Happy trails

I've been living here almost a year and finally set foot on the Appalachian Trail over the weekend. The kids called and invited me for a short hike. Since I've gained a few pounds this past winter, I couldn't resist the offer. My couch-potato self rose to the occasion.

The trail isn't far from my house but it's fairly inconspicuous from the main road. The sign is actually on a driveway which borders a private home. The driveway leads to the trail and common path. I guess the homeowners like to watch people backpacking past their side windows. No one invited us in for coffee though.





Even though I challenged myself a few years back in the Canadian Rockies, I haven't done much hiking since. So I found myself huffing and puffing going up a slight incline. Humiliating. Embarrassing. The younger generation and their dogs forged ahead while I swatted mosquitoes, took photos (great excuse for going more slowly), wondered why I didn't think to bring bug spray, and considered just how long it would be before I slipped in the mud and flopped on my butt.

Remembering my past experience in Canada (took a bad spill first day out), I decided to improve my safety record by improvising a walking stick from a tree branch. When Sophie turned around and saw me, she started to scold because the girls are not allowed to hold sticks while hiking. I invoked senior privileges.

The girls were surprisingly agile and really had a good time. I did too. I actually got into a rhythm with my walking stick and it brought back memories of that other summer when I pretended I was Maria from The Sound of Music and twirled on a mountaintop.

Grown kids, little kids, two dogs and a babci made it to a mossy clearing where the girls ate peanut-butter sandwiches and searched for berries.





I made the mistake of asking the children if they saw any Indians hiding behind trees. My politically-correct daughter was aghast. She didn't grow up with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Lone Ranger and Tonto, Buffalo Bob and Princess Summerfall Winterspring. When I was Sophie's age, the game of choice was Cowboys and Indians, not White Men Who Abuse Equines and Indigenous American People. We chose sides and our bikes were our horses. We even played with toy guns. Bows and arrows were allowed too. Imagine that.

Everyone managed to come down from the trail with dignity intact. No spills or tumbles.

I just had to extract my foot from my mouth.

Tough love

Warning: The following contains graphic images. If you really, really, really love your plants, refrain from viewing.

You were beautiful and caught my eye immediately. I had been searching for the perfect match for a long time. I knew what I wanted and you delivered. It was love at first sight. You seemed so vibrant, so perky, in the full bloom of youth. I knew you were the one for me.

Convinced that you and I had a future together, I reached into my wallet and paid $22 for the privilege of taking you home.

Love for sale.

Day One: I hung you on the porch and gave you a drink. “Hydrate, hydrate” said the garden-shop clerk. And then I smiled as I watched you, in all your glory, through my kitchen window. We were off to such a promising start.

Day Two: “Hydrate, hydrate.” You were still upturned and thirsty (or so I thought) so I took my yellow watering can and sprinkled some more.


Day Three: You and I obviously missed the cues. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, you went limp. You were sagging more than I. How could one so young and lively turn into such a sad spectacle?




Day Four: Is there such a thing as CPR for a plant? Or Viagra?


Where did I go wrong? I’m sorry. Plant abuse. May I plead ignorance and lack of a green thumb? My yellow watering can, the probable culprit, has been banished to the far corner of the porch. Perhaps you like your summer hot and dry. Some like it hot.

Is there any hope of re-kindling our affair? Lift a leaf. Send me a sign.

Come back. I miss you.

Daddies

To watch my grandkids bloom and grow
Requires fathers who do sow
The seeds of wonder and delight
Tending, tilling, giving insight

Fathers who are often tired

Yet who can teach and inspire
Little minds who never rest
Always making new requests

Being loving, being there
Showing that a dad does care
I see my son in this demanding role
And son-in-law too, loyal souls

They provide fertile ground
For their children to grow up sound
Helping kids to choose well
Hoping that they turn out swell

At times it can seem an endless test
Yet what they do for their children best
Is remembering through their busy lives
To show the kids they love their wives

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO JOE AND DAVID!

The wager

I pick Sophie up from kindergarten and am driving her home. Vivaldi's Four Seasons is playing on my tape deck. It's one of her favorite tapes. She is always a happy camper if I have classical or polka music to offer.

Sophie: "I really like this music."
Babci: "I do too."

Few minutes of critical listening.

Sophie: "I bet this is Winter."
Babci: "You know, I'm not really sure ... it could be Fall or Summer."
Sophie: "No, I think it's Winter. Do you want to bet? I have three dollars."

A six-year old is actually daring me to put up some money. Do they teach music appreciation and gambling in kindergarten?

I take the bet.

Babci: "Okay, you're on. I say it's Fall."
Sophie (confidently): "It's Winter."

We stop the car and I extract the tape to read the program.

It's Winter.

Cash only, no credit cards or checks accepted.

Rainbows

I've been working at the new job as school counselor for the past nine months. It's been challenging and I sometimes have doubts about my ability to deliver what's expected. It's a new position and I'm literally starting from scratch, building a foundation to a program which will serve the students for years to come.

The school year has gone by quickly and these last few weeks remind me of final deadlines yet to be met. I never cared much for the term multi-tasking but realize it's what I do. The days are never boring and I'm learning as I'm doing. I think the students have accepted me, as much as teenagers can. I have gotten to know some of them and feel very protective. They are becoming "my kids".

I am so busy trying to get it right that I sometimes forget to step back and enjoy small victories, like finding a tutor for a struggling student or taking a busload of high-school students to their very first college fair or helping to unlock dreams and wishes for the future.

Something happens today. For some reason, all the many things-to-do unexpectedly fall into place like pieces of a puzzle. I am needed by a colleague and provide a valuable service. I see positive changes in my students, more hope and excitement building for attaining new goals. Everything clicks. Projects I have been working on for awhile start to shape up. New resources and possibilities emerge. I truly feel like I have finally become a part of the school community, no longer an outsider. Even though it is a typical fast-paced, hectic day, I have never felt more peaceful.

As I drive home, I watch dark clouds racing around the mountain tops and listen to the distant rumble of thunder. The local forecast is predicting stormy weather but I am smiling.

There is a rainbow in my heart.

True colors

They're back!

I unexpectedly came across this news report and suddenly I was a kid again, glued to a black-and-white TV screen, watching the rough-and-tumble antics of the roller derby queens. It was the early 1950s and we were being bombarded by lots of variety and sport shows but the roller derby was in a league by itself, kind of the underbelly of respectable femininity. After all, moms wore dresses and hats and their daughters were taught to never hit or strike anyone and be good little girls.

All social norms went flying as I sat cross-legged on my living-room floor mesmerized by the speed and spunk of these ladies. Mom and dad seemed to enjoy the spectacle too, even rooting for their favorites. Still, it was not the real world. In the real world, women had no need to express themselves so forcefully. Father knew best. I can't help but wonder if my mom and aunts didn't get a certain vicarious pleasure out of seeing such scrappy women, bruised and on their knees but getting up again to give it their best shot.

Men had their ball games and camaraderie and plenty of heroes to emulate. My mom's generation had Rosie the Riveter (who was displaced as soon as the WWII vets came marching home again) and Betty Crocker. The men needed the jobs, so the working women were told "go home and cook". It was the beginning of the baby-boom generation and affordable tract housing and life was good, or as good as it got during those somewhat bland and monotone years in the 50s.

Color television had not yet arrived on the scene, so watching roller derby on black-and-white made it even more gritty and exciting. You couldn't see the colorful bruises though. Painful encounters of the anti-establishment culture. What did these women do when they weren't beating the hell out of each other? Mothers? Kindergarten teachers? They didn't seem like the type to just go home and cook.

Whoever they were, in the real world, was a mystery. Maybe their true identity was so stifled that they needed the roller derby to release all the pent-up emotions of being the good girl, the one who stayed home and cooked.

According to the above article, today's roller derby gals are, indeed, accountants and teachers and doctors and grad students - many out there for reasons other than just being a traditional homemaker. It's a new era with new rules and it seems that women are still looking to flex their muscles, let it rip, unleash that hidden goddess, Athena. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Why all this pontificating on a lazy Sunday morning? Probably because I never got the chance to let it rip as a kid. Only-child syndrome. I was the only kid on my block who learned to roller skate on one skate because I'd be less likely to fall and hurt myself. I guess it was a form of maternal protection. Maybe Mom didn't want me to get too good at the sport and then sign up for roller derby. In the real world, nice girls could only dream of being that scrappy.

That was then; this is now. Nice girls can do anything they damn well please.

By land and by sea Part Two

It’s been rainy and cool this past week and my thoughts drift back to the bright blue sky and sunny weather which graced our trip to Victoria. Even though we only spent one night in this lovely capital city, every minute was filled with rich experiences - from strolling to dinner with the little ones and settling them into bed to an impromptu Starbucks breakfast in our suite the next morning, then on to a morning of exploration at the Royal British Columbia Museum and, finally, sightseeing and shopping in the city itself.





I was a bit doubtful as to how two small children and a baby would handle a few hours in a world-class museum. Would there be meltdowns? Boredom beyond belief? My worries soon subsided as there were so many fascinating exhibits that all of us got caught up in different rooms and time periods.

We passed impressive dioramas of wooly mammoths and native wildlife, walked through a Victorian town peering into shop windows and living rooms, replicas of what life must have been like for the early settlers. Olivia was a bit leery of the darkened streets but was soon reassured that it was all just make-believe and no ghosts about.



There was a large totem collection along with many artifacts of the native tribes. The First Peoples Gallery was dimly lit and mystical. Its sense of serenity even put our little Iris to sleep as she clung to her momma, Katie, in a shoulder sling similar to how these native women may have carried their babes too.

Ben and I got to walk through a replica of the stern section of the HMS Discovery showing its captain’s quarters. He turned to me, quite excited, and said “This is where Captain Gruffy Face sleeps!” Ah, the power of a grandparent’s imagination on impressionable youngsters.



After a final stop at the museum gift shop (yes, I indulged the kiddies) we then walked into the heart of the city by way of the signature hotel in the harbor. Joseph obliged and took some photos of me and the munchkins in front of The Empress. This will probably be the closest I’ll ever get to crossing its portals as I cannot afford the royal prices.





Spring really was in the air and we enjoyed the beautiful flowers in bloom along the grand old hotel’s promenade. It seemed that everyone was out and about in shirt sleeves or light jackets. The locals confided that the sunny and balmy weather was long overdue. There was even a reggae band doing a bit of street entertaining to add to the upbeat mood. I wandered into a British department store to look at the tartans and tweeds but didn’t linger long as the warm temps and the street band lured me back outside.

Before heading back to the ferry, we stopped at an outdoor café for lunch and, again, the cheerful crowds and clear skies were producing a carnival atmosphere. I half expected the street band to break into a rendition of “Let the Sunshine In” from Hair. I would have danced down the main street!



We walked back to the hotel to collect our luggage and returned to the ferry terminal. Ben and Olivia were tired and Katie entertained them by reading a chapter of Nancy Drew while we waited. I looked at their faces, both engaged in the story, and thought how lovely that they like books, the joy of books. Joe walked baby Iris up and down until the ferry arrived and we all trekked aboard. I went on deck as we moved slowly out of the inner harbor and just missed a whale sighting on the port side. Soon the excitement faded and the Olympic mountains gradually came into view.





To be surrounded by the sea and mountains and those I love was just the perfect ending to a perfect trip. We came home on Good Friday. It was a very good Friday indeed.

Be it ever so humble

This photo was taken in an English garden a couple years ago and just leaves the door open to so many possibilities. Excuse the metaphor, but I love this picture and the memories behind it and thought I'd share it here. It has nothing to do with the piece of real estate listed below. It's just my happy place for day dreaming.

Every once and awhile, I dream of larger spaces and a house of my own, exploring options for settling in the Berkshires. I find myself picking up realtor guides at the local market and borrowing back issues of Country Living from my daughter. I am not yet ready to make the move from apartment to house ownership but now I may have to think twice. How did I miss this one? Practically in my back yard. Princess Sophie and Princess Hannah could have their very own Pretty Pony and private turret …

I’ll have to play the lottery. Sometimes dreams do come true.

Haiku for Mother's Day

The fruit falls not far
From the tree which was its source
A delicious thought

Let the blossom fall
Ready or in disarray
It’s just gravity

Trees and mothers shed
Limbs grow tired and must let go
‘Tis the stuff of life

To lose is to gain
To release is to retrieve
The fruit falls not far

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

By land and by sea Part One

One of the highlights of last month’s trip to visit the clan on
the Olympic Peninsula was a family excursion to the lovely harbor city of Victoria, the capital of British Columbia. My son, Joe, had asked what was on my wish list of tourist attractions and I requested a ferry boat ride across the Juan de Fuca strait to Canada.



He and his wife, Katie, find a wonderful harbor-side hotel, bundle up all three kids, tandem stroller, backpacks, and we’re off! We drive to Port Angeles, leave the van, and traipse onto the ferry with our overnight gear and kids in tow.



Seattle and the region in general are interconnected by
a great system of ferries. The boats are large and roomy, have snack bars, and offer a fantastic view of the beauty that is the Pacific Northwest, the many islands themselves, and the glorious mountains of Washington state: the Cascades on the mainland and the towering, snow-clad Olympics on the peninsula.



The ferry leaves the Port Angeles harbor and the kids settle down. It takes an hour and a half to make the crossing. Joe, Ben and I and go top side for a better view. The sky is cloud swept and blue and the Olympic mountains shimmer in the haze. Ben scans the horizon for pirates while I look for whales.









It’s so awesome to be standing on a ferry boat, crossing an international boundary line and stepping down in Canada. A sudden blast from the ferry announces our arrival and startles all of us as we line up to disembark. The baby recovers quickly and I am impressed by what good travelers the little ones are. We clear customs and enter a lively scene during one of the first truly spring like weekends of the season. The hotel is only a couple blocks away and we find it has some great views of the harbor and the city.





That evening we take a stroll with the kids past the parliament building and find an Italian restaurant where Ben becomes quite interested in a group of teenage girls who are sitting at the next table. For some reason, their giddy girly behavior annoys him and he announces that they are definitely too loud. I imagine, in another ten years, he will want to be sitting at the same table and making them laugh. For now, though, I feel sorry for the boy - saddled with two younger sisters and two girl cousins. As he told me ages ago while rolling his eyes, “too many girls!”

We return to the hotel quite late. After some jumping on the bed with Iris, Ben and Olivia fall asleep on the living-room sofa bed while I tell of the further adventures of Captain Gruffy Face. I then retire to my private bedroom and take one more photo of the city’s skyline from my balcony. The harbor is aglow with lights which are reflecting in the water. I pinch myself and smile. A Hallmark moment.



Everyone sleeps well, even Iris gives her mommy and daddy a few hours of rest before the morning dawns. Katie, hopefully, gets another reprieve while Joe and I take the baby for a walk in her stroller to find a local Starbucks which provides a takeout breakfast. It’s great walking leisurely, sipping a sugar-free vanilla latte, and catching up with a grown son whom I rarely see. I’m in my element. La dolce vita. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.

Kids eat, dress, and brush teeth with new super-hero toothbrushes (it doesn’t take much to make them happy either). Soon we are exploring the city streets, taking in the colorful sights and sounds of Victoria.

Boomerang friends

Life has been moving along nicely since I relocated here in the Berkshires last August. I found an apartment and then a job and manage to see the kids often. I haven’t gotten involved in the local community enough to have established a network of new friends my age though. So, this past weekend, when I had some personal and professional issues to wrangle with, I found myself phoning old friends to just touch base and have a sounding board.

After spending time with these friends, I realize just how wonderful it is to have people in your life who are good, caring listeners - people who let you understand yourself better just by giving you the space to hear yourself think.

One friend, a colleague from my former workplace, allowed me to talk and talk tonight. It was a pretty one-sided conversation but helped me gain new insight on things which seemed a bit undefined and unsettled. I laughed and called her my “boomerang friend”.

These are the friends we all need. They allow us to come full circle by their presence and receptivity rather than by their advice.

It’s a gift to be able to put your own agenda on hold and really allow your friend to speak freely.

How many boomerang friends are in your life? Can you return the favor?

Use it or lose it

Thanks to Terry at And Sew It Goes, quilt mistress extraordinaire and new grandmother of Sofia, for this gem of a video clip. Of course, Terry and I have a few more years to go before we join this rock band but it does look like a fun gig ...

My Generation

Gotta love those Brits!

Six and four (well, almost)

Ben (age 6), upon my arrival: “Babci, say tyrannosaurus!”

I indulge him and manage to mispronounce the word once again. How does he remember my tendency to place the accent on the wrong syllable? I haven’t seen the kid in a year and a half!

Ben giggles with delight and carefully corrects my mistake.

Sophie (age 6): “Babci, you’re silly. That’s crazy.” Dubious looks at whatever words of wisdom I think I’m dispensing. Cynicism at six? I no longer walk on water. It starts this early?



Olivia (age 4): “Babci, I love you.” Adoring look and quiet affirmation as she pours imaginary tea for me in her plastic cup.

Hannah (not quite 4): “Babci, you’re the best.” Sleepy words of satisfaction as I tell her a favorite bedtime story and rub her tummy “in circles”.

In all fairness, Ben told me I was “the best” too when he was four years old. But now he and cousin, Sophie, are moving on … kindergarten, friends, learning how to read and write, growing beyond simple trust and finding new voices to raise questions and challenge the adults in their lives. Losing baby teeth, cutting new teeth. Jokes and pranks and feeling so sure of themselves. Firstborn cousins, trying to assert their positions in the family circle.

I laugh at their teasing and impatience with me. They expect answers and dialogue now. It’s simpler with the younger siblings. I don’t have to work so hard. I can still lead the dance. With Ben and Sophie though, I have to let them take the lead and flap their wings a bit - stretching the boundaries but still wanting to know that it’s okay.

Different ages, different stages.

“Will you still need me
Will you still feed me
When I’m six and four”

Always.

A pirate and a princess

Flying out to the Pacific Northwest last week and spending time with son, Joe, and DIL (daughter-in-law), Katie, and their growing family was such a gift. I am so blessed here with daughter, Jenn, and clan but miss the long-distance connection too.

It had been fifteen months since last making the trip which involves two planes to Seattle and then either a two-plus hour car trip to a Victorian seaport town on the Olympic Peninsula or a ferry from Seattle and then an hour’s car trip to the kids’ house. This time Joe and Katie were in Seattle for the day and picked me up at the airport.

Stepping into the family van was as if time had not really passed at all except, of course, for the new member of the family sitting in her baby car seat. Ben and Olivia were firmly anchored in back of me and Ben was almost jumping out of his socks to pick up where we had left off.

“Babci, look at my new sneakers. Babci, I have a story to tell you.”

It seems that story telling runs in the family.

While Olivia slept, Ben recited a Chinese epic that he had heard in kindergarten. His mom, Katie, in the front seat had to be called on as a prompter when he occasionally missed a point or two about the dragon or the Mandarin magic. Finally, the never-ending story reached a conclusion and with that, my only grandson nodded off. We arrived home and dutiful parents carried the kids to bed. It was a long day for all of us. Ben was totally spent from his exciting recitation in the car. His imagination knows no bounds – dinosaurs, super heroes, Scooby Doo (one of his dad’s favorites too at that age), and, of course, pirates.

I contributed to the pirates by a tale I started telling on prior visits, the saga of Captain Gruffy Face and Razatazz. I created these two quirky pirates and Ben eagerly listened at bedtime whenever I visited. We would lie side by side and I would spin a story. Then, about two years ago, I drew some pictures, had them framed and sent to Ben for his birthday. Little did I know that the epic adventures of my misfit pirates were waiting to be rekindled with this visit.



Not only had Ben remembered every nuance and arc from the original story, he was ready for them to set sail once again at bedtime. And now little Olivia was just as thrilled to share in the pirates’ adventures. It was time to add a little romance and introduce Petunia and Princess Elena. (Every female heroine has to be named ‘Princess Elena’ according to Olivia. It’s her princess du jour.) Both kids shared a huge air bed in Ben’s room while I slept in Olivia’s bedroom for the week and this added to the fun.

Each night they would put on their jammies, brush their teeth and plop in bed, waiting for me to join them and continue the mighty tale. Ben would literally bounce up in glee as I added a villain or two and Olivia would giggle. It was such a joy to sit on the end of their bed and watch their reactions. The story has become one long soap opera and is very interactive. After the girlfriends, I was told to get them married and let some babies come. We added puppies and kittens and quite a few cannons to the Captain’s ship, enough to have him destroy evil Googly Eye’s boat and save the town. If I strayed in a direction they didn’t want to go, brother and sister would see fit to edit and direct the nightly production.

Having grandchildren has moved me in new directions. I never thought that stories I spun over a year ago would be so well remembered and then take on new life with my visit to Ben, the pirate, and Olivia, the princess.

I left with the promise that I would keep the story going and send them new chapters in the mail. Ben wants me to place a wax seal (of authenticity?!) on the back of the envelope. I will have to create a plot and character list just to stay on track. My pirate and my princess seem to keep all the details in their heads and will hold me to the task!

What is so endearing and rewarding is the fact that these silly made-up words from a grandmother’s mouth seem so special to the little ones who listen.

Perhaps that’s really the essence of becoming a grandparent, mutual admiration and remembrance – worth even more than a pirate’s treasure.

Meeting Iris

Dear Iris

Thank you for the pleasure of your company last week. I have to admit that our time together was long overdue. I jumped into the waiting van and looked over to find two bright and very awake brown eyes smiling back at me. Your sister, Olivia, was fast asleep in the car seat behind us and big brother, Ben, was already eager to share lots of news and stories with me. But you, dear girl, held my attention. You were the new kid on the block. We sat side-by-side while your daddy drove us all back home for the next two hours. You already had quite a full day with mommy and daddy in Seattle but were still awake, giving me precious time to gaze into those big brown eyes. You didn't fuss or cry at the stranger sitting next to you. You seemed perfectly okay with my entering your personal space. The feeling was mutual.

I was so glad to finally make your acquaintance. I wasn't there last July for your home birth and missed the first tooth and other early landmarks. Easter week was a good time to come though - new life, new beginnings. It did seem a bit surreal and took some getting used to. After all, last time out, I had two grandchildren and now there was you!

You remind me of your daddy and your Aunt Jenn with those large deep eyes and you seem to have a streak of brunette which certainly sets you apart from your two blonde siblings. As I got to know you, I could see that you are sturdy and spunky and that will serve you well around Ben and Olivia. You are very chatty and laugh easily. You also seem to know what you want and when you want it. Another determined female. Credit that to both sides of the family.

You are almost nine months old and just about ready to take your first steps, a force to be reckoned with. I'm glad that you got to take me to Victoria BC for an overnight stay with mom, dad, Ben and Olivia. You travel well.

Grandbaby #5, it still amazes me. Now I have to find a way to add your birthstone to my grandmom ring. You're not ready yet for the tall tales I spin for your brother and sister but that will come. You seem quite content to be the baby. You giggle at Ben's knock-knock jokes and light up when Olivia hugs you. I think you are enjoying your role in the family circle.

I don't know when I will see you again. It was hard saying goodbye. I will miss more landmark moments as things happen so fast when you are this little. Just to know, I have an imprint of our time together and it's safely tucked away. I can pull the new memories out each day and keep you with me. All the many photos I took will help too.

Welcome to the family ... welcome to my heart.

Love, Babci xxoo