Last days of summer……………
Today was the hottest day of the year. Early morning
bright, clear skies, sun warming the earth with hot, yellow rays early in the
day. I wanted to drive to the ocean and escape the heat by walking bare-footed
in the cold, bracing surf. Instead, I stayed home and did a favor for one of my
children who needed me to watch my two young grandsons while other family came
together to paint a house.
Early, I drove to the store and stocked up on food for the
little ones. Green sweet grapes, turkey sandwich meat, pepperoni and cheese to
make pizza, another gallon of milk. Together we weathered the heat and the day.
I showed them all the children’s video’s I had unpacked earlier this week. In unison
they would ask, ”Did you buy this for me?” Again and again I tried to explain I had bought them
for their mom when she was little; or their uncle when he was little but at 3
and 5 that particular concept is beyond their comprehension. They asked
questions about each movie; “What was it about?” and the ever-present, “Did you buy it for me?”
While they looked over movies I readied the kitchen, making
pizza dough, cutting up toppings and setting up their pizza making areas. The
boys, hearing the fridge open, kept running down the hall and kept begging
pepperoni slices to eat by the handfuls. Finally, the dough was ready and I
gave each boy a ball of dough and a floured bread board to knead it on. I
showed them how to press, fold and turn the dough until it wasn’t “sticky”
anymore. Then I showed them how to use a big old marble rolling pin to roll the
dough flat. They patted their dough in oiled pie pans, carefully pat, pat,
patting it into shape.
I got out 1930’s desert cups I’ve never used and poured in
tomato sauce for each boy. I gave them small spoons and showed how to put the
sauce on their dough. I thought they’d enjoy using their fingers to spread the
tomato sauce but they chimed, “No Gramma, could you spread it with your fingers please?” A bowl of shredded
cheese and they had fun covering the red sauce with the bright orange cheddar. Their
eyes lit up when I brought out the platter I had used with sections to put the
cut up toppings; small home grown cherry tomatoes; chunks of white turkey meat;
slices of spicy pepperoni; small chunks of pineapple. They had so much fun
adding the toppings. They were careful too; little tiny artisans creating their
masterpieces.
A last layer of cheese and in the oven the pizzas went. The
timer was set and we retired to the movie watching. The decision was reached to
watch a Sponge Bob movie. The two small brothers, both climbed up into the
rocker-recliner that’s in their room at Gramma’s and I sat on the twin bed.
Amazingly the movie was interesting. For a while I had watched so much Sponge
Bob with my grandson Jesse, I was, “Sponge Bobbed” out. This movie, however
kept all our interests. Now and then they would inquire about the pizza being
done. One of them followed me out to the kitchen when I went to check on it.
Finally their piping hot layers of yummy goodness were out
of the oven and cooling on the counter. I cut tiny wedges and took them into
the movie room. The youngest grandson looked me dead in the eye and said, “Gramma,
Could you please take the stuff off the pizza?” I looked back at him just as
steadily, “You made the pizza and whatever you don’t want you can go ahead and
take off.” He glanced at me again and left the pizza untouched. The other child
didn’t want any pizza either. Hilarious.
The movie ended and the heat became oppressive and the
younger grandson and I got the hose going on the back deck. He filled a large
blue tub and played for a long while; floating plastic trucks and pretending to
cook and having me taste everything. Watching “Flushed Away" in the family room,
the five year old finally decided the heat had got to him too and changed into
shorts. I got him a green tub and he filled it up, again and again, loving to
jump in slosh most of the water out yelling, “Cannon Ball!” at the top of his
lungs. They both decided me spraying them with the hose was the funnest thing
ever and for a long while they delighted in the cool spray with the abandon of
joy that only young children experience. “Rainbows!” they cried, “Rainbows!” “Gramma
make bigger rainbows!”
Eventually we all tired of this and retreated to the family
room to watch the rest of, “Flushed Away.” The smallest grandson, using his
best ever big-boy 3 year old voice said, “Grandma, could I have some cheese
please?” So with a small sigh over the
neglected plates of pizza I got him a bowl of shredded cheese. He ate it
promptly then moved over from his window seat to come sit closer to me. He eyed
me steadily again, “I’m hungry Gramma. If I don’t eat I’ll die!” Well I couldn’t help but smile at the drama since
he’d already turned down pizza and a bowl of grapes, but I obligingly made him
a turkey sandwich on soft potato bread. I got him a glass of milk and he sat
near the large family room window, contentedly munching his sandwich.
The five year old announced he’d like a sandwich also, “But
don’t cut mine Gramma.” Then the two of them almost conspiratorially, decided to
inquire whether I had washed their cups. I reassured them the cups were clean
but they both looked at me suspiciously. Again hilarious.
I got up to get more milk for the youngest child, and then I
stand at the fridge, asking the other child, “Would you like more milk?” I ask
twice. I go sit down and I hear the five year olds distinct voice, “More milk
please.” I get up and remind him I just
had asked him, he appears not to hear me but inspects the cup I hand him with
serious intent.
The temperature is about 100 degrees, it is hot, sticky and
little air seems to move from the spinning ceiling fan. Fed, full and somewhat
cooled off by the long play in water the boys start to liven up. The three year
old steps, (felt like stomped) repeatedly on my bare feet. “Stop,” I ask, “You’re
hurting my toes.” I see a small smile break at the corners of his cherubic
face. His eyes twinkle a bit and I realize just possibly one or more of those
stomps on my toes might have been a little less than accidental. The boys start
rough housing with each other; the older swinging his brother around by his
shirt narrowing missing a coffee table corner. “Stop boys” I tell them somewhat
sternly. “Mom and dad don’t want to come home to find you hurt. You can’t play
like that with furniture around.”
“Come on,” I encourage them, “Let’s get things picked up.
Mommy and daddy will be here soon.” No one moves, but undeterred I start
picking up their things and putting them together. Parents finally get there,
visit for a while and my daughter is kind of surprised when I finally say, “Ok
guys, lets get your stuff maybe mom and dad will let you play in the hose when
you get home!”
My daughter looks at me and asks, “What’s wrong?” I tell her honestly, “Nothing, but I’m tired!
The boys are very, very active and you’ve got to watch them every single minute
or they get into something.” She smiled, “I know” she agreed, it’s like that
for me every day.”
Shoes on, bags packed ready to go I stand by the fridge and
ask the 5 year old if he wants to take home his pizza. He looks at me, looks
up, takes a rather long pause then raises one hand and very seriously answers, “Ah,
no.” My daughter smiles, I half-laugh, I have pizza in my fridge for a lot of
my week. My daughter says, “Well mom, you can eat it.” “Yes,” I agree, “I can
eat it, but some of their toppings are this thick!” (holding up my fingers to
show a generous inch or two.)
One of the last hot days of summer shared with two adorable
grandsons whose active engagement in life challenges me to ask the question, “Whatever
happened to my “joie de vivre?” Why shouldn’t I be just as happy about the small
things in life as they are?
Well, if you’re reading this, I think you are probably an
adult. And for everyone I know, staying happy in the midst of the trials of
life, (bills, health, relationship, problems, problems, and more problems) is a
huge challenge. For me, I would like to say that my faith in God buffets all
these factors for me and I am perpetually in a state of joy; but that would be
a lie. Many of the people I know use drugs and alcohol, (prescribed and unprescribed)
to ‘take the edge off things.” For me, overweight and again, (yes again) out of
shape it’s impossible to deny that I find comfort in food.
Well, and as tempting as it might sometimes sound, I’m not
having my physician prescribe me a little something to take the edge off. I’m
not throwing stones at people who do this, but I do know that for me it would
be a cop out of sorts. If I believe that
God loves me; if I believe that He
hears and answers prayers; if I believe
that no matter what He’ll see me through; then if I’m not happy, it’s a spiritual issue and no amount of taking
the edge off will fix that.
So, as the heat begins to subside and the breeze ruffles
the outside window leaves I make my plans to seek the ocean tomorrow; and some
serious prayer time with God. As the ocean winds breathe the summer over-ripe
heat from my soul may my prayers wash away the things that keep my face, faith
and outlook from being secure in the love of God. May I find renewal and
rediscover my joy in the morning.
Be loved and be blessed……seek His face; find His grace….sorrows
erase.
Thou wilt show me the path of life. In thy presence is fullness of joy. At thy right hand are pleasures for evermore. Psalm 16:11
At age 19 I entered Canada as an illegal immigrant, accompanied by my draft-dodging husband. It was fall, the sun was still shining, the trees adorned with the beauty of red, golden leaves. It was an adventure.
We drove North trying to find a place to settle. Calgary was a bustle of people and businesses but nothing seemed to be open to us. We continued North through the hills and mountains, car packed to the hilt, young, well and strong.
I should have seen all these signs and realized I was not running away from the draft but into a culture where poverty was running rampant and the last place I would find shelter was where a country struggled to cope with an already too full census of immigrants. But, youth and the blind eyes of people who have never known want, or need kept stubbornly on pressing into the quickly freezing city.
A search through local newspapers and we found a small ad, few words, small apartment for rent, and an address. We stopped here and there, asking directions, trying to find English speaking people to help. We finally found an older two story home with a large desolate looking porch. We knocked loudly and in response, a short, stout dark-haired man appeared. He spoke no English and through a series of hand signs, and gesturing towards the newspaper ad the communications were made. The man waved us into the home and took us up their stairs to an empty small apartment carved into their home. 
My husband and the home owner somehow determined a price and money exchanged hands and we unloaded our car and entered our temporary shelter. It seemed fun. Small kitchen, large claw foot tub in the bathroom and an ancient linoleum floor patterned in an old world theme. The windows in the home with old, wood-framed ones with two windows. I had never seen windows like that being raised in the temperate climate of the Pacific Northwest. But it was new, and therefore interesting to me.
The weather continued to turn colder. Waves of deep, bone chilling cold blanketing the earth with an intensity of cold I had never experienced. Snow came and blanketed the earth with a fresh coating of thick, white softness. My husband found a part-time job under the table in a nearby gas station. We quickly discovered we didn't have the clothing for the deepening freezing temperatures. As part of our car load we had brought a radio and seeking through the stations we found an English speaking one where temperatures were reported at 60 below freezing with the wind chill factor.
