A Vacation of Hiatuses: 10 Learnings from Being Away

hi·a·tus  [hahy-ey-tuhs]  noun, plural hi·a·tus·es, hi·a·tus:  a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series, action, etc. Dictionary.com

va·ca·tion  [vey-key-shuhn, vuh-]  noun:  a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel; recess or holiday.

Gone for a week on vacation with son and grandson in tow, for the first time in a long time, the computer stayed off (well, all but once and should have stayed off then) . . . links in the ether were suspended . . . fingers did no key tapping . . . FB was not checked . . . blog was not posted . . . and all in all, it was good and very good.

I was having a vacation of hiatuses.  And boy, did I need them.

Learnings from this vacation, this series of breaking interruptions in my life continuity while in Chicago I share . . .

1. Even when you catch a cold, vacation is good.

2. Sons and grandsons are great travel buddies.

3. Always have a note pad handy to write down those unforgettables . . . like Rowen proclaiming that friend Anita was indeed the best resource for information, because, you see, “she’s an artist and artists know everything!”

4. Skipping is the best way of travel by foot – you get there quicker and it’s way more fun along the way.  So skipping was Rowen that his new nickname on this trip (dubbed by his father) was Skippy Longstocking.

5. Conversation in the hot late hours of the night with friends new and old around the kitchen table bring wisdom as well as mirth, ponderings and silliness in no particular order – and they are all their own blessing to be carried back into ordinary time.

6. A good humility check – everyone does fine without you while you’re gone.  Doesn’t mean you’re not missed, just that you’re not the center of anyone’s universe – which is how it should be, eh?

7. The best use of things is not always their intended use.  Sometimes a portable lap desk makes a better back cushion than it ever did a desk.

8. Schedules are put into the ridiculous light they deserve as a boy child goes willingly into sleep each night when his eyes can no longer sustain their open-lid status, the day having finally, at the last, overcome him.  Why do we not always simply go to sleep when we are tired?

9. Friends are treasures.

10. Birds are not benign.  Threatened, like all other of God’s critters, they will fight back – even on a mini-golf course, even when you mean them no harm.

Home again, tired, still fighting the cold, happy and warm, wrapped in love and good memories.

Every Day a Lucky Day

Riding in the car with a little boy who has just turned 6 can be lots of fun.  Little boys see things we grown-ups don’t.  They entertain themselves while locked in to their car seats in ways that bring smiles.  They sing songs they’ve made up.  They make observations about the world and their place in it that make you think or make you laugh.  In general, they enjoy life.

So without further ado, a song and a witticism from my own favorite 6-year-old boy as we drove home.

Lucky day
lucky day
2 quarters and a lollipop
lucky day
every day
lucky day
my birthday
happy day
lucky day

***

I like country people
but I sure don’t like their songs.

***

It's Time to Tell Me Happy Birthday

Remember turning 6?

Remember waking up with a smile?

Remember summer days when you could roll back over and go back to sleep?

Remember drawing pictures just for fun?  And giving them to your mom or dad with the delighted proclamation: I made this for you!

Remember how glad you were to go visit your Gran?  And how very glad you were to get home?

It’s summer time and the boyo turned 6 and awoke with a smile and went back to sleep and got up calling my name to remind me it was time to say happy birthday to him.

And it is a good day.

And I remember and smile back over my shoulder at the generations all smiling behind me.

And yes, it is a very good day.

Treasure Mapping

I had promised the grandson a treasure hunt and he reminded me last night.  And so I quickly drew out his map.

“Don’t forget,” he said, “my prize at the end.”

“I won’t forget,” I promised.

Too lethargic to move from my spot, I am inspired out of sheer laziness: his prize will be a hug.  We’ve been at odds today, the wee one and I.  So I convince myself (even knowing it for the laziness it is) this is a good thing.

Around the yard he goes, map in hand . . . 9 blocks forward on the sidewalk . . . right turn and 12 giant steps forward then 3 back (his legs are longer than I thought, so we readjust the way you can with a small boy who will not hold it against you that you got it wrong) . . . pick a flower and then 9 giant steps right again to the tree to ring the chimes . . . then right again and a few more giant steps to where I sit and somehow, he actually reads what’s there and gives me a giant hug bigger than his giant steps.

Turns out the treasure was mine.

Redemption in the tiny arms of a tiny boy whose legs are longer than the world.

All is well.

12 Things to Know When You Turn Six

My grandson will soon turn six and there are some things (I think) he needs to know.  In the imagined conversation in my head, my shared wisdom goes something like this:

You’ll be six soon, Rowen.  I am so excited for you.  You’ll have so many adventures in first grade.  But you’ll have hard times too.  So here are some helpful rules:

1. Someone might make fun of your hair.  If they do, blame your mom – when it comes to hair, it’s always the mom’s fault (at least that’s what the kids on the playground think, so you can get away with blaming her).  But if it gets too tough, just call me and I’ll send you that picture of your dad – you know the one – with no teeth and the laser lights coming out of his head and the hair – sigh – he loved that hair (but we know better, don’t we?).  And when we laugh at how silly that was, we’ll feel better.

2. Sometimes the teacher will get mad at you.  Remember that that’s her job.  Tell her you’re sorry even if you aren’t – teachers like that – and who knows, maybe you really will be sorry.  They also like it when you do what they say.  They like that a lot!  But never, ever, ever, do something that’s wrong just because a big person tells you to.  That is not right and it is not okay.  And I will back you up 100%.

3. Sometimes you’ll be bored.  Learn to make a face that looks like it’s interested and let your mind travel wherever it wants.  Just remember #2 when you get caught (and you will sometimes get caught – and teachers really hate daydreaming).

4. When things get tough, just remember you’ll be 7 soon.  7 has it’s own problems, but it’s something to help you get through being 6 – trust me when I tell you this.

5. You may have to learn to fight, but it’s way better to learn how to laugh.  If you can get folks laughing with you, you’ll make friends out of enemies.  But don’t make fun of them – nobody likes that.

6. Cafeteria food will always be cafeteria food – it’s one of the punishments of being smaller than everyone else that you have to eat it.  But you’ll survive, so don’t sweat it.  And remember – everyone else has to eat the same food too.  And be nice to the people who make you the food – it’s not their fault the food is so bad.  And even if it is, everyone deserves to have someone be nice to them.

7. Always keep sharp pencils.  They’re so much more satisfying to write with.

8. Learn from everybody.  Everybody has something to teach you, even if it’s what not to do.  So when a classmate gets in trouble, pay attention.  And don’t do what he did.  Sometimes it’s really that simple.

9. Have fun learning.  You are smart and the world has much to teach you.  If you don’t understand, don’t be afraid to ask.  Most times, nobody else understands either.  They’re just too shy to ask.

10. Always remember to send Gran a copy of your report card and papers.  Gran loves to get mail and lots of times, there’s money in it for you.  That’s how Grans show grandsons how much they love them when they’re far away.

11. No secrets.  You’re too young to have secrets and anyone who tells you otherwise isn’t being good, so don’t you listen to them.

12. Finally, make friends with someone who doesn’t have any friends.  Maybe they’re too shy.  Maybe they’re not very nice.  Maybe they don’t smell so good.  Maybe they just need a friend.  If you want to have friends, you have to be a friend.  And remember to take up for kids who can’t take up for themselves, the ones who get picked on or yelled at, because they need friends more than anyone.  And you are a great friend for anyone to have.

Kindergarten Day 1: A Sort of Prayer

We’re . . . Off to see the Wizard . . .
Click your heels three times . . .
There’s no place like home . . .
There’s no place like home . . .
There’s no place like home . . .

I imagine my grandson
off for his own trip to the Wizard --
Kindergarten
Day One

So much freight wrapped up
in such a very small package

And so I wonder and worry . . .
Did his shoes fit?
Did they pinch?
Did he take a lunch box?
Did he lose it?
Were there mud puddles
to splash his way home through?
Did he make friends?
Did the teacher like him?
Is there a bus in his future
with all the adventures
and traumas in the microcosm
that is ‘school’?

Did he want to click his
heels three times to return
magically to the place called
home?

Was he scared?
Did he know we were all
watching?  Waiting?  Wondering?

Does he sense how big a deal
this is?  How much we’re all
counting on him for the future
he holds in his paste-covered
nose-picking, paint-under-his-
fingernails hands?

Can he intuit that maybe he
met his wife today?  That he
is soaring into the world
without wings?

Ruby shoes or no, little one,
home is always there just
behind you . . . waiting,
watching, hoping, praying,
loving, laughing, singing,
soaring with you --
high above the clouds
where no wild things are.

Be well.
Be safe.
Fly.

Tre- e - e - e - e - e!

I recently ran across this picture that I first saw last year on FaceBook.  It filled me then and fills me now with delight.  It’s just so unexpected.  But it also delights me because it reminds me of one of the first times my grandson came and stayed with me when he was a big enough boy to stay by himself without Mommy or Daddy.

When we went outside to play, Rowen ran from tree to tree, pointed and shouted at the top of his lungs, Tre -e - e - e - e - e!, as if greeting a long-lost friend.  And then he began to hug them.  That’s right: my grandson’s a tree hugger, and I’m proud to say it.

But with the Derecho of Friday a week ago, we have been reminded that trees are not eternal, that they too are subject to a force more powerful, the force of wind:  that which can be measured and experienced, but not seen.

I’m one of the lucky ones: no tree took the life of anyone I know nor injured anything I am personally attached to.  If I were, I do not know how I would look at trees now, whether I would still see their beauty and grandeur or whether I would view them with suspicion and fear.

Looking west from my back yard

Mindful of the tremendous losses others have suffered, it is the trees that draw my attention now, ever-present as they are where I live.

I look to the trees and I imagine God not as some old man, but as a little boy in a garden of his own making, a garden where the winds have come through, leaving some of the trees standing while others lie impotently dying on their sides.  And I imagine this boy-child of a God greeting each one with the enthusiasm that only little boys on an adventure can show: enthusiastically joyful for those who live, enthusiastically sorrowful for those who die, each greeted as beloved friend, each fully embraced for the tree that it is.

Winds come and winds go.  Trees thrive and trees die.  God-treasures all.

Simple Pleasures

I got my grandson Rowen this plastic gizmo that hooks up to the garden hose and spews water in all directions.  As a bonus, a central spout shoots plastic balls by the force of the water up the middle.

Yesterday was the perfect day for running through water in the back yard and that’s exactly what we did.  The shooting balls were, of course, the hit of the day.  The dance of the five-year-old, confident so long as Gran had his back, was a thing of beauty to behold.  Advance and retreat before the side streams of water in an effort to seize the balls mid-air evoked peals of laughter in both of us.

But at one point, he just wasn’t willing to get too close – water in his eyes had cooled his ardor for the game.  When I encouraged him to run in, his response:  “You come too.  Let’s run together.”

And so we did, hand in hand – running in circles through the streams of water reflecting the gold of the sun’s rays in mid-air, we both got soaking wet and laughed and laughed at ourselves.

Summer days in the back yard are full of fond memories and I rejoice that Rowen and I just made another one.

The only bugs I ever liked

A spark of knowledge in a world of ignorance or darkness.  --The Aztecs

I saw my first lightening bug last night.  Crossing the road in the dark of the night, there she was, right in front of me.  I reached out my hand and we brushed past each other, she and I, each going our own way.

I looked back, but she did not – not being mating material, she had no interest in the likes of me.

Lightening bugs and summer – an inseparable pairing in my mind and heart.

Now I confess – I hate bugs – all kinds of bugs.

They engender an irrational fear in me that is entirely disproportionate to their size.

All bugs, that is, except lightening bugs.  You may know them as fireflies.  Family: Lampyridae   

They don’t have lightening bugs in Scotland.  I don’t know why.  But I have loved the charm that passes the faces of my Scottish friends when they meet these magic creatures of the night.

Check out firefly.org for tips on how to
increase the fireflies in your own backyard

My own love affair started, as I’m guessing it did for you who have them where you live, when I was a kid and we chased them, caught them, put them in jars and wore them as bracelets (notice that I did not say that lightening bugs have any reason to love me back).

Last summer grandson Rowen had his own chance to explore the dark of a country night chasing lightening bugs.  But the times have changed – instead of a glass mayonnaise jar with holes punched in the lid, Rowen had his own hand-crafted by his own hands at the Library plastic mesh bug house with accompanying pipe cleaner handle.  Sadly for Rowen, but good news for the fireflies, he caught only one that night and her only briefly.  He was so excited as his Dad put her on his hand that he danced.  She, of course, flew away.  He cried his disappointment and then chased the other lights flashing in the night.

I can’t wait til Rowen comes back and we do it again, when I am now the grownup cautioning kindness for the living thing of beauty so desired.

Pure magic.

How Can We Believe That?

How can we believe that?!?    
       
The question 4-year-old Rowen asks his mother continues to make me smile.

Viewing a spider close up, Rowen noticed it only had two eyes.  Pointing out what was to hm an obvious flaw, he pronounced in what I’m guessing was his best imitation of a grown-up, This spider only has two eyes!  How can we believe that?


Turns out spiders are supposed to have four pairs of eyes!  Spider Eyes

I am now in the enviable position of learning from, as well as being amused by, my grandson.  If I ever knew about spider eyes, I’ve long since forgotten.  Thus Rowen’s discovery sends me traipsing Wikipedia and learning about spider eyes.

It’s always a good day when you can spend time contemplating the mysteries of spider eyes and such.

And when you’re 4, it’s always an interesting day when you discover the exceptions to things.  Most spiders have eight eyes, but this spider only has two.

Knowing the rule, the child doubts the spider.

Imagining That We Can Fly

I sit on the porch and watch my grandson build a ramp for his Matchbox race cars.

I start to sit forward and open my mouth to correct his ramp design – there is no way cars can go down what he has so very thoughtfully constructed.

But (thankfully) before I can open my mouth, Rowen takes his car and lifts it into the air and flies it up and down over his beautiful ramp, twisting and turning in whatever direction his little hands direct before coming to a safe landing on the other side.

My visions of an adult engineer grandson, pocket protector proudly placed evaporate before my eyes.  This is no engineer.  This is a dreamer of flying things.

But maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe engineers dream of cars that fly elegantly over buttresses fixed firmly to the walls of our minds.

Maybe it’s my imagination, my vision, that’s limited.

And maybe, just maybe, God has planted us here, fixed as we are so firmly to the ground, with just a whisper of how far we can fly if we will but open our minds to the possibility.

Maybe.