a birthday in june

this is my grandfather, my mother's father. as a small child, i believe he was my favorite person. he talked to me and he made me laugh. he took me to church, and on trolley rides to boston and ferry trips to nantasket. he called me on the phone and showed me off to my great-aunts and uncles. he spoiled me with banana splits. when i was learning to drive, he gave me his old green two-toned ford. when i needed furniture after college, he gave me his maple bedroom set and didn't mind that i painted it navy and lime. on the day of my wedding, when i went to the hospital to see him, he cried because he was too sick and feeble to come and watch me get married. i adored my grandfather - he was huge influence in my life. although he's been gone now for most of my life, i still think of him quite often and silently thank him for making me feel so loved. he'll always hold an important place in my heart.

the little girl was born eight years ago this month, on the day of my grandfather's birth. i wish they could have met. he brought so much joy to my young life, and she brings so much to these waning years. i love that the two of them are connected in this very small, very special way.

priorities

yesterday the girl and her family were here for a visit. at one point, they went for a quick walk, and the little girl came back with exciting news of newts. they counted thirty-one, she said, but there were at least a hundred. her dad accidently stepped on one and felt bad. they were all over one side of the road but not the other. they were everywhere!

after they left, after the table was cleared and the leftovers were put away, after the dishes were washed and the floor was swept, i took a walk down the stretch of road she described. i was disappointed, but not surprised, to see only three newts. tiny and new, they were wandering the road long after their ninety-seven brothers and sisters had dispersed. up the hill and into the woods they went, all while i, of course, was doing more important things than investigating the wonders of spring.

guest photographer

Over the weekend, the little girl took off up in the back for a woodland walk. before she left, i handed her my point-and-shoot camera and told her to take photos of interesting things she saw. and she did!

bunchberry. i've never seen this here. she identified it back at the house using one of my field guides. i was pretty impressed with both the photo and the research skills. 

a camouflaged toad. can you see it? i couldn't, until she pointed it out to me. 

 new growth on hemlock. she thought it was beautiful and soft. 

bark on a tree. not sure what was so appealing about this one, but she really liked it and was proud of it, so here it is. 

finally, claw marks on a tree - from a bear, she tells me!!

hide 'n go seek

she wanted to play, and here's how she hid. camouflage, she told me.

valentine memory

today was valentines day in schools, and i had the unexpected surprise of participating in a kindergarten party, highlighted with valentine delivery by beaming five year olds. later in the day, the little girl shared with me her valentine box from school, reading each card and the name of the giver, commenting on the styles of cards and the candy and lollipops that accompanied most. it's a tradition. we have done this every year since before she could even read them.

from nowhere today, came pieces of the ancient memory of a nine year old arriving new to a school on the fourteenth of february. the classroom was all decorated with pinks and reds and the room was abuzz with talk of the upcoming party after lunch. the teacher had a kind face and a pleasant manner, but i remember being apprehensive - we had moved around a lot and it was always hard for me to make new friends in a new place.

those were the days when there were neighborhood schools, stay-at-home mothers, and no need for lunch programs. when i came back to school after lunch, a beautifully decorated box was sitting on my desk, and inside were valentine cards from all my new classmates. i don't remember learning the details of how all that came to be, but i do remember the welcoming feeling of acceptance from a room full of strangers. years later, i suspect that it all had to do with my new teacher, mrs. stanton. and i silently thanked her again today for her kindness to an anxious child so many, many years ago.

makes scents to me

a long time ago, i read that smell is a most powerful conduit in terms of memory-making - that a scent can quickly transport you back to a place, an event, or a person in your past. to that end, even though i don't wear it regularly anymore, i try to wear a spritz of my favorite perfume when i'm around the little girl. i always have. i want her to remember me.

yesterday, all my efforts paid off. while having tea with the girl, she related this story: earlier in the day, she had taken a walk through their quiet village with the little girl. at one point, the little girl stopped, sniffed the air, and said it smelled like - me! me!! eventually the girl too smelled the sweet scent, but could not identify it.

now, there was no one around, least of all me, so it wasn't the perfume. clearly, in the dead of winter, it could not be emanating from anything green and growing. woodsmoke? - i thought? i certainly hope not. i pondered this for hours before i finally came up with a feasible answer to this conundrum. i bet the smell was coming from a dryer vent behind some house. i bet the little girl thinks i smell like dryer sheets.

december traditions

at the end of november, every year, i give the little girl an advent calendar, as i did her mother before her. she takes it home, hangs it in her kitchen, and opens a window each december morning, counting the days until christmas. it's tradition.

our other december tradition is observing the little girl's half-birthday. in the past, i've just mention it to her, but this year, given her increasing knowledge of fractions, i mailed her half of a birthday card. she thought it was funny.

early on the morning of her half-birthday, after i sent a happy half-birthday text, the girl sent me this photo of the image behind the advent calendar window for that day. again, the little girl thinks it's some sort of grandmother-magic.

christmas birds of a feather

over the weekend, the little girl was here, helping to decorate the christmas tree. although there are many, many ornaments to choose from, she chose every single one that her mother had made in school or admired years ago as a child. this christmas, the tree borders on tacky, but i like it.

as i was rearranging a few tonight (to make room for the ornaments i like!) i noticed these three red birds, neatly arranged on the bottom branches. i called the little girl to ask about it. she told me yes, she put them together on purpose, because she thought it looked nice. kind of like a flock, she said.

i'm not moving a thing.

clearing away the past

for several mornings this week, the little girl and i spent some time organizing her bedroom, a rather large space with lots of nooks and crannies. after breakfast we'd turn on the radio and start where we had left off the day before. as we worked we'd reminisce about toys and books she'd outgrown. we chose stuffed animals to donate to the thrift store. we made piles of action figures, legos, and plastic dinosaurs and found and labeled containers for each. sometimes we'd get sidetracked and have to snuggle on the bed to read parts of a book or get up and dance to a favorite tune. but we'd soon be back to sorting out broken crayons from the whole ones and tossing piles of old greeting cards and first grade artwork. we organized a desk space for homework with sharpened pencils, a ruler, post-it notes, and a few erasers - the best part of the room, she says! we set up a science center with her rock collection and a reading corner with some comfy pillows. it was a lot of work, but we both agreed it was fun and productive and she loves the grown-up space. when will we have to do this again, she asked. never? i replied.

after we'd finished, i brought home the bag of toys to donate and two bags of trash to take to the dump. tonight i was going through them both, just to be sure i wasn't throwing away some important part to a game or a landmark piece of first grade work. and deep inside a box of puzzle pieces, i found this. it's the lyrics to a silly song we made up and recorded one night after dinner years ago. i'm guessing she wrote this note two years ago. i have no idea why she chose to write down these lyrics. all i know is, finding it touched my heart so. and it came this close to going to the dump.

here's the song, as we recorded it that winter night long ago as we had ice cream for dessert.

estimation

i'm a pocket person but i'm picky about what i keep in them. a beach rock, lip balm, a token from a friend, a flash drive. bills, neatly tucked up in a colorful paperclip. but seldom do i carry coins. it's just too much jingle. so, like many others, i toss them in a container and there they sit until they fill the thing up. for a while now, i've transferred the contents to a bigger container as i fill the smaller one. finally this week, the little girl and i decided to take them to the change machine at the bank.

what a wonderful opportunity for a lesson in estimation, thought the teacher in me. so we brainstormed ways to go about doing that. we decided to start by counting the change in one fistful of money. then she counted the number of additional fistfuls from the container. pencil and paper multiplying that was a bit beyond her abilities came last. we estimated that there was roughly $125 in change.

on the way to the bank, the little girl reminded me that the counting machine wouldn't take foreign coins. we decided there had to be some in our stash since we live so close to Canada, but we weren't worried.

at the bank, we dumped all the coins into the machine. we watched in awe as the coins dropped in and the displayed total grew larger. as the noise started to slow and the display finally stopped, we looked at each other in disbelief. $124.69. and in the coin return, a single shiny Canadian quarter. i was so dumbstruck, i didn't even think to take a picture of it!

we were so close!!

memorial day weekend

after she told me all about the Memorial Day event at her school, the little girl and i went outside to add our flag to the front door wreath. once it was placed, she suggested we pledge allegiance to it, like they do in school. so we did, she and i. hand over hearts, nice and loud, right there on the front lawn in front of the whole neighborhood.

my favorite flowers

i love the flowers that grow this time of year - primrose, mayflowers, trillium and anemone. the delicate single petals, the soft muted colors. the but this year my favorite flowers are these - brightly colored tissue paper ones with pipe cleaner stems, made by the little girl and presented for my birthday. 

pranked

a late april fool's day gift from the little girl. not a brownie, but a brown e. she thinks it's absolutely hysterical - and she almost got me.

♡ day

valentine's day today is overshadowed by a raging nor'easter, with snow and sleet and wind. schools and businesses are closed. roads are horrible and my car is stuck diagonally across the driveway, waiting for someone to come and pull me out. historically, by mid february, i am very sick of winter and i'm afraid this year is no exception. bring spring!

valentine cardinals. my favorite. 

but the little girl and i have an impromptu valentine's celebration since she's disappointed to be missing her school party with her friends. we munch red and pink m&ms as we make valentine cards, sit in heart-stockinged feet as we read stories on the couch (me to her and her to me!), and exchange homemade valentine cards. we take a heart walk from room to room, spotting all the heart cookie cutters, framed heart prints, and small heart decorations. finally, she notices that we've left a snowy bit on the kitchen floor that has melted into a heart-shaped puddle. i mean, really - what are the chances? happy heart day to you!

full circle

when i was a child, my father's mother lived close by and i'd often walk to her house. food was important there and she was always cooking and baking. she'd feed me ginger ale floats with vanilla ice cream and tell me that i'd remember her when she was gone because of them. i do have a lot of food-related memories of her - she taught me how to measure shortening by putting water in a measuring cup and then adding the crisco. she always let me sift the flour and mix with the egg beater. i make her gingersnaps at christmastime.

as i worked in my own kitchen this afternoon, a forgotten memory came spilling back to me. in my grandmother's refrigerator there was always a partially eaten cold chicken, leftovers sitting on a
flowered plate in the middle of a silvery gelatinous pool of congealed juices. i remember thinking it was one of the most disgusting foods i'd ever laid eyes on. i couldn't bear to touch the quivering jellied mass or eat the slimy chicken. it was just too gross. yet here i was today, the grandmother myself, shredding leftover cold chicken and scraping that same goo from one of my own plates to add to the stock to make soup for my granddaughter's dinner. i've come full circle!

all is bright

a christmas eve gift from the little girl, fashioned by her own hands. it's a centerpiece, she tells me. no, it's a treasure, i think.

merry christmas to all and to all a good night. 

baking day

a rainy, windy wednesday before thanksgiving, a good day to be warm and dry inside, baking and prepping for the holiday. we make turkey cookies, leaf cookies, and the isolated squirrel, all sporting m&ms for color. we roll with my mother's rolling pin and i tell the little girl about the thanksgivings of my childhood. we reminisce a little about her thanksgivings past, few though they may be. and we talk and laugh and sing, two happy bakers making a thanksgiving memory to recall in years to come.

second time around

walking in the yard today, i found this. look familiar?

i was surprised - and then laughed and laughed. 

i don't know how it got here. last i saw it, the little girl was tucking it into her pocket. i wonder if she placed it so that i'd find it and be surprised. by the way, notice some hungry someone has been nibbling on the acorn man's hat!

prank

i anticipated we'd be out walking in the woods this glorious fall weekend, so i took an acorn from the fidget bowl, drew a tiny face on it, and placed it along the path on an isolated bed of moss where i was sure the little girl would find it. and find it she did. she let out a gasp of disbelief, a whoop of joy, and gave me a big hug after i finally admitted that, yes, i had put it there. then she ran back to the house laughing and whooping some more and yelling, "this is hysterical!"

what a great reaction. i must do this for her more often!

not so little

over the weekend, the little girl visited. she was here on two occasions, yet i was still amazed when she walked up to the door this morning. who is this tall person, all legs and arms and laughter? how did she get so big overnight? milk teeth are loose and jiggle on command, her tongue poking into the hole left vacant by her latest loss. she carries on logical conversations and often prefaces her thoughts with "actually...". she reads, she calculates, she plans. and, in a few weeks, she is headed to school.

i remember her mother growing up quickly - but not this fast. i may need to find a new way to refer to the "little girl" since, incredibly, sadly, she's just not so little any more.