cornbread, and a thin slice of Vidalia onion.” Linda’s choice is a grilled tomato. Rachel bakes tomatoes pies. Drew stuffs tomatoes with tuna salad. Karen goes German with a tomato and onion salad, topped with a vinegar and olive oil dressing.
Almost everyone told me to store tomatoes on the kitchen counter, never in the refrigerator. Except Leslie, she likes tomatoes, cold, peeled, and sliced. Kathy refused to be limited to one favorite way. She said, “I love a big thick slice of tomato on bread (I’m guessing soft, white sandwich bread) with mayo and bologna. I love tomatoes with meatloaf and green beans and new potatoes. I love tomato pie. I love tomatoes in a pasta salad with fresh basil. And more.”
And there are other sandwiches. My sister-in-law, Susan said, “I like a warm just-off-the-vine-tomato between a couple of slices of bread with just a bit of salt and mayo.” Angie choice is a cheese and tomato sandwich with Miracle Whip. Sara eats a BLT, heavy on the T. Allen makes a unique sandwich: peanut butter, Miracle Whip, tomato, lettuce and onion. Jane’s tomato sandwich is open-face sprinkled with mozzarella cheese and olive oil, with homegrown basil on the side,
Many think that a straight-off-the-vine tomato, eaten hand to mouth, is best. And maybe it’s because of our raising. Brenda said she did exactly what I did. “When I was a child, I’d pick a bright red tomato in the garden. And I’d stand right there beside the tomato plant and eat it and let the juice ran down my face and hands.” Now we slice or quarter a tomato, sprinkle it with salt, and use a fork.
As a kid, Tricia ate just-picked tomatoes like she’d eat an apple. “Now, that I know how to handle a knife, I go to the extra trouble to skin them, but I still love to stand at the sink (preferably without an audience) and go to town with the salt shaker, eating tomatoes until I get full or eat all of them.” Tricia added, “My favorite way is the most basic, humble, messy way there is.”
I agree that pulling a tomato from the vine and eating it like an apple is the best way to enjoy the its flavor. That’s a snack, not lunch. And since my neighbor Ozzie just delivered a few tomatoes picked from his garden twenty minutes ago, it’s snack time.

Next week: How to preserve garden tomatoes to serve for Thanksgiving dinner.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Food, Friends | Tagged: | Leave a comment »

Happy Birthday

Posted on August 9, 2012 by susanrray

I’ve never received so many birthday greetings. Or in so many different ways. More than six months ago, the government sent congratulations. An introductory paragraph stated, “Now that you are approaching …..” I stopped reading. I chose to not be reminded of the number that followed.
Every insurance company that offers Medicare A, B, C, D, and XYZ supplement programs mailed good wishes, or condolences, depending on my attitude the day I opened the mail. And then their representatives called. In their friendliest and most caring voices, each offered to stop by for a short visit, at my convenience, to discuss health care. I coined an official response “I’ve made my decision about health insurance for the rest of my life. It’s signed, sealed, and delivered.” That ended our budding relationships.
Finally, the end of July rolled around, and my birthday, with its looming number, could no longer be ignored. And, to be honest, I like celebrating birthdays, mine and everyone else’s. Thanks to the post office, Mark Zuckerberg, Ray Tomlinson, and Alexander Graham Bell, good wishes arrived. In my mailbox, on Facebook, through email, and over the phone.
A really good friend, mailed a card that read, “I know it’s your birthday, but I’ve forgotten your age!” Bless her heart. Wish I could. A Facebook post that read, “Happy Birthday to a sweet young lady that I had at 4-H camp for many years,” took me back to bunk beds, horseback riding, and jumping off a high dive. And I liked the e-card with the dancing bear that sang, “Each year is just a number. Count the friendships you hold in your heart.”
I got birthday wishes from my Grands. One-year-old Grand, 1300 miles away, giggled and kissed his computer screen. When I said, “Let’s pat a cake,” he clapped his hands. So I sat on my couch at my house, and he sat on his daddy’s lap at his house, and together we patted and rolled and threw tiny imaginary cakes. As we said good-bye, I caught all my Grand’s birthday waves and kisses. Thanks goodness for video chats.
After eating birthday cake at my Grands’ house that’s across town, my seven-year-old Grand announced, “Gran, we have a surprise for you.”
“It’s outside. Don’t come out yet,” his younger sister  said. My Grands ran back and forth from the outside picnic table to inside their house. They rummaged through their school supplies. “Don’t let Gran come outside!” they screamed.
Finally, I was invited to unveil the surprise. Two bath towels covered the picnic table and my present. Garden stepping stones. One made by, or for, each Grand. With handprints, names and ages. And decorated, kid-style, with colorful stones. Treasured gifts! “Look up, Gran! There’s your card.” A blue paper waved from a tree. Four-inch tall green letters had been scribbled from one side of the paper to the other, “Happy Birthday, Gran!” No numbers. No reminder of age. No “Now that you are approaching……” Just a piece of construction paper taped to a tree limb. A keepsake birthday card.

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