Grandma Duty

Oh, it's good to resume Grandma-Duty again now that I've returned to Dillon Beach. I was unprepared for how many unanswered questions the children have been storing up for me, or the adventures they have planned for the summer. In their eyes, I'm still a peer-aged playmate, not some doddy old woman looking at getting older. They're looking to me to help supply them with a Sun-Filled-Action-Packed-Summer-of-Fun! (Goodness, what a big order!)

Also, I need to apologize for taking so long to resume the Blog. I hadn't realized how integral good wireless connections were to the Blog and though I've supposedly 'reconnected' with the wireless company we used to have here in Dillon Beach, they tell me it will be another two to three weeks before I'm 'wired up', so that leaves a crackly phone line connection for the time being, and some days it just plain doesn't work!

Okay, so that's my excuse, now on with the Grandma Thing. Charlie, still, calls me Mackey. He probably always will. It was his special name for me when he was about eighteen or twenty months old and it doesn't matter if he'll turn nine in the fall, he'll probably still be calling me Mackey when he's thirty. Sage, though, well, he was loathe at some point to call me "Mackey" and this past year he is very pointedly calling me, "Grandma", every sound and syllable firmly intact. Sage has just completed a semester of speech training in kindergarten and delights in pronouncing some old 'hard' words, like "yellow" and "railroad" with exquisite clarity. The time was right for the training and the little guy's sweet little lisp and inability to pronouce "r's" are now a thing of the past. (Doggone it! It was pretty cute!) The speech training seemingly opened up worlds for Sage to talk about as well. There was a time when he was two and a half that I worried he'd ever be a talker. His brother interpreted most of his wants and I worried that he'd ever fully express himself. I needn't have. He is expressing himself wonderfully well.

I celebrated my birthday last week and for my present, I have invited my sons and their families out to a family fun center for an evening of raucous fun, particularly water bumper boats and Indie car rides, Laser tag and the multitudinous video arcade. Sage is wildly excited and hopes he has grown tall enough to partake in some of the activities that were closed to him last year.

I was resting on the couch, trying to read a book when he climbed up behind me and hung over the back of the couch. "I wonder if they still have the pinball game, Grandma. I hope they do! Do you think I'll be tall enough to play that pinball game this year?"

"I don't know, Sage. I hope you will be..."

"Well, I HOPE I'm tall enough to play that pinball game. I have grown this year. Last year, let's see.... it was about to here on me and I couldn't see to play it. But you know, I've grown a lot taller now so I hope I'm tall enough to play that pinball game."

"I hope so!" I agreed, (trying to find the place in my book again).

"Well, I might be tall enough. And if I'm not, do you think they'd have a stool I could stand on to play the game? Or a chair! I could just drag a chair over and stand on that. Then I could play that game!"

"I doubt they would let you stand on a chair, Sage," I warned, (my place in the book permanently lost again).

"Well, the pinball game I want to play is right against that wall and there were chairs right there! I bet I could stand on one of them."

"We'll see..."

"I sure hope I'm tall enough. I certainly would like to play that pinball game!"

Tonight's the night for the Big Event. I'll have to blog about the outcome in a few days. Stay tuned!

Countdown

The healthy little 'pad' of days before Christmas has eroded away and with a measly seven left, time is running out. I checked my lists and found an order that hadn't arrived. I've checked another list and found out I still need to bake about six more Christmas breads or batches of cookies to fulfill my always-too-long gift list. The days until The Big Day remain full: dinner with friends, Christmas parties, outings with the children, get-togethers with family and friends, last minute appointments to primp or get that end-of-the-year doctor or dentist appointment in, you name it, there's something going on almost every day.

It's not just the adults who are awash in heavily laden To Do Lists. Charley, the eight year old, found himself shopping in the school Christmas Bazaar last Friday, then rushing off on a bus with second and third graders for an exhibition of the Nutcracker Suite (he liked it) and when they arrived home, was gussied up by his mom and dad for the company Christmas party we held at the Town Hall. He didn't get to bed until after midnight, and only then after his dad showed him the Geminid meteor shower. But he proclaimed his day, "The Best!"

Charley's all worried that Santa will fail to bring him the game system he's been asking for. A week ago, he got to talk to Santa at the Harley shop and told him what he wanted for Christmas. Santa didn't agree, he only grunted and murmured, "We'll see."

Charley was maddened by that answer. "Does that mean he'll bring it, Mackey?" he asked, worriedly when we made our way back to the car. "What does 'We'll see...' mean, anyway?"

"I guess it means Santa has a lot of requests for that item, Charley," I said. "He might not be able to bring it."

So this week, Charley penned his daddy down and asked him outright if Mommy was going to get the video game for him. Daddy shook his head. "No, she couldn't find one when she went shopping." Now Charley was worried. When his second opportunity to see Santa came up at the company Christmas party, Charley was the first in line. I saw him standing in front of Santa, imploring him at great length about something. I could guess what it was. I asked Charley later what he had said so urgently to Santa.

"I told him I really wanted that video game, Mackey," Charley reported. "But Santa didn't say he would bring it. He didn't say anything at all."

"Well, you know, Charley," I was trying to find something to say that would make him feel better. "Sometimes we ask Santa for something that he can't bring us. I remember when I was eight, I asked for a Betsy-Wetsy Doll. I really wanted this doll that you could feed a bottle to and then she wet her pants. But as much as I wanted that doll that year, I didn't get it. So sometimes, we just have to accept that Santa can't bring us everything we want."

Charley looked at me aghast. "A doll that wet its pants?" he repeated. "Why would you want that?"

"It was back in the Fifties, Charley, and that was pretty special then. That's what I wanted."

Charley shook his head. "Gee, Mackey, back in Those Days, you must have been in a desperate situation."

Before any of you head to that desperate situation, check off some items on your To Do Lists and then settle back and enjoy these next two weeks of fun and joy and Love. That's what I'm going to do!

Playin' Games

In addition to Christmas being a special time for children, it's also when we take a little more time to have fun and play some games with those children. Charley likes to play word games, guessing games and any other sort of game that stimulates his mind when we're driving. He loves to have Mackey join in, and it does beat listening to the radio.

We were on our way home from an evening of Christmas shopping last night and near the dump, Charley shouted out from the back seat, "Let's play 'Read My Mind', Mackey. What number am I thinking of between one and ten?"

"Six!" I shouted back at him.

"No, eight," he yelled.

"That was my second choice," I told him. "Do it again."

"I'm ready. Guess," Charley said.

"Three!"

"You're right, Mackey! It was three. That's what I was thinking of!" (I'm only right about a third of the time. I don't want you readers thinking I'm good at this, mind you.)

"I want to play!" Sage announced, not wanting to be left out.

"Okay, Sage," I instructed. "Think of a number between one and ten and Charley and I will guess what it is."

"Okay!" He was excited to be included. "I'm weady. Three!"

"No, no, Sage!" Charley groaned. "You can't say it. You have to think it and Mackey and I will read your mind."

"Okay." Mr Agreeable.

"Now, think of a number between one and ten," Charley patiently instructed again. "And now Mackey and I will think what it is."

"Okay." There was silence from the back seat.

"Have you thought of the number yet, Sage?" I asked. I couldn't feel what number he was thinking of. All I could read from him was blankness.

"No!" he announced. "I'm thinking. Oh, okay, I got one."

"Okay," Charley and I chimed in together. We started to concentrate.

"It seven!" Sage announced proudly.

Charley groaned and I laughed. Sometimes it was hard to play with five year olds. Once again, Charley patiently explained the particular 'rules' of this game.

"Now, Sage," he repeated. "You gotta think of a number between one and ten. AND DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD! Mackey and I will guess what it is. Now... think of a number. Okay, now don't say it out loud. We will guess."

"All wight," Sage sounded subdued.

"Now, my turn," Charley announced. "I'm thinking of six."

"Okay, Sage," I concentrated, well as hard as you can while you're driving a dark country road with two mind readers in the back seat. "I think you're thinking of one."

"Wong!" Sage chortled. "You both wong! It eleven!"

May you enjoy this season of children and games and maybe even win a few!

The Legend of Larry

A month ago, Boppy returned from Arizona with an interesting tidbit to share with Charley and Sage. As he'd been packing up the house to leave, he saw a giant Sonora centipede crawling out from under the cowboy table in the sun room.

Thinking it would be of great interest to the grandsons, he emptied out a coffee container, stuck it in front of the six inch feller who promptly strode into the accommodating dark room. Boppy closed it up and drove home with the find. He figured if it survived the ride or not, he could show the boys what it looked like, then dispose of it.

The boys were captivated. Charley took one look and crowed with delight at its many legs and its size. "Why this must be the biggest bug in the world, Boppy!" he exclaimed, peering over the lid at the critter who reared its head upon the sight of sunlight in its otherwise dark home.

Its body was yellow with a brown head and tail. Two pinchers grew on its head and a nasty hooky spine, not unlike a scorpion, appeared on its tail. This critter could hold its own.

"Ohh, that's gwoss, Boppy!" Sage proclaimed, taking his turn to peer into the container. "That just gwoss!" He turned away and proceeded to spin circles in the room.

Charley, though, appeared to be transfixed by the appearance of the centipede. He ran to get Daddy to look up some facts on the centipede on the Internet. Then he found a clear Tootsie Roll container from the storeroom in the boathouse and persuaded Boppy to slide the hapless centipede into it so he could be viewed without having to open the coffee can lid. An hour later, while I was engrossed at the computer in the office, I heard Charley obligingly showing two customers "the world's largest centipede. Don't touch it, though,for its bite can kill you!" The men grinned and nodded their heads, marvelling at the thing and departed. Charley had a new idea.

"Daddy said this is the biggest centipede in the Northern Hemisphere, Mackey." (Charley would make a great school teacher at eight years old, with his pronouncements.) "Its bite will kill a frog or mouse. But it could sure hurt us. No, we can't touch it! He said it is found in only remote areas of the Sonoran Desert." (My cowboy table in the sunroom in Arizona appears to be a very remote area from where I sit at the computer in Northern California.) "And he says, it is very hard to capture."

"Agreed, Charley. I'm sure your Boppy had a hard time persuading the critter to walk into the coffee container."

Charley picked up the container in one arm, holding it behind his back and walked out to the busy Sunday afternoon tourists coming to the Landing to walk the beach or catch a crab. I got up and peered around the door to see what he was up to. He walked up to a group of folks and spoke earnestly for a new minutes. I saw a lady reach into her purse and take out a coin which she offered to Charley. He took the container out from under his arm, pried back the lid and let the lady peer down upon his find. She backed away after a few moments, a smile on her face. Charley nodded his head importantly, placed the lid securely back on the Tootsie Roll jar and pocketed the coin in his pants. Then he walked up to the next group of people and started his pitch.

Charley made $1.50 that day and before the day was over named the critter Larry. Why Larry? Larry is leggy, he said. Yes, he was and extremely lethal it appeared to me.

Over the course of the next week, Charley and Sage collected garden beetles and dead flies and fed Larry, who happily, it appeared, ate them up. They talked Boppy into helping them transfer Larry temporarily to another container so they could decorate the Tootsie Roll jar with a handful of beach sand, some sand crab carcasses, various twigs and a handful of grasses. Larry seemed content in his new domicile and spent a great deal of time absolutely supine. How do I know this? For Larry was now living on my kitchen counter. Mommy had come down and seen Larry and decided that he wasn't going to be inhabiting her home. Mackey agreed to provide a room over Larry's head only until Boppy returned to Arizona where he would be released into his own environment. She kept quizzing Boppy on when that trip would be.

Larry was fed twice a week but his appetite for flies was voracious. Charley was having a hard time swatting enough on the days he spent with Larry, but he finally hit upon a solution. He organized two of the most hyper-active boys in his class to catch flies for Larry during lunch recess. They sealed them up in their Zip-Lock sandwich bags. One lunch day, Charley emptied out forty-two of them. Larry was in hog-heaven. That night, I saw Larry climb the twig after one fly who had survived and was buzzing around the container for dear life, while Larry hooked the lower third of his body around the twig and dangled out into space to connect with the hapless fly. It was too much Wild Kingdom for me. I turned out the kitchen light without watching the outcome.

During the swap meet, Charley and Sage sold cookies and Looks at Larry for a quarter apiece and made thirty eight dollars in two days. Charley was ecstatic. When it appeared on Saturday that business was sagging in the middle of the day, he set Sage digging out beetles in the garden and commandeered a Sharpie from Mackey and wrote on a large poster: "LOOKS AT LARRY 25 cents. FEED LARRY FOR A DIME!" Business improved.

Charley didn't have a chance to tell Larry good-bye before Bopppy departed for the desert. I was sure he'd feel cheated since Boppy had removed his money making scheme. But Larry was loaded in back of the truck, still in his Tootsie Roll container. I snagged a garden snail and threw it in the container as a travelling Happy Meal for the big fella. Next morning, when Boppy unloaded the car, he thought Larry looked fairly lifeless. It would be a shame to remove the critter that far north for three weeks, then bring a lifeless Larry home. But as he took the container out and shook it, Larry sprang to life, his many legs clutching at the air as though voicing his complaint at all the interruptions in his otherwise ordered life.

I had visions of Boppy driving out to the desert wilderness someplace far from civilization and letting Larry go free. But Boppy had many chores on his mind and couldn't take the time. He walked across the street, into a gully that runs down from Apache Leap mountain. At the top of the gully, far enough away from any gullywashers that might come up, Boppy let Larry go. Larry crawled out of the Tootsie Roll container, the same way he'd gone in so obediently three weeks before, spied a hole just ahead of him and snuggled in. I don't know what kind of critter Larry ate to regain his home, but I do know he's back in his rightful environment. Boppy claims there was a big smile on his face as he slithered into his hole.

Charley has found a cache of old sea shells from Mexico that he is now actively selling. He had to give up on Larry as his source of income but he hasn't given up being an entrepreneur.