A Warm Hand to Hold

It was a relief to see the positive journal open call. I needed an opening to begin again. I haven’t written for four months because so much has happened in my life, some of it filled with hurt and disappointment pushing me into a space of anger and fear. Both places I hate, knowing full well the results of giving in to an emotional freefall. Heidibeth has sent a kind open invitation to journal about the positive so I’ve decided to accept. Even the simple sensual elegance of fingertips on the computer keys feels soothing to my soul. I’m hoping that I can convey the small, but important time that made me happy today.

Sunday afternoon, I took my oldest granddaughter, aged 7, to see the movie The Secret of Arrietty, from the Borrowers book series. The film is so delicately illustrated, scenes of the outdoors reminded me of the finest watercolors, light through trees, leaves used for umbrellas, postage stamps for wall art, a straight pin substitutes for a sword. The colors are scrumptious. Delightful, slow paced, with just enough humor. In one scene, a clearly American family sits down to dinner, but whip out their chopsticks to eat. It’s Japanese anime, but not so you would notice. I’m not wild about the big eye thing.

The main character, Arrietty, is a strong, feisty, and compassionate teenage girl. As a grandmother, I found her attributes to be refreshing compared to all the princess role models lately.

The film is very endearing, but not in a sappy way.. During a tense moment in the movie, where the menacing housekeeper is phoning an exterminator to get rid of the little people, my Rebecca leans over, with eyebrows knitted, whispers to me, “She’s a bad bad person.” I told her, “Yep, but I think it will turn out okay.” Rebecca leaned closer to me and put her small warm hand on my arm.

 

Aiden and I and Sweet Potato Pie

I was running late picking him up from kindergarten. I knew I only had 15 minutes to spare. Impulsively, I ran into a new grocery store, Green Something, to pick up bread and milk and added more items, you know how it is. Then I went to check out and it’s all self-checkout which I hate. The machine started screeching when I put the chicken in the plastic bag. I was running late and knew that Aiden, my little 6 year old grandson, the worrier, would think I had abandoned him. I drove a too fast down the street, shame on me, and slid into position in the pick-up kid queue at Indian Grove Elementary School. It was 11:35 am and thank God, I was safe. Aiden told me later, “Well, you know Grandma, when you are the last kid waiting they put you in the office and call your parents.” Subtle little stab in the heart.

We unloaded the groceries in my little cottage, “Grandma’s Tree House.” Milk, bread, eggs, root beer, a whole chicken, large eggs, lemons, rosemary, and bananas. Aiden and I settled down into working on a book we made together. It’s called, “Love.” I’d been noticing that his imagination was getting wild and wooly, stretching the bridge between truth and well, untruth.

We wrote the book the weekend before, and then we finished the illustrations. Aiden is really adept at computer stuff, learned how to scan the artwork into the computer in about 10 minutes. He also figured out how to take pictures and download them into the picture file, and then I showed him how to insert it into a document. Sometimes I think he would be perfectly happy having his own apartment with a computer, scanner and printer as long as he had an income stream from somewhere.

So he had dictated his self-description to me, “He is 100 feet tall” and “he has 10 fingers on each hand” and “his grandmother is the baddest Grandma in town.” When I asked how that was possible, he said, “Well, she tries to help people.” Geesh, that’s what made me bad? Anyway the book is hilarious, I did most of the illustrations, and he wrote all the words. He wants to send it to a publisher so we put it in an envelope and sent it to Scholastic, Inc. So it’s on its way to New York. While we wait for glory to come find us, I asked what he wanted to do.

“Let’s cook, Grandma.” Hmmmm. Ah, I remembered the sweet potatoes I had baked the night before. Perfect. I went into Food Network for a recipe and pulled up Emeril’s Sweet Potato Pie. I gave him my “Grandma’s Warning About Electric Mixer’s Talk” and then we began to gather the ingredients. Basically my scary talk is this, “If a child puts his fingers in the beaters he will lose his little fingers.” He’s very careful.

Aiden used the mixer to smooth out the sweet potatoes with the cup of cream, he beat up 4 eggs into the bowl, dumping in the pumpkin pie mix, cloves, salt, ginger, while I scrapped the sides with a wooden spoon. We poured it all into the cooked pie shell, and voila! Around 45 minutes later, it looked like a yummy soufflé. Aiden, sitting in his little wooden chair said, “Oh, Grandma, so delicious!” I’d never had sweet potato pie, but I think we both love it more than pumpkin. Try to make it with someone you love. The love makes it taste better.

Ingredients:



•1 egg white, lightly beaten

•1 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes

•1 tablespoon vegetable oil

•1/2 cup light brown sugar

•1/2 cup maple syrup

•2 teaspoons ground ginger

•1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

•1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg

•1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

•1/2 teaspoon salt

•1 cup heavy cream

•4 large eggs

DirectionsPreheat oven to 375 degrees F.I used a pre-made pie shell in the refrigerated section and it worked perfectly.Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface to a 12-inch circle. Carefully transfer the dough to a 9-inch deep pie pan and ease the pastry into the bottom and sides of the pan. Press the dough into the shell and crimp the edges in a decorative pattern. Using the tines of a fork, lightly dock the base of the shell. Place the shell into the oven and bake until lightly browned, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and brush the bottom with the egg white. Set aside until ready to use.Rub the sweet potatoes with the vegetable oil and roast in the oven for 45 to 60 minutes, until very tender. Remove and set aside to cool. Peel the potatoes and pass the flesh through a fine mesh sieve using a rubber spatula. You should have about 1 1/2 cups of smooth sweet potato puree.In a medium mixing bowl, combine the sweet potato puree with the sugar, maple syrup, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and salt. Whisk to combine. In a separate bowl, combine the heavy cream with the eggs and whisk to combine. Add the cream and egg mixture to the sweet potato mixture and stir to blend. Pour the batter into the prepared pie shell and place the pie on a sheet pan. Bake until the center is set and the tart is golden brown, 35 to 45 minutes. Remove the tart from the oven and allow to cool for at least 20 minutes before cutting. We made whipped cream out of the leftover cream.

Mama's Christmas Carrot Cookies and Family Cookbook

In my family, we had tea every day at 4:00 p.m. My mom always had homemade cookies, muffins, or date nut bread to go with the tea. She was a wonderful cook and her house always smelled like heaven. She died about 15 year s ago and I still miss her every day.

A few years after my mother died, I discovered that I didn’t have all of her recipes. I had a few favorites, but was missing many more. I felt kind of panicky because I had lost something extremely valuable. I began to email my sisters and nieces hoping to find the rest. Much to my relief, the replies came quickly with so many recipes that I began to compile them into categories. That gave me an idea so I emailed again, this time asking for everyone’s favorite memories of my mom. When those rolled in I knew I had the makings of a family cookbook. While reading everyone’s stories, I understood that my mom made everyone feel special and loved. It also made me cry more than I had in years.

 

Everyone who has lost an important person in their life knows that grief comes in waves. It hits you hard, and then goes away. I could be driving down the street feeling fine, hear a song on the radio like “It’s a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong (her absolute favorite), then I’d burst into tears. Having the cookbook to put together gave me a mission that year and it helped me to get through the holidays.

At the time I didn’t have a digital camera, so I drew and painted pictures of the food by memory. I cut out and glued the paintings on each recipe to put together one master copy. Next I color copied each page and I made 12 copies. I let Kinko’s put a clear plastic cover and back page and they bound them in plastic, also. The cover showed through nicely. I made a copy for each sister and for all nine of our children, put them all in large envelopes and mailed them off several days before the holiday. The carrot cookies were only made for Christmas Eve so I wanted them to arrive in time.

Mama’s Christmas Carrot Cookies


Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Cream the first 3 ingredients below:

½ cup softened butter



½ cup shortening



1 1/8 cup white sugar



Add 2 eggs



1 ½ cup carrots



(cook until soft, then put through the food processor or blender)



In a different bowl:



Sift all 3 items below through a metal strainer:



3 cups flour



2 tsp. baking powder



1 tsp. salt



Mix all the dry and wet ingredients together.



Put parchment paper on a cookie sheet.







Make rounded tablespoon size drops for the cookies-I use a medium sized melon baller.





Bake for around 12 -15 minutes- They don't get brown just check to see that they are firm, but watch for the bottom burning.







Orange Icing



1 package confectioner’s sugar



2 oranges grated



Juice the oranges



½ stick of butter, softened



Add the sugar and butter then mix. Use as much orange juice from the 2 oranges as needed but don't make it too runny, then add in the grated orange rind.



When the cookies are cool, spoon as much icing as you want over the cookies.



Cut maraschino cherries in half, blot on a paper towel, and then place one on each cookie after icing. Delicious- not too sweet, but the flavor of carrots and oranges together is so wonderful.


Here's what my niece Cindy wrote in her memory of my mom for the cookbook: "The joy of walking up the stairs to her home after a long, long trip-tea every day-how wonderful it was for the whole family to be together-date squares, carrot cookies, reading on the back porch, having her put her large knitted afghan over me for a nap, sweet peas growing in her yard, decorating Christmas cookies at her house with all the cousins, watching her bring plates of food to neighbors who were alone or sick. She was so loving." If you ever have the opportunity to put together a family cookbook I know you will find it an exercise in love.















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Thanksgiving Feast: The Cheese Stands Alone

First thing I noticed was that the kids were wearing turkey hats they had crafted out of construction paper. Each hat had multiple paper feathers decorated with crayons and glued onto a head band. These were eerily similar to Native American headdresses, but no matter. Trying not to offend any affinity group, the teachers had opted for a turkey motif. No pilgrims kitsch either.

I was invited to Rebecca’s class for the Thanksgiving feast. I was supposed to volunteer, however there wasn’t much to do. I tied a few boys’ shoelaces, broke up a fight over a puzzle, went out to recess with them and took photos. All the food was arranged on a buffet table: popcorn, fruit ambrosia, pretzels, little cupcakes with orange and yellow frosting, red peppers cut in strips, and cranberry juice.

When we returned to the classroom, the teacher asked me to read a book to the circle of children. It was called "Pip and Squeak", which was a pretty uninspired book, so I added my own clever commentary as I read on.

When the families arrived, moms and grandmothers mostly, only one dad, the teacher had the children sing Farmer in the Dell, Over the River and Through the Woods, and another one I didn’t recognize at all.

The children were told to sit down next to the placemats they made with strict instructions not to eat before everyone had been served. I like that the teacher talked about manners.

The big question was asked by the teacher: What are you grateful for? With answers that were all similar, like the world, their moms, and my little grand girl, however, piped up by announcing, “I’m grateful for my Grandma.” When Rebecca gets nervous, she has a tendency to speak too loudly, so everyone heard her proclaim her devotion. Nice.

Feeling bad for the dad who made the unappreciated sweet fruit salad, I tried to make myself useful by spooning the ambrosia onto kids’ plates, “See little marshmallows?” Not many takers. The kids ate their food, sang one more song and it was over.

Rebecca came over to give me a quick kiss goodbye, so excited because she was going to the after school program for a few hours. “It’s movie day!, ” she told me. I asked her to stand still and put on her turkey hat so I could take a picture.

Her response was, “No Grandma, I have to hurry. I gotta go, my friends are waiting.”

By the time I snapped the picture I just got the back of her, running with her turkey hat in her hand, jacket slung over her shoulder, and her backpack bouncing. I was kind of stunned. So soon?

 

As I drove home, I thought of the old Malvina Reynolds’ song, “Turn around.” The lyrics go something like, “Turn around and she’s two, turn around and she’s four, turn around and she’s a young girl going out of the door.”

That night as I told my daughter what happened, she said, “And that’s the difference between a 5 year old and a 6 year old.” Right on schedule, but God, I'm just not ready yet.

Everything is Satisfactual

The intense summer heat is gone. There is softness in the air, the October light has changed the quality of our days, and there is usually a breeze which makes Ava take notice. She squints and looks around, holds her face up, freezing for a moment at the way it feels on her eyes. I watch my granddaughters, Rebecca and Ava, three afternoons a week. Rebecca is turning 6 in one month and Ava is 7 months old. I stay for dinner and help out with dinner, bath time, and clean up.

We drift through these autumn afternoons by being quiet, but we sing, too. I’ve been teaching them Zippity Doo Dah. Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder. It’s the truth, my oh my, what a wonderful day! Rebecca and I sing. Ava listens.

Ava is sitting up, then overnight she has learned how to crawl. She does something like a pushup and stiffens her legs trying to stand. Her baby neck is thinner; she is beginning to look like a little girl rather than a baby. She has chubby sturdy legs to kiss and blow on. Ava’s head is covered with white blond hair that looks red in the sun. I have to stop myself from rubbing it all the time it is so soft.

On these warm afternoons, I take the girls out to the front yard. Rebecca either climbs the small elm or swings from the knotted rope suspended from a limb, while I sit on the grass with the baby. Ava loves the feel and sound of dried leaves, crinkly, rubbing them between her hands, she goes to eat them, and in one swift motion I uncurl her little hands, brushing the leaves back to the earth. We both watch Rebecca swing from her rope like Tarzan. I try to teach her the yell, but I can’t do it right.

I hold Ava under her arms and bounce her up and down while she does a little baby dance, feet doing a jig. Rebecca and I let her join us in a game of kickball. I swing the baby brushing her feet against the ball so she actually kicks it to her older sister. Ava takes it all in seriously like she wants to do a good job. Her eyes are dark blue marbles, her cheeks pink, her mouth holds two bottom teeth that are barely visible.

I marvel at Rebecca’s strength. Her hands are covered with healed over blisters from mastering the rings at school. Her big top teeth have come in. Her face is sweaty from the exertion, making her look like a Renaissance painting with blond curls that encircle her face, dark blue eyes, pink tiny mouth. Sometimes she climbs too high and it scares me. I love that she climbs trees and appears fearless. I wish she would come down, too, but I don’t say that. I just urge her to come down a little bit.

We have serious bath time discussions. Rebecca tells me that she doesn’t want me to spend any time with anyone but her. I tell her I understand and still, “Would she like it if I didn’t like her little sister?” Just something to think about, I tell her. I understand about jealousy I say. Then I tell her how when I read something someone has written that is very popular sometimes I feel a little jealous. I want my writing to be liked a whole lot, too. Love me best. Please.

I try to tell her how love doesn’t run out, there’s always enough, how you love people in different ways. I search for the words in a continuous inner dialog, something to put into print and illustrate how deep my love for her runs. “I’ve known you for almost 6 years. I’ve only known Ava for 7 months. Do you see how that might be different?” She is not convinced.

I try to take a mental snapshot of the soft light, Rebecca’s strong arms holding herself swinging in the air, the baby pulling grass, then smiling up at me to show me her hands full of green tufts and I wish it to go on forever.

YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME?

We have our routine. When my grandchildren, Rebecca 5,  and Aiden 4, come to visit me in my little cottage, after they settle down to relax, they both will begin to inspect my living space. What are they looking for?  They are making sure I am  keeping some key items in my home in the same condition and space as their last visit.

If I had one of their colorful paintings on my refrigerator held up by magnets, then they want to make sure it's still there.  Of utmost importance to both Aiden and Rebecca, are what I keep on my window sills, the significant religious and pagan items I love. Sea shells and stars I've collected, beach rocks, hawk feathers, a silver Cobra with ruby eyes, pieces of drift wood, statues of Mary and Guadalupe, turquoise candles, and pink quartz and tiny amethyst crystals surround my window sills.

The latest development in the last year has been that  both Rebecca and Aiden always want to take home a small memento of me and my home, back to their own houses. It reassures them in a way I can't quite explain.

For Aiden, he always wants to take home MAG-A-NETS that I made several years ago. I created small paintings of fruit, color copied them, pasted them on periwinkle blue card stock, then laminated them. I glued the strongest  magnets I could find to the back. On the way out the door, he asks me, "Grandma, can I take some mag-a-nets? I really need some. We don't have enough. " I always say yes. He's taken maybe a dozen home, and I've yet to see them on his own fridge. Perhaps, like a little squirrel, he's saving them in a tucked away space somewhere in his room. Who knows?  The times we make cookies together, it seems to satisfy his need by taking home some. This week it was lemon frosted cookies in a paper bag.

Last week Rebecca spent the night. Right off she made sure that the little pink, bejeweled notebook she gave me last Christmas was sitting on my computer desk. She picked it up, flipped through the pages, then set it back in the same spot. Touched my little silver bell music box, turned it upside down, twisted the winder, listened to "Silver Bells" for a minute and then put it back. Rebecca gets on her knees on my bed, then methodically  touches my Abalone shells, my gold framed picture of myself and my sisters, tiny rosaries, every little thing.

This time Rebecca focused on a 5 inch high  statue of Mary in her red dress, blue robes, standing on top of the world, bare left foot crushing a snake. "Can I take it home, Grandma?" I thought about it and decided, yes, she could. I asked if she would take good care of it. Rebecca nodded. "Okay then. You should put something around her so she won't break on the way to your house, " I told her.

She got out my scotch tape and reached up on the kitchen counter for paper towels. Rebecca, in deep concentration, reverently rolled the paper towels over and over Mary's small frame. She spent several more minutes and the rest of the roll,  taping it all in place. Finally, she nestled Mary into her tiger skin purse for the ride home.

Children love repetition, and a ritual is repetition over and over again.  Ritual gives all of us a sense of security, comfort, and familiarity so very important for our well-being. It is especially potent when ritual is personal so that it speaks to us when we don't have the language to explain. I'm not positive what it all means, just that we do the same dance each time, and it all has an edge of mystery to it. All I know is they want part of me to keep and it makes me really happy.

Baby Toes

My youngest grandchild, Ava, has just turned 6 months old this week. She is all big blue eyes and pink cheeks, full of good cheer, just looking for something to gnaw on to relieve her teething. She's smiley and loves the outdoors, but mostly she adores the wind blowing through the trees making them sway.

She's an observer, this baby. Ava watches each person who comes through the door or walks by the yard and wants to make eye contact right off. Of all my grandchildren, for some reason, I notice the changes she makes each week. Before, I would sit her on my knee facing outwards, and she would be happy for a long time. Now, all of a sudden, Ava turns her body around to smile at me and to respond to my voice. I can almost see all her synapses firing at once.

A few weeks ago she began to sit up. We went over to my son's house. My daughter in law has one of those things called a "boppie"  that sits on your lap for nursing. Well, it seemed like a great safety net to put behind Ava while she sat on the floor with some toys around her. It worked for awhile, but I think Ava'a back gets tired. She slumped forward, then realized she could reach her toes, grabbed her big toe and began to suck on it. The baby looked up at me, smiled, then went back to sucking her toe.

I Love You More Than the Stars and the Sea

When my daughter was born, my son was just about to turn three years old. Randy was crazy about his baby sister until at one, she began to walk, talk, and demand her fair share of  attention from the world and from me. The sibling rivalry between them lasted until half way into their teens. (I take that back. It's still going on in a milder form.) For years neither one of them could walk past each other in a room without a comment, a jab, a waving of hands, a pretend tickle,  just enough to make the other scream, "Stop it. Mom, he/she is TEASING  me!"  They would demand that I take a side in all their fights.

If I wrote a little note in one lunchbox, I did the same with the other child.  At Christmas, I would stack all their presents into two piles on my bed, carefully counting and recounting how many they each would be opening so that it was even, so neither would feel slighted. I did the same with their Easter baskets...two Reese's peanut butter eggs, 1 rabbit Pez container, 3 yellow marshmallow peeps, blah, blah, blah. It is sad to say that all my scrupulousness was wasted.

Sibling rivalry is as old as Cain and Abel. I thought I was over the worst of it, but no. My two oldest grandchildren, Aiden 4 1/2 (my son's son)  and Rebecca 5 1/2 (my daughter's daughter), have begun the battle anew. We all went over to my son's to swim on Sunday. If I gave one of the kids a ride across the pool on their swim circle, the other asked for  three rides. I bought both of them new swim rings, one larger than the other because Rebecca is bigger. Well, she hated the one I bought her because it wasn't girly enough. It was red with flames, Aiden's blue with pink flowers. He relished the idea that Rebecca was coveting his. It made him love it all the more. 

I picked them both up from Castle Tales Camp yesterday at noon. The night before, I had carefully packed a picnic of homemade brownies, bought Capri Sun lemonades, cut off the crusts of the little peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and cubed fresh pineapple and blueberries. I was determined to have a day without competition. 

Rebecca brought her Barbie pink Boogie Board that I bought her for her 3rd Christmas to use in the pool. The other children, being Northern Californian kids, were enchanted and had never seen one before. They were all asking, "What is that? Is that really yours, Rebecca?"    Aiden was flummoxed.  They climbed into their respective car booster seats. Rebecca mentioned that Aiden's was really a "baby" seat. I said, "Listen up, gang. I don't want to hear the word baby anymore unless you are talking about your own baby sisters."  They both laughed. I knew it was headed south if I didn't intervene.

My own mother, even into her 80's, used to have certain things she would say to compliment myself or my three older sisters. Joanie was dubbed the "hard worker."   Lois was " so smart."  Sandy was  "so funny, so intelligent..."  I can't remember  what she said about me. But every time she started saying, "That Joan is such a hard worker," I 'd be arguing in my head, "Yeah, but I'm working full time and going to college full time and I am raising two children and...."   I believe I was 46 years old at the time.

You have different relationships with all your kids and grandkids. Some need a little of this and a lot of that. Aiden needs his confidence boosted. He always fights trying new things, then once he does it he loves it. I take him to the library and he loves tools.  Rebecca needs to relax more. She loves to curl up and have me read to her. She loves to make me laugh or to draw together. They are both so different. I've tried telling them I have enough love in my heart to love them  both "more than the stars and the sea."  (My daughter wrote that when she was 7 on my Mother's Day card). I barely got the words out of my mouth before they were talking about Rebecca's Boogie Board and by the way, "Um, Gramma, will you get me a Boogie Board, too?"

Yep, I promised him one for next Christmas. Just because I think he'll love it if I can get him into the ocean. I know I can't convince them that loving one doesn't take away from the other. It's time I stopped this nonsense of being so careful to be even handed, and yet I have no idea how to stop. Even as I write this, I can hear my son saying, "Do you remember anything I wrote as a kid?"

10 Ways to Nurture Your Child's Spiritual Life

     A teacher once told me that joy was the natural state of humans. He said in the beginning it's like our hearts are bright, shiny-clean mirrors. Then, once negative things in life happen, the mirror becomes covered by feelings of  worry, fear, anger, jealousy, etc.  There are some conditions in our environment that we can control that have the potential to continuously wipe the mirror clean for our children and ourselves. 

      Maybe you've watched as magical, happy small children you know turn into not-so-charming materialistic kids who have lost their spark of individuality and joyfulness. Wanting more and more stuff  stifles all the good qualities the child originally possessed.  Make no mistake, the cultural norms promote and take over a large part of your child's life. If you go to a really good church or temple, that can counteract some the cult of ownership, but I think mostly its  building a breathing space for your kids just to be. Materialism isn't the only cultural problem. Chronic rushing and busyness, loud music and TV, insane competitiveness, overfilled schedules, force kids to grow up too early, robbing them of their innate spirituality.

     My grandson, who is 4 1/2, has only been to two movies and has limited PBS Sprout exposure. On Saturday, Aiden went to see Toy Story 3. So yesterday I took him to Safeway where we walked the aisles. Little pictures of Woody, the cowboy, jumped out at him from every turn. Cereal boxes, cookies, videos, called out to him, making him want all of it. We bought a box of Rice Crispies with Woody's picture only because we were making marshmallow treats. Apparently there was supposed to be something Toy Story related in the box, but we never found it, leaving Aiden disappointed. As much as you try to keep children from being influenced by our cultural materialism, it's designed to strikes home.

     Here are some ideas to help you create a space that allows your child  to grow spiritually and develop a rich interior life.

1. Let them know there is something bigger than themselves, it can be called God, or it can be certain ideals your hold like Truth or Honesty. Something has to be bigger than them. You can use any word you like; Spirit, Creator, just don't let your child be the center of the universe.

2. Let them see you helping others in your community. Assisting neighbors when they are sick or in trouble, and showing kindness is great modeling. Especially let them see you giving without expecting anything back.

3. Give your children the time to dream. It's a gift to allow them periods of silence. Some quiet and solitude-don’t keep them constantly involved in competition, sports, TV, video games, etc. It robs them of their ability to think freely, to breathe, and to relax.  Contrary to the popular belief that being alone occasionally is problematic, it's important for them to learn how to think and dream. When I taught high school, the principal told the whole faculty, "Watch out for loners and report them to us."  I laughed out loud, thinking it was a joke. There has to be a middle way. Alone all the time bad, never alone, equally detrimental.

4. Show and teach gratitude- for everything from food on the table to a warm bed, beautiful flowers growing in the yard, to being grateful for a kindness from a stranger. You can say grace before dinner, use any words you like, but start saying it or ask the kids to say it.

5. Encourage their imagination in as many ways as possible. A chance to use their imagination-give them lots of art supplies, wood blocks to build, don’t tell them what to do, don’t praise the art or project, say instead, “Tell me about this.” They will.

6.Take them to Yosemite instead of Disneyland. Okay, you can take them to Disney a few times, but mostly take them out into nature and to appreciate beauty.  Have your kids seen the way stars look when you are in the mountains or the desert?  A full moon rise?  Appreciation for the miracles around them encourages wonder and awe in yourself and your kids. Get them outside, growing vegetables, go camping, look at plants, and point out the intricate beauty of frogs, bugs, and the flight of a hawk.

7. Exhibit peace and respect for others.Watch what you say and do in front of your kids-screaming at other drivers, calling people names are noticed. When you show respect, politeness to others, when you let people go ahead of you on the freeway and in the supermarket, your kids see it. Everything you say and do is noticed. If you don't want to hear it coming out of your 5 year old's mouth, don't say it.

8. Storytelling, books, and family ritual-Children learn from storytelling, both family and otherwise, borrow great books from the library, develop family rituals. This helps kids feel connected to you, their world, and the child's ancestors.  There isn't any culture in the world, except maybe ours, where the ancestors are not called upon to help them or remember them to bring them into community with their lives.  Family rituals can be as simple as praying together over meals or just setting healing intentions for others.

9. Be careful with movies, video games, etc. Children have their own inborn temperaments to be sure, but if they are exposed to scary or adult movies or games it harms them. Especially oversexualized or violent images have a terrible impact.

10. Be convinced of your child's innate sense of the sacred and their own spiritual centers. Children have moments of shocking awareness that are periods of grace.  Don't underestimate their intuitive, soulful knowledge.

     A few minutes ago, I went outside to clear my head and finish my coffee. Two small deer walked into the yard not 20 feet away from me. I could feel my heart jump a bit, lifting me up, cleaning the mirror again. I went to theology school, but I don't know everything about what we are doing here on this planet at this moment. I just know children's spiritual lives need nourishing and a sacred space to grow freely. It's the best gift you can give them.

Heat Waves & Birthdays

One year ago...

The horrible heat is gone which made a difference in my disposition. The heat makes me really cranky. At least it's not 90 degrees, but still kind of warm. Aiden wanted to swim yesterday. I thought the pool wouldn’t be warm enough so we went down just to put our feet in the water. It actually was really nice-I was sorry I didn’t put my suit on. Aiden had on  disposable underwear. When he went into  the pool to get wet, the Pull Ups expanded by about 5x. They end up weighing about 5 pounds. Aiden got that wet just playing on the steps. When we got up to leave the kid could barely walk. Aiden found himself to be extremely funny.

Maybe we’ll swim today if it’s nice. We are making a cake for his mother,Hollis.  Her birthday is tomorrow.

Well, Aiden and I made a chocolate cake letting it cool down while we put together ingredients for the chocolate frosting. Aiden really loved the mixer and wondered why his mother didn't have one. I have to say to him with a serious face,

"DO NOT put your fingers near the mixer. You WILL LOSE your Fingers!"

If I forget to say this, he says,

"Grandma...what are you gonna tell me?"

While licking the beaters, Aiden told me about his day at school. He dumped almost the whole bottle of sprinkles on the cake before I had a chance to grab it. We put on 20 or so multicolored candles. It looked very festive.

I took pictures of him making the cake then we went downstairs to swim and cool down a bit.  When we came upstairs, I took pictures of his mother so we had pregnant pictures of her-they came out with the sun glowing around her-very cute.

It was nice, you know.  I think Hollis was very touched. As Aiden says, "It was a good day, wasn't it, Grandma?"

In the Blink of an Eye: What do we really have control over?

Being a parent is scary business. Some close calls, things that happen in the blink of an eye, they play over and over in our minds when we try to go to sleep. When I was 4, I lived in Massachusetts during the horrifying early 50's of polio epidemics. My oldest sister, Sandy, caught polio when I was just 2. After that, during the hot summers that were muggy and miserable, we children weren't allowed in crowded places like stores or swimming pools because of the risk. Polio was an airborne disease and at that time there wasn't any cure. A few years later, after the panic was over and the vaccine was available , my dad asked me to go the store with him. He promised me a Tootsie Roll. We drove the few blocks to the store. My dad got out, closed his door, and started to walk to the passenger side to get me. In my excitement, I opened the driver's side door behind him, jumped out and walked right in front of an oncoming car. My dad saw what was happening, but couldn't get back around to stop me. The car hit me straight on, knocking me unconscious  and  I was taken to the hospital. Luckily, I just had a bad cut on my head. But my father was traumatized. Dad had nightmares for years about it. He saw himself running in  slow motion trying to get to me before the car hit me, but he never could.

A few years ago, my children, now in their mid-thirties, told me about an incident that happened the day my son got his driver's license. He was 16 and my daughter was 13. Randy asked to take the car to go pick something up for me. I said yes. Even though my heart was racing, I knew I had to let him go. It was scary, but I let them go. I watched them drive away through the window. I prayed the whole time they were gone and whispered a thank you to the heavens when they returned safe and unharmed. Just a few years ago I heard what really happened. There were train tracks by our house that were on top of a small hill, then the road went downhill again. Apparently my son was still getting used to the stick shift and clutch. The car stalled on top of the railroad tracks, the warning bells went off, the  barrier arm came down behind them. My son got the car started again, floored the accelerator, and they escaped. I am so glad I didn't know at the time.  

The August after my daughter graduated from college, Elizabeth went to live in the South Bronx to volunteer teach for a year. The only way I could cope was to forget where she was. I called her, sent her letters and care packages, but mostly I pretended she was still at college. I know there are things she still hasn't told me, drug dealers with big snakes and pit bulls, but she did tell me a few years ago about being mugged on the subway.

All of these stories lead up to the question: What do we really control when it comes to our children's safety?

It's on my mind because Rebecca, my 5 year old granddaughter, sensible, smart, and fully schooled on the concept of making "good choices," took off on her bike, the first time she had a little freedom on her two wheeler and followed a little boy her age through the park, beyond her parents reach. She was entering a parking lot when she fell. It's what stopped her. She was so thrilled to be riding and to be free,  Rebecca  forgot how to use her brakes. The pure joy of riding and making a new friend overrode everything. Of course,she's only 5.

You can tell them everything they need to know. Right now, Rebecca adores climbing the small tree in her front yard. It makes her feel powerful and competent. I adore the fact that she climbs trees and loves adventure.  She likes to scare me, too. That girl has been told to climb slowly and cautiously of course. Kids today wear helmets, knee pads, and elbow pads. She knows about the danger of strangers, walk don't run. We all tell them the same things. We punish them when they do something impulsive and foolish. Still, we cannot control everything. That's the hardest truth to accept so you just learn to give them what they need to know without turning them into neurotic nervous wrecks, pray continuously, and as they say in Nemo, "just keep swimming." 

When Are You Going to Die, Grandma?

Aiden went to San Diego with his Mom and Dad for a week. I missed them all like crazy. I drove to their house to pick up their SUV, then drove to the airport, found them all on the curb with their luggage, and I switched to the back seat to ride with Aiden.

This is what he talked about: his dead grandfather, people in wheelchairs, Toys R Us, the beach, his watering can I gave him. His reply to any statement I make is always “Why?” and then “What’s that about?” He talked the 30 minutes straight on the way home. I had to really struggle with answers for him. Not a word about the airplane or clouds or anything else. Oh and his uncle’s garage, his uncle's tools, Aiden's own egg hunt, a basket his aunt Polly gave him, and his grandfather, Charlie. He laughed, he giggled, he gave me a big fat wet kiss on my cheek.

Lots of deep subjects: then finally, "When are you going to die and go to heaven, Grandma?" I tried to answer honestly without worrying him. He's three after all. I told him I had no idea, no one knows when they will die, but that I thought I'd be around for a long time. He seemed to accept my answer.

Last week Rebecca asked me when I was going to die. Jeepers creepers. What’s up with that? I gave her the same answer.

The next day, my son was still off work so Randy, Aiden, Rebecca and I all went to see a magician at the library-it was very funny and the kids all loved it. Every since Aiden saw the Calliou episode where the main character gets a top hat, a cape, and a magic wand, he has been in love with the idea. His favorite word is "Abracadabra."

The word is a magical incantation that comes from Aramaic meaning, "As I say it, I create it."  I wish I could say a magic word and tell him I'd be around forever. I want to see all of my grandchildren grown and healthy and happy. Abracadabra.

Colds, Coughs, Tea Parties

When I picked him up from preschool, Aiden had a cold and  a runny nose with a red chapped upper lip. His friend Ella came over to stare up at me the way she does like a puppy at the pound. We said our goodbyes and left.

He didn’t feel so good when we got home so we had mostly a laid back day. We watched the Bears story about going to the doctor for a checkup. Aiden went into his bedroom, got his doctor kit and we did all the things they did in the cartoon. He checked my blood pressure and listened to my heart. I showed him the scab on my elbow and he sympathized. He poured pretend medicine on my boo boo. He poked around in my mouth with a Q-tip. I put some Vaseline on his upper lip.

Then he got his second wind. We unloaded the dishwasher, rinsed all the dirty dishes, loaded them, washed my clothes and dried them; dry mopped and vacuumed the living room. I sat down to rest and Aiden got so mad. He scratched me and yelled at me, “Get up!”  I had to put his hand on my forehead to show him I was sweating and tired.

Randy came home and Aiden started in on him. Then Aiden started to poop in his pants. I took him in and changed him. He seems so angry and frustrated. He probably needs to start receiving some discipline. I just went in and changed his pants and told him not to cry and that no one was mad at him.

The next day it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to find the sun shining. It was still cold, under 60, but sunny and clear.I was working on my computer all morning not realizing that the clock on my computer didn’t change with Daylight Savings Time. I would have been one hour late to pick up Aiden to the tune of ($10 per minute) $600. My God.

Anyway I was on time, peeking through the glass window to look for him, and he was still sound asleep on his little cot as were most of the kids in the room. I wasn’t the only one messed up by the time change. The teacher woke him up and changed his pull-ups, which were soaked.

He seemed happy and in a good mood. We watched the Bears. I had a cup of tea and Aiden wanted one too. I used a drop of tea, lots of milk and sugar.

As soon as the Bears were over, Aiden was up saying that we needed to clean. I told him, “Look, let’s just play today, okay? “ He argued a bit, and then relented when I offered to get his Play dough out. We had a great time making cakes and pies and small red apples.

Aiden went in his room and pulled out his 3 small plates and a tiny teapot. We poured the tea into the pot, and then Aiden poured two cups of tea for us. Then I remembered he had these tiny round cookies so I got them and put them on our plates. They were the perfect size. Then Aiden took the little red apples and started to put them in my little cup. I’d take them out; he’d put them back in. He is such a funny boy. He took the red apples out of my tea one more time, we clinked teacups and said “cheers.”

We took a walk outside to get some fresh air. I sat down on the bench in the courtyard and Aiden layed down with his head on my lap. Above us I heard a hawk cry so we both looked up to see a Red Tail soaring above us.

Aiden sat up,  put his head on my shoulder, and said, “I love you, Gramma.”

After Randy came home, Aiden started his, “Don’t Talk” to Randy. I told Aiden every time he said that I’d have to tickle his belly button. It made him stop. By then, he said, “Go home now.” He walked over to me and tried to bite me on the arm. I told him to never ever do that again and to say he was sorry. He did.

He opened the door for me. Randy said he’s been trying to go outside without asking. He got out in the hall last week while Randy was in the bathroom. Aiden was outside screaming to come in. I have to watch him more closely.

Sacred Space: Rebecca in Nature

When spring finally came that year, it came with an extravagance of color. The wisteria on the lattice work covering the sky over my small backyard seemed to grow and bloom overnight. Thousands of perfumed flowers appeared, but not only that. Bees adored the lavendar buds. With hundreds of bees living right above my head, sometimes the buzzing was so loud I would stop what I was doing, close my eyes just to listen. and breathe in the air.  Somehow I got on the hummingbird flight pathway, one little hyper Anna's hummer after another, with its telltale flourescent green back and ruby throat, flew by to sip nectar from my copper feeder. It felt magical, in techicolor even.  My bright pink and salmon-colored geraniums  grew to the size of an adult's head and I swear that year I never used Miracle Gro. I didn't need to. My 20'x 10' backyard was a wonderland.

It began when my granddaughter was just three and 1/2  years old. We began to sit outside, very still, and watch what happened in my small yard.

Her blond curly hair hung almost to her waist. Pink cheeks.  Everything I said to her she believed. Not so much now at the age of 5, but back, then I was the authority on all matters. Rebecca looked at me with her navy blue eyes and saw a tall person, the keeper of life's mysteries. The question , "Why, Grandma? " hung on her lips. Lots of times I didn't have the answers so I tried to be completely honest with her. I did know some stuff, like why lizards do push ups or why hummingbirds rarely rested. Over the short few weeks of spring I began to make a mental list of all the insects, birds, reptiles, and other animals that Rebecca and I saw in this sacred space.

Dozens of yellow and brown caterpillars appeared underneath the dead winter leaves composting on the cement. 

I picked up crickets who found their way under my screen door. They would  hop across my carpet eventually disappearing under my couch or the TV in my living room. Carefully showing no fear, I would pick one up and hold it for Rebecca to examine. We looked at its sweet eyes, delicate antennae, and its crazy looking, impossible legs.

We found ladybugs, rows of ants, lizards big and little, and even a lazy old raccoon with a torn up tail. Neighborhood cats perched on the lattice, then finding some shade, curled up for a nap. Hummingbirds zipped by so often I had to fill the feeder up a couple of times a week.

Then one morning when Rebecca was visiting I looked out at the fence and thought I saw a slug on my plants. I try hard not to kill anything. I would usually just pluck the offender off the plant and throw it over the fence. But this was different. It was huge, yellow, ugly as hell, slimy looking. The first bug I'd seen in a long time that I really didn't want to touch. It was over 5" long and icky. I tried not to show my disgust in front of Rebecca who was thrilled by it. Her awe stopped me in my tracks. She looked at it. She put her little finger on its wet body. She giggled. We went onto Google Images to identify it. A banana slug. UC Santa Cruz's own mascot. I let it continue on its journey unbothered.

Blue jays, tiny brown wrens, Red Tailed and Cooper's Hawks floated hundreds of feet above us in lazy circles. Also those little birds with the black pointy heads, titmice, came to visit when I thought to spread out some sunflower seeds. If I wasn't out when they arrived, I'd heard them calling to wake me up. A squirrel that usually stayed in the tree in the utility easement crossed the boundry of my  fence raiding the food.

One Red Tail landed on my fence for a brief stay. Regrettably Rebecca missed that one, but I told her all about it. Another early evening visit brought a huge owl landing in the pine next door. It was the size of an adult cat with a profile that showed little pointy feathers above its ears. When it flew away at dusk, it's wingspread was breathtaking, huge and ominous. Another afternoon we surprised a baby deer who had jumped the fence behind my yard. It flew out the gate like its tail was on fire.
 
 

Over the course of the season, we found rolly pollies, pincher bugs, snails, scary looking black spiders with beautiful intricate webs, a wayward rat. I once found a brown tarantula in the middle of my living room floor. It had climbed under a gap in my door.

When it got warm enough to swim, Rebecca and I discovered a teeny lizard, barely an inch long, that had drowned in the pool water. Rather than be put off, Rebecca touched it, sniffed it, and asked if she could take it home. A request which I complied with to my daughter's horror. I put it in a small jewelry box from Macy's snug in the cotton batting and I tucked it into Rebecca's backpack, but neglected to tell her mother what was inside.

I've forgotten lots of the creatures that came our way that year, but not how I felt. If you have a small child in your life, I highly recommend spending some time every day outside. Just watching and being still.

"You don't need to do anything. Just watch and be still.  Do not even listen, only wait. Do not even wait, be wholly still and alone. Nature will present itself to you for its unmasking, it can do no other, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet."

Franz Kafka