Grandchildren | Susan Writes

To My Youngest Grand

Posted on June 30, 2013 by susanrray

Dear Neil,

I blew a kiss. Did you catch it? Your mother’s holding you tightly. You’re wearing the little blue outfit that you wore home from the hospital. You’re only two weeks old – a newborn. And Pop’s and my sixth grandchild. You are perfect!

Pop and I see you on our computer. Your clinched fists, your squinted eyes, your wrists and ankles with tiny creases, your black, short, straight hair. Do you look like your big brother? A bit. Same cute nose and round face.

Real soon I get to hold you. Hug you. Kiss you. Rock you. Read to you. And even change a diaper or two. Seeing you through the magic of video talk is better than hearing your parents describe you over the telephone, but I need to hold you in my arms. Watch you stretch your fists high over your head as you awaken. Smack your lips when you are hungry. Cross your legs under your bottom when you sleep. I even want to hear you cry. Your way of saying, “Help me!” and I must figure out what you need.

I wonder if the experts are right. They say that newborns can focus best at 8 -12 inches and that people’s faces are your favorite things to see. Colors are difficult for you to distinguish; simple black and white pictures are best. So I’ll get close when I talk to you, and I’ll draw black and white stick-person pictures to hang in your room.

You hear well. And you most like to hear people talk to you. Especially when the sounds you make are repeated. That’s why we grandparents babble so. We’re speaking your language. And you like everyday sounds. When your two-year-old brother squeals and sings as he plays with balls and cars, you must be happy. According to experts, you like to be touched – you know that you’re loved and cared for when you’re held and hugged and kissed. I didn’t need an expert to tell me that!

Someone actually did a sweet and sour taste test to see which flavor newborns prefer. Of course, you’d choose sugar water over lemon-flavored water. When you’re a little older, I’ll feed you ice cream instead of sour apple popsicles. Your sense of smell is developed enough that you turn away from unpleasant odors. I’m sure you like the smell of your mother’s chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.

Neil, you’ll be a newborn for such a short time. One day you’ll lie on the floor, kick your legs, and turn over. And later you’ll get up on your hands and knees, rock back and forth, move a few inches, and crawl. And by this time next year, you’ll be walking!

But for now, you are content to have your belly full, be warm, and sleep. I can hardly wait to swaddle you in a blanket and cradle you in my arms. As a friend said, “There’s nothing as sweet as holding a newborn. They wad up in your arms. Just a little bundle of love.”

Love you forever,

Gran

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

The Whole Story

Posted on June 20, 2013 by susanrray

“Gran, remember when I jumped across the creek? You were scared!” my eight-year-old Grand said as we stood on the bank of the creek in my back yard.

“Yes, I remember. But I wasn’t exactly scared,” I said.

“You thought I’d fall!” David said. His next question cut me to the quick. “Did you ever write about it? That’s when I was 5.”

One cool, early spring morning David and I had played and worked outside. Kicked a ball. Blew bubbles. Picked up sticks. Threw rocks and leaves into the creek. The creek was about three feet wide and the foot-deep water flowed swiftly over rocks, carrying leaves out of sight. We stood on the 4’ bank and wondered why one side of the bank was high and the other just a few inches above water level.

Suddenly, my Grand bent his legs and sprang across the creek. Jumped high to low and landed on stable ground. His grinned and looked at me as if to gauge my reaction. “I didn’t expect you to jump!” I said. “Can you jump back?” He leaned forward and stretched his arms toward me. The bank where I stood morphed into a mountain. The creek became a river.

David pushed the legs of his jeans up to his knees, took off his shoes and socks, and stepped into the water. “That’s cold!” He jerked his foot out. “What if my clothes get wet?” Fine with me, but I didn’t have dry clothes for him. My Grand put on his socks and shoes and walked along the creek edge, presumably searching for a narrow place where he could jump. He swirled the water with a stick. And then he saw a log across the water. A 12” wide uprooted tree that connected banks about eight feet apart and four feet over the rocky-bottomed creek. “I’ll walk across!” he announced.

I expected to deal with wet clothes, but I didn’t want to call my Grand’s mother to report a broken arm. “How about you sit on the log – like riding a horse – and scoot?” I said in my sternest grandmother voice. David wiggled across the fallen tree and leaned sideways faking a fall, just to make me catch my breath. He laughed. I hugged him and he immediately turned away from me and crawled back across the log. “I’m going to walk next time. Take my picture!” I smiled, hoping to hide my concern. I snapped his picture as he stood in the middle of the log. It would be proof that the log really was wide enough to walk when I showed it to his mother in the emergency room.

“Come on, Gran! Walk with me!” David said. He pranced across the log a few more times while I stay planted to the ground, and when I said that it was time to get off the log, he didn’t argue. Later that morning as we he’d kicked a soccer ball around the yard, he’d asked, “Are you going to tell Momma what I did?”

So now, David, your momma knows the whole story. Not just that you scooted across a log over the creek.

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

Sweet Strawberry

Posted on May 15, 2013 by susanrray

Our mission is to pick strawberries. Daughter wants two or three gallons. A couple of gallons for me. We have lots of help. Her children, my Grands, are experienced berry pickers. We travel across the county line into White County to our favorite strawberry patch, and we’ll know we’re there when we see the little red barn – actually a shed.

A big shaggy dog lies in front of the closed shed door, and a hand-written, cardboard sign announces, “CLOSED.” White buckets are stacked on a table. “Let me check this out. Maybe we can pick anyway,” Daughter says as she steps out of the van. Penciled directions on notebook paper reads ‘Help yourself to picking. A bucket holds a gallon. $9 a gallon. Leave your money in the cookie jar.’

My two-year-old Grand sits, like an overseer, in her stroller amid the rows of strawberry plants while Daughter picks berries close to her. Every plant boasts berries—a few are red. Many more are small and green. “Come this way, Gran,” 8 year-old David tells me. “There’s a lot here!” He swings a bucket, holding a few red berries, as he tromps past. Fifteen minutes later, his bucket is almost full.

Lou, age six, frolics in the wide space between two rows of plants. “There’s strawberries everywhere!” she says. She checks out each of them, some she picks and puts in her bucket. “Look at these beautiful flowers. Are they weeds?” She breaks a stem with miniature daisy-like blossoms. Four-year old Ruth stays close to her mother and chooses the reddest berries to fill her bucket. When her little sister squirms, Ruth rushes to her. “Here, Elaine, do you want a strawberry?” Ruth blows on the berry before giving it to her sister. Elaine’s first bite sends red juice down both her arms. Using a stick, Ruth draws lines and circles in the damp dirt beside her little sister’s stroller.

With one bucket full of berries and another half full, I call for David, who’s starring at a large strawberry he’s clutching, to help me. “Not right now. I’m waiting for him to take a bite,” he says. A bite? Who? “There’s a tiny little ant on this berry. Do ants eat strawberries?” Ruth left her post beside her little sister. “Look, Gran,” she calls to me. “I found three.” Assuming that she’s holding three strawberries, I hold my bucket toward her. “Three ladybugs!” she announces and cradles them in her cupped hands. A bucket of berries is spilled and picked up. A few soft, mushy ones are thrown. Shoes stick in the mud.

Daughter gathers all the troops and suggests if everyone finds just ten more bright red berries, we’ll be finished. So in less than an hour, after putting money in the cookie jar, we leave the strawberry patch with five gallons of berries.

Mission accomplished. And so much more. Experiences and lessons. About trust and honesty and sharing and working together. Some weeds have pretty flowers. Ants eat almost everything. Ladybugs hide under leaves. All that makes the strawberries on my Cheerios taste even sweeter.

###

Filed under: Food, Grandchildren | Tagged: food, Grandchildren, strawberries | 2 Comments »

From Sweatshirts to Tee Shirts

Posted on May 2, 2013 by susanrray

Good-bye, fleece pants and sweatshirts. Hello, shorts and tee shirts. It’s that time. Time to fill dresser drawers with summer clothes. So I asked Daughter in a text, “Can I help with changing out clothes?” She immediately replied, “Sure!”

Stacks of pass-‘em-down summer clothes, sorted by sizes, were piled on the girls’ bedroom floor. My three granddaughters, ages 6, 4, and almost 2, jumped over the stacks. “Let me have Elaine,” I said. I claimed a corner and sat on a bed where I hoped to keep my constant-moving young Grand corralled.

“These are the size 2’s, but some are big and some are little. Just slip them on her and you can tell,” Daughter told me. Elaine held her arms high over her head and lifted her chin as I took off her long sleeve shirt. She willingly pushed her hand through a white, short-sleeve tee shirt with a pink flower on the front. “Perfect!” I said and stripped it off, over her head.

While I put that shirt in the ‘keep pile’ and reached for another, my Grand toddled away and grabbed a pencil in one hand and a Lego piece in the other. She’s always liked to hold things, and I knew she’d be happier clutching something, but there was no way that I was willing to navigate a pencil through shirt sleeves. Using my greatest negotiating ability, I convinced Elaine to swap her long pencil for a pencil eraser. I maneuvered her closed fists through the next shirt and the next and the next. One was too short. One too tight. One was just right. It was time for me to eyeball ‘just right.’ I stood Elaine on the floor between my knees and laid shirts across her shoulders and guessed ‘just right.’ “Try some of these size 3’s and here’s some shorts,” Daughter said.

“Okay, Elaine, let’s try on shorts,” I said. I put my hands under her arms to lift her onto my lap. She slithered to the floor. How does a kid know how to do that? She stretched her arms, flat against her ears, straight above her head and slid. She lay limp. In a ball.

I sang a silly made-up song, “Let’s try on some shorts. Let’s try on some shorts. Elaine, Elaine. Try on shorts.” My Grand responded with a smile. She only had to try on two pairs for me to determine which of the others would stay up and were the right length. I continued to sing silly songs, and I bounced her on my knees.

“Here’s a couple of dresses to try,” Daughter said. By now, Elaine wanted to escape. She ran from our try-on corner to a baby doll bed. I coaxed her back and quickly pulled a dress down over her head as she squirmed and wiggled. It fit. I lifted the dress off and Elaine again slithered to the floor. Dressed only in her diaper, my Grand lay on her tummy. Thumb in mouth.

I knew just how she felt.

Filed under: Clothes, Grandchildren | Tagged: clothes, Grandchildren, thumb in mouth, toddler | Leave a comment »

Out to Lunch

Posted on February 28, 2013 by susanrray

I should have known that taking four young children, ages 7, 5, 3 and 1, out to lunch would guarantee surprises. It was Thursday – the day that our Grands often eat lunch with Husband and me. Husband had invited me to join him at his workplace for a fund-raiser luncheon and because I was sure that the employees at his office would want to see our Grands who live in town, I invited them to go with me. “Are you sure? I’d planned to keep Elaine (1 year old) with me,” my daughter said.

I was sure. “Oh, we’ll be fine. It’s just for thirty or forty minutes. The people that your dad’s office haven’t seen Elaine,” I said. And, I thought, Elaine is easy. She often consoles herself with her thumb, and when I took her on a previous outing, she’d calmly laid her head on my shoulder.

Before we went in the insurance agency where Husband works, I told my Grands, “They’ll have soup and salad. Choose something. Even if it’s not your favorite. There’ll be crackers you can eat. I’ve brought mac and cheese for Lucy and you can eat some when we get home if you’re still hungry.”

Each Grand chose soup: tomato, chili, chicken noodle. And they loaded small plates with crackers. With several people’s help, all who commented on our well behaved and cute grandchildren, we carried food and drinks into the conference room that had been transformed into a dining room. I seated our three-year-old Grand beside me and held Elaine in my lap. The two older Grands sat across the table. And we began to eat, along with the other thirty or so people in the room. All adults. My Grands’ behavior matched theirs.

I opened the plastic container of mac and cheese and offered Elaine a bite on a spoon. She grabbed the spoon from my hand, dumped the yellow-orange pasta on my pants, and slung the spoon onto the floor. When I bent to pick it up, Elaine grabbed the paper tablecloth and ripped it. Not a problem. No spills.

I put a few bites of food on a paper plate and encouraged Elaine to eat with her hands. She suddenly grabbed a handful of macaroni in each hand, stood on my lap, threw the food onto the floor, sat down, and clutched the tablecloth with both hands. Before I could pry open her hands, she stood and arched her back against me. My bowl of soup and several drinks spilled. Our other Grands held onto their soup bowls and stared wide-eyed. Somehow I settled Elaine onto my lap, and then she squealed. A sound that could mean pain or anger or fright or frustration.

Elaine’s seven-year-old brother leaned across the table toward me and said, “Gran, this isn’t going like you’d expected, is it?”

Husband rescued Elaine and she happily ran and squealed in an office hallway far from the conference/dining room while her siblings finished their soup and crackers and ate homemade cookies.

When we got home, Elaine ate mac and cheese. I ate crow.

Filed under: Grandchildren | Tagged: Grandchildren, lunch, Mac and cheese | 1 Comment »

Hugs for Heatlh

Posted on February 13, 2013 by susanrray

“A pick-up hug!” my Grand says. Lou, almost six years old, stands in front of her Pop, looks up, and raises her arms. Pop lifts her high above his head. Her arms come down to encircle his neck and she wraps her legs around his waist. What a hug!

Ruth, almost four years old, is famous for her good-bye hugs. As I walk toward her family’s back door, her mother calls, “Ruth, Gran is leaving.” My Grand comes running. Her arms open wide. Eyes wider and an open-mouth smile. If I don’t get down to her level immediately, she wraps both arms around my legs and plants a kiss right on my knee. Because I prefer neck hugs, I move fast to sit or lean over. Her arms hold my neck like a vise and she lays her head on my shoulder. “Um, Um!” she says and kisses my cheek. Then she looks me eye to eye. “Bye, Gran!” Her hug carries me through the day.

Our Grands don’t know that they are making Pop and me healthier, both physically and mentally. It’s been proven. A University of North Carolina study showed that hugs increase the levels of the hormone oxytocin and reduce blood pressure. This hormone triggers a caring and bonding response in both men and women, and a daily dose of oxytocin from hugging can help protect us from heart disease. Hugs also lower cortisol, the stress hormone responsible for high blood pressure. And it’s also been proven that the production of hemoglobin, which carries oxygen throughout our entire body, increases when we hug so we feel healthy and full of energy.

A proper hug, where the hearts are pressing together, relaxes muscles and releases tension. Hugs balance out the nervous system. Build trust and help foster honest and open communication. Teach us to give and receive. Hugging boosts self-esteem.

Much has been written and said about hugs. When you give a hug, you get a hug. A hug makes you feel loved and special. A hug takes a few seconds – lasts for hours. A hug is free and the supply is endless. Dr. Dorothy M. Neddermeyer even liken hugs to food: organic, naturally sweet, no pesticides, non-fattening, no carbohydrates, no preservatives, no artificial ingredients and 100 % wholesome. How many hugs a day to we need? Virginia Satir, a family therapist said, “We need four hugs a day for survival. We need eight hugs a day for maintenance. We need twelve hugs a day for growth.”

The only requirement to give a hug is a willing spirit. Lou and Ruth’s little 21-month-old sister Elaine watches as Ruth hugs me. “Gan, ugh!” Elaine says. I lift her into my arms for a pick-up hug. Her hands grab my shoulders. She swipes her face across my cheek and wiggles. She’ll get it. It just takes practice. And I’m happy to participate in her training.

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

What Could Be Better?

Posted on January 23, 2013 by susanrray

I’ve often said there’s nothing better than playing with my Grands. And I bet most grandparents would agree that time alone with a grandchild is as good as life gets. But this week, I ate those words and they were delicious.

My youngest little Grand is 19 months old. Full of energy and a happy, busy little boy. He loves to play with balls. Any kind or shape or size. So last week when I visited him and his parents, my Grand and I played ball. We rolled a small rubber basketball across the carpeted floor. “Show Gran how you can shoot a basket,” his mother said. With more encouragement, he threw the ball through the goal that’s at his stretch-high-as-he-can fingertip level. “Good job!” I clapped and cheered. My Grand and I tossed the balls toward each other and sometimes we caught them. But we rarely shot baskets.

For three days while my Grand’s mother ran errands and did household chores, he and I played. We pushed red and yellow and green plastic balls through the openings of a drum that had perfect round circles in matching colors. We hid those plastic balls under stacking cups and we built a tower, six cups tall, and then knocked it down. There’s something funny about watching plastic cups and balls bounce across the floor.

We played farm with a Fisher Price barn and silo and animals. We made animals sounds – baa, moo, neigh. We pushed and pulled every lever to hear recorded barnyard noises. My Grand hid all the animals in the silo and squealed when I found them. We lined up toy cars and tractors on a table, and he rolled them along my outstretched leg. And we laughed – out loud – when a car wrecked.

And I read to him. He piled books from his book basket onto the seat of the wing back chair where I sat. Little Blue Leads the Way. From Head to Toe. Where is Baby’s Belly Button? My Grand turned his back toward me so I could lift him onto my lap. He flipped pages and jabbered; I read and hugged. Yes, as good as life gets.

Then my Grand’s daddy came home from an out-of-town business trip. As soon as he heard the garage door go up, he ran to the back door and waited for Daddy to walk into the house. Daddy lifted my Grand high into the air and gave him a two-arm hug before setting him on the floor. My Grand ran to the playroom, found the small basketball, clutched it tightly, and stood in front of the basketball goal. When Daddy walked into the room, my Grand threw the ball, hitting nothing but net. “Way to go!” Daddy said as he sat on the floor by the goal. “Gen!” my Grand shouted. And he shot the ball through the goal again and again and again. And Daddy gave him a high-five him after every shot.

I watched. A lump in my throat. Wet eyes. Full heart. What’s better that playing with my Grand? Watching my son play with his son.

Filed under: Family, Grandchildren | Tagged: Children, Grandchildren, Grandparents, playing basketball | Leave a comment »

Purple Cow Stories

Posted on January 19, 2013 by susanrray

My mother told Purple Cow stories when I was a little girl. Stories that were inspired by a poem entitled “The Purple Cow.” Stories she made up as she told them. Now, I share Purple Cow stories with my Grands, and Ruth, almost 4, never tires of hearing them. I quote the four-line poem and then tell a story – whatever comes to mind at the time.

To be sure I spelled the name of the poet correctly for this column, I googled The Purple Cow and learned that Ogden Nash, who I’ve always credited with writing the poem, is not the author. Gelett Burgress wrote “The Purple Cow” and Nash changed one word (anyhow to right now), got it published, and fooled me all these years. And I learned Burgress gave this poem an interesting subtitle, one I’d never seen before. Burgress’s poem written in 1895 is the version that Mother taught me.

The Purple Cow
Reflections on a Mythic Beast Who’s Quite Remarkable, at Least.
I NEVER saw a Purple Cow;
I never hope to See One;
But I can Tell you, Anyhow,
I’d rather See than Be One.

And I never knew until now that Burgress wrote a second verse two years later in which he regrets penning words about a cow.

Confession: and a Portrait, Too, Upon a Background that I Rue!

Ah yes, I wrote “The Purple Cow”
I’m Sorry now I wrote it.

I’m thankful Burgress wrote such a silly verse. My Grand laughs every time she hears it. She wonders who’d want to be a cow, especially purple. “Tell me a Purple Cow story,” Ruth will say. “The one about when she fell in the pond.” And if I don’t tell it exactly the way my Grand remembers, she joins in the story telling. (Now I’m writing some of these made-up stories – I wish I had Mother’s.)

“Ruth,” I said to her after I’d told a story of the Purple Cow walking on an icy pond, “it’s your turn to tell a story about Purple Cow. She rolled her eyes, tilted her head, and said, “Well, the Purple Cow walked and walked and walked and walked. It walked more. It saw a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur?” I asked.

She nodded her head, grinned, and said, “A dinosaur. And there was a skunk on the dinosaur. And the skunk sprayed the Purple Cow.”

“Then what happened?”

Ruth looked out the window which she was sitting beside. She tilted her head from side to side, and said, “That’s all for today.”

I have a feeling that Burgress, the originator of the Purple Cow, would approve of Ruth’s story. He founded a humor magazine and published books of whimsical writings and illustrations. He became known for his humor that was based on substituting the unexpected for the common place.

And who would expect a skunk to sit on a dinosaur and spray a Purple Cow? Only a little girl who never tires of Purple Cow stories.

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

It’s a New Year……What to do?

Posted on January 3, 2013 by susanrray

I don’t know what to do or where to start. It’s a new year. And there are so many things that I want and need to do. Knit a cap for my Colorado Grand? Stitch pajama pants for my Grands who live across town? Finish the quilt that Grandma Gladys started fifty years ago? Bake bread to take to my sick friend? Sort and throw away outdated medicines? Finish reading the book I started before Christmas?

I love new beginnings. Mondays. New calendars. When I taught school, I liked the beginning of a Science unit and a new list of spelling words. So I should welcome 2013. But I’m frazzled with all the choices. Clean out the kitchen cabinets? I put clean dishes in those cabinets so where do all the crumbs come from? Move the bed and vacuum the dust monsters? They’re too big to be called bunnies. If I hadn’t dropped my bookmark behind the bed, I’d never seen the monsters. Ignorance was bliss. Take pictures and write stories about the family heirlooms in my house? I can’t expect my children to remember that five blue glasses belonged to Great-Grandmother Rich and that Daddy mailed the green wooden box to Mother while he was stationed in Germany during WWII.

Four years ago when I retired, I wrote a list of things to do, places to see, and people to spend time with. I’m too big a coward to even look at that list. But I remember that I thought I’d get back to playing the piano. Why have a piano if no one plays it? I’d sew dresses and rompers for my Grands; skirts for myself. I’d exercise. I’d throw dinner parties. Explore the blue highways in the Upper Cumberland. Eat lunch with friends. Learn something new every day.

As I sit with my fingers on my computer, I create a new folder for this year’s columns. Where We Are 2013. Should I take time to trash and organize scattered documents in the 2012 folder? Update my computer? The loud buzzer on the dryer relieves my indecision. I hang Husband’s and my shirts. There’s the raccoon costume lying on the sewing machine by the ironing board. Right after Halloween, I promised my Grand that I’d mend it. It’ll only take ten minutes. I could stitch it now.

Focus. Make a plan, my brain says. 2013 – a chance to start new. What should I do for the next 365 days. Recently, I read a devotion that suggested choosing one word for a New Year’s resolution. One word to guide each day’s choices. Each day’s activities. Suggested words: courage, faith, patience, simplify, study, action, generous. What about balance or love?

So here I am. The beginning of a new year and I’m in a quandary. Choices. Lists. Resolutions. The phone rings. “Gran?” I hear the sweet voice of my seven-year-old Grand. “Are you coming to see us today?”

Yes.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Family, Friends | Tagged: Choices, Grandchildren, New Year, Resolutions | Leave a comment »

Christmas Glimpses

Posted on December 26, 2012 by susanrray

As I relax with cup of hot tea and homemade fudge, I’m relishing pictures of Christmas. Husband and I celebrated Christmas with our Grands and their parents for two days. Six adults and five children – age seven and under. Lots of food and gifts and squeals and fun.

I’ll print and treasure many photos. Our eighteen-month-old youngest Grand wore the red vest that I made for his daddy 35 years ago, and he sat on the windowsill to test-taste a dill pickle. Elaine, age 19 months, climbed to the top of the spinet piano and found the hidden out-of-reach candy. Ruth, age 3, hugged her new doll and asked her uncle to help change the doll’s clothes. Lou, age 5, knelt to the floor to kiss her little cousin good-bye. Our oldest Grand, David leaped in surprise when he saw his gift – a remote control car.

Some Christmas images can’t be printed. Some are happenings. I saw the antlers, fuzzy and worn, stuck onto the roof of the brown compact car. Who’d do that? It seemed dorky. “Look, Momma! Rudolph!” I heard a child’s voice. A little girl tugged at her mother’s hand that held her tightly as they hurried across the shopping mall parking lot. “Momma, look at his red nose!” I looked and I chuckled. A softball size red sponge ball was attached to the grill of the car. I wish I knew who’d done that. My hectic shopping day turned into a happier day.

One evening, Husband I stood outside the doors of Spring Street Market ringing a bell for Rescue Mission donations. The smell of hot donuts floated our way from Ralph’s Donut Shop, just a block away. As a customer carried her groceries out of the market, we were talking about the wonderful smell. She agreed the aroma was enticing and waved to us as she drove out of the parking lot. A few minutes later, her small green car swerved alarmingly close to us and then stopped. This angel lady rolled down her car window and said, “Merry Christmas!” She handed us a white bakery bag. Two hot donut twists straight from Ralph’s. We shouted, “Thank you!” as she drove away.

My college roommate, Jo Ann, visited me before Christmas for a day of candy making and my five-year-old Grand was also here. “We need two cups of Chex cereal. Lou, do you know how to measure?” Jo Ann asked. Lou, standing on a chair and on eye-level with Jo Ann answered, “Sure, I help Momma cook all the time.” I stood aside. For one thing, we were using Jo Ann’s White Trash candy recipe, but mostly I wanted to watch two people I love. Jo Ann and Lou knew each other by name, but had never been together for more than a few minutes at a time. Never stirred with the same spoon. The next day Lou asked, “When’s Aunt Jo Ann coming back to make more candy?”

Glimpses of Christmas. Some printed on paper. Some printed in hearts.

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

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