Dear Grandmother

Today you would be 107 years old. It has been a long time since I wrote you a letter. You were such a good letter-writer with beautiful handwriting. Even when you apologized for your handwriting in the last years of your life, it was better than my left-handed writing is now. I remember going to my mail box when I lived in the dorm, reading your letters. You sent me letters no matter where I lived. I miss you and I miss those letters.

 EM and I continue the same, older, but not much different. At least, we don't think we are different. I'm sure photos show something different and AT insists were are different. You would not believe how much AT has changed and how much she has stayed the same. She was just almost four when you passed away. She is now a 13 year old teenager, in every sense of the word. She is beautiful, and strong, just a little taller than you. This week she is at cheer camp, her first camp away from home. She can do a backflip. You would not be surprised at that, but you would laugh aloud. She was always athletic, even as a toddler. She is at the push-pull time of trying to push her parents away, then reaching back for them. It has been painful for me. I am tearing up now as I write this. I have been the most important person in her life since she has been born. No longer. at least she tries to make it seem that way. Now, she is careful not to give me too much attention in public.

 We are still living in the same house. I know you loved my gardening efforts years ago. That all seemed to fade away once we had AT. I diverted all my attentions toward her. Now, that she is growing up and having more responsibilities around the house, I find I have more free time. Your naked ladies still come up around our house. I still have your hostas but they have not flourished in the hot Oklahoma air, like they do in more humid areas. Your pampas grass is doing great. Somehow your deep blue asters have disappeared. I suspect that EM had something to do with that. I plan to get some more someday. Your bridal veil bush bloomed and there was a successful tulip stand this year. I plan to add to the tulips for next year. I have just a few daffodils. I remember the thousands of daffodils you had in the woods lot. We just had a four inch rain yesterday. I'm not as confident a vegetable gardener as you were. Or maybe I'm just not as hard a worker as you.

 You might be disappointed that I do not quilt any more. It surprises me because I thought I would never give it up. But then there was a bouncing girl who would have made me prick my finger or would have landed on the needle or would have yelled for attention every time I moved the quilt onto my lap. And now that I have the time again, I don't have the interest. I still stay very busy in the craft area, mainly when I need to be practical and want to decorate for cheap. I love to paint walls and think of how you liked to paint because it made the room clean. You were so proud of the time you painted every piece of furniture in a bedroom green. Guess my favorite color!

 I think of you often, especially on Sunday mornings in church. Remember when I used to call you on Sunday afternoons and report on AT's behavior grade in church? It always made you laugh. Even at 13, she often gets a "C" for church behavior.

 I still have so many questions to ask you. For all the hours we spent talking, there is much more I need to know. How often did you ride a horse? How often did you go to town when you were a child? Who was the young man in the photo and what was he holding? He wrote a note to you on the back of the photo. Was he a romance or potential romance? I asked you how you met Granddaddy, but was there romance for you before Granddaddy? I'm sure you would have told me all of this and more. You loved to tell your stories. I remember you telling me about the first time you tasted chocolate, the first time you remember being angry. I've been the same way, telling stories with AT (although she's outgrown her need to hear my stories now). She used to beg for them, until I would say, "no more stories!" or "I can't think of any more!" Now, she quickly says "no more stories", herself.

I plan to age as you did. You were so practical. What happened, happened. With each stage, you seemed to adjust and find a way to enjoy that time. You are my model for the future. Happy birthday and I miss you very much...

 Love, Your Granddaughter

Our Saturday

Marathoners, bikers, bicyclists, yard workers, toddlers, vintage cars, convertibles, everyone was out this morning at 8 AM.  It was a softly windy day, perfect temperatures.  We started our day at Midway Grocery.  AT was required to come with us, and, after she saw the unique grocery store/deli, she was charmed and interested in our day.  Midway is where EM's car club usually meets every Saturday.  Here below she is asking her dad if she can tell the old gentleman nearby that smoking is bad for his health.  She knew her dad would say no, but loved the opportunity to torment dad.

Midway is where the club usually meets on Saturday mornings; however, today it was just the starting point.  We headed our 10 car caravan, hot rods, street rods, vintage cars, south on Route 77 to a vintage airplane show.  We thought there was also going to be a car show, but there wasn't until our group showed up and drove through the barriers, parking next to the airstrip.

On the right is EM, admiring his car.  He loves it so.

The airplanes were fascinating and tiny.  I have only been up in a small plane once or twice.  For a while, planes were landing every 10 minutes.  Except for the heat of the day, which was certainly climbing by noon, I could have watched them all day.  

We heard that the planes used 25 gallons per hour.  Is this true?  Between the small interiors and the expensive gas, we decided that we would rather be in a Buick convertible.

Then, joy, we did some destination dining, one of my favorite hobbies.

EM and I had catfish.  I really wanted the BBQ, but am trying to be more determined about eating better EVEN IN A RESTAURANT!  I know fried catfish is not super healthy, but isn't it better than my first love, BBQ?  I did not have fries!  

We were home by 1:30 and AT ventured off to spend the night with a friend.  Tonight, EM, the convertible and myself are off at 10:30 to see the moon!

Have you noticed that I have photos for the first time in my blog?  No telling what long-winded photo-heavy blogs will be posted this summer when I am out of school.  Maybe there will be photos of the moon.  Don't expect much.  My photography skills and camera are not very powerful.  

You Cannot Dial-A-Child

 One thing I’ve learned, in watching AT grow up, is that you cannot Dial-A-Child.  This was brought to the forefront this week when we went to a museum.   When I was a child, we always hit the museums, given the opportunity, and my dad liked taking the role of a teacher, saying, “What do you think that is?”  Often, I knew the information and I also knew that he was pleased when I had the answer.  He probably doesn’t even realize it to this day how much I saw him as a teacher when I was a child.  Now as an adult, I enjoy the role of being a teacher and I give him credit for my being a teacher now.

So, with my own child, I harbored fantasies that I would be teaching facts, that she would be a voracious reader (as am I), that we would share information, that we would share books to read.   When she was little, I promise I read to her constantly.  I imagined that when she was a preteen, I would read wonderful young adult books and pass them on to her.  We would go to the museum and she would be amazed and interested in the information I found.  I, in turn, would be amazed at her prior knowledge. 

Ha!  I repeat….Ha!

That’s not the child of my household, and, at the museum this week, I had a twinge.  Where was this mini-me that I had dreamt of?   Why was she dancing and prancing, instead of looking at the excellent exhibits?  Instead, I have a child who is intense, imaginative, and determined to manage her own ship. She loves her family and friends intensely.   She wants to read for information, not pleasure.  She wants to write her own books, not read the books of others.  She wants to draw, to create.  I’ve learned her creative soul does not want the 5 steps to a project, starting at step one (which is the way my mind works).  Her creative soul wants to create and ask for help only when there is a problem.  She may check in with me for the first time at step four.  Her conversations are peppered with “What would you do if….?” and I’m not even going to fill in that blank because her questions are so far out there and crazy and funny.   When she was younger, her imagination would get her in trouble, because she would ask herself “what-if” questions until she stirred herself up into a frenzy of worry.  We would even say, “No more ‘what-if’ questions.”  She’s matured out of that, thank goodness.

She is socially adept, not shy, like I was as a preteen and teen.  She didn’t want to be out of school this summer because of all the new friends she made at her new school last year. I watched her as a three-year-old, initiate conversation with the leader of the band. As an 11-year-old, she appropriately inserted herself into the conversation with the dad of a child star, so well so that the dad later came to retrieve her to meet the star.   

She is determined to be the master of her own ship.  She knows what she wants, what she approves of, and where she wants to go.  She has firm boundaries around her.  And, in the end, she will be the master of her own ship, as all our children are, and I’ll be left on the shore, holding my breath, whispering “Diligence, diligence!” and waving goodbye.  I did not have the opportunity to Dial-A-Child, but I think God knew what he was doing.