Firing Andrew

It is a holy and sacred thing to stand helplessly in witness of another’s pain.  To see the evidences of pain on a loved one’s face and to hear it, manifested in groans or even screams when the intolerable is upon him.  That must be how it feels for the husband in a labor room, standing close to his wife while she writhes with the pains of giving birth, in an impossible situation.  He’s wrong if he touches her, wrong if he doesn’t, wrong if he stands too close, wrong if he stands at a distance.  But there is nothing he can do to stop the pain.  He must wait. 

Invisible ice on black asphalt is no respecter of persons, even those who watch carefully for it and try to sidestep it.  It will catch the edge of your shoe and shoot your right leg straight out from under you, flying upward at an unnatural angle.  At least, that’s what it did to my husband.   I wasn’t there, I was on my way to work when I got word to drive instead to the hospital to meet the ambulance that was bringing him in. 

I arrived at the ER around 1:00 p.m., before the ambulance and paced anxiously at the entrance.  I knew it must be bad for Paul not to be able to move under his own power.  It was.  The nurse called me back into ER 19 just at the moment the EMT’s were moving him from their plastic stretcher  onto the ER bed.  I heard him before I saw him, quite uncharacteristically yelling for them to stop.  I stood by, wanting to be close but not wanting to see him endure it.  His boots had been removed, the thoughtful EMT’s placing his wallet, watch and cell phone down in one toe.  His pants were cut and lay in strips around and under him.  On the surface he looked fine, but it was obvious something was very, very wrong.

Pain meds in the ER began to take the edge off, and in between nurse and hospitalist checks we talked about what had happened, what would probably happen and what it might mean for the near future.  Nurse Andrea was a great match for Paul, respecting him but suggesting little things he could do to manage the pain and situate himself.  I made the phone calls and texts and began managing the replies.  Pastor Samuel stopped by and our good friend and boss Bob came to sit with me while we waited for the doctor and to get to a room.

Broken hip.  Femoral neck fracture.  Ball broken off at the top of the thigh bone.  Full replacement.  Titanium.  We were learning a whole new vocabulary.  Paul told the ER doctor to consult with our physician regarding whether to repair or replace, and whatever Frank said is what we would agree to. 

So many emotions in my body, needing to express themselves.  Fear, concern, hope, gratitude for good doctors and health insurance, anxiety, dread, impatience, how to face the unknown.  But it was all covered in prayer, our own prayers and those of the many believers in our lives who love us and who also know the power of praying to our all-powerful God.  This accident was no surprise to Him, and even if we couldn’t know why He allowed it we knew that He would bring us through.

At 5:30 p.m. they began the process of moving us up to room 662.  The plan was for Andrew and Mia to wheel his ER bed up to the room and transfer him to that bed.  Bob and I followed, carrying Paul’s personal items – I let Bob carry the boots with all the valuables in the toe.  Arriving at his room, they positioned the ER bed next to the room bed and told us to wait outside.  I didn’t want to leave the room but figured the nurse knew best.  Bob and I walked out into the hallway and heard the first scream.  “What are they doing to him?” Bob asked.  “I don’t know but I’m going to find out,” I said, walking back into the room. 

I saw Paul, half on a hard stretcher and half on the hospital bed, in agonizing pain and unable to stop the screaming.  Andrew turned to me and said sternly, “I need you to leave the room and close the door behind you.”  I obviously couldn’t help Paul at this point so I did as I was told.  As I closed the door to room 662, the visitor in room 663 closed that door too.  No one wanted to hear those screams of pain.

The combination of Paul taking only ½ doses of morphine in the ER and Nurse Andrew who was determined to do something even it if was wrong caused a serious situation.  After a few minutes we couldn’t stand it and went back into the room.  Paul had convinced them to stop trying to move him, and I made it clear I wasn’t leaving any more.  Andrew and Mia took the ER bed away and Bob prayed while I tried to comfort my husband.  The muscle spasms wouldn’t stop so I went to find another nurse.

By 7 pm shift change things were a tad better.  Our night nurse, Chuck was briefed by Andrew out in the hallway.  I heard Andrew tell him about the screaming that could be heard down the hall and wanted to say Dude, the man is in unbearable pain, give him a break!  but didn’t.   Chuck and Andrew came in to check Paul’s vitals and introduce Chuck.  Paul looked at the men standing at his  bedside.

“Chuck, you’d better do a good job of taking care of me, this other nurse dang near killed me.  Andrew, you’re fired!”   Chuck nodded to Andrew – “I’ve got it from here, thanks” and Andrew left the room.

After feeding Paul bites of fish, rice and broccoli from his supper tray – and learning how to manage his portable urinal – I left for a short trip home to let Duke in for the night and feed him.  It was going to be 18° and he couldn’t sleep outside.  Dang cold and ice.

Back again to the parking garage, through the south entrance and the maze to the north elevators, I settled into the recliner chair by his bed for a night of 30 minute dozes in between nurse checks and husband-tending .  But at least I had full mobility and could toss and turn to try and get comfortable.  Paul could not.  It would be 15 more hours before he would be taken to surgery and exchange this constant excruciating pain for post-surgical anesthetized bliss.

Mornings - They Aren't For Everyone

It’s no secret that I’m not a gracious morning person.  There are exceptions – when I’m with my grandchildren or when I’m on vacation and can awake naturally without need of an alarm clock – but most days I need my quiet alone time before I’m good company.  My boss learned this years ago and in the past was known to toss a shoe into my office before he entered.  If it came back at him, he’d wait.

My husband knows this of course, but he has the most unusual approach to it.  He wakes up each morning like a dog, ready to go and excited about whatever the day will bring.  He has this notion that one morning things will be different, that I will wake up and be just like him.  Ain’t happening.

My non-morningness is one reason I don’t like to duck hunt.   Getting up at 4 a.m. to go sit outside in the cold or freezing rain isn’t my thing.  It is definitely my husband’s thing.  He’ll go duck hunting at the drop of a hat, he and #1 Duck Dog Duke.  I’ve learned how to get him packed up quickly so that on those mornings when he leaves our house at 3:30 a.m. I don’t have to get up and help him find things.  That’s the theory anyway.

Last Friday night we were packing for the hunt.  His plan was to leave between 3 and 3:30, and I sure didn’t want to have to get up and hunt for clothes/guns/ammo on a Saturday, my only day to sleep in.  I filled a small canvas bag with thick hunting socks, thermal underwear, cammo pants and shirt, a sweatshirt, and a clean pair of underwear.  He retrieved his heavy coat from the closet, his shotgun and .22 from the gun safe, and loaded them into the truck along with Sir Duke’s life vest.  Ammo?  At the Ranch, check.  Clothes laid out for him to jump into when the alarm went off in the morning?  Grubby jeans and hunting boots on the dresser, check.  I asked him a couple of times if there was any special clothing he wanted me to pack for him.  Nope, everything he wanted was ready.  He assured me he wouldn’t need to wake me the next morning.  Ha.

At 3:00 a.m. the alarm went off.  I woke briefly to wish him a safe trip then turned over under the warm covers.  After a few minutes it became clear to me that he was still here, in the closet messing around amongst his shirts.  He came out into the bedroom and in the light of the closet door held up his best, flannel shirt.  “Should I wear this?”  “No!” I said, annoyed at this last minute clothing issue.  I thought he had learned there are hunting clothes and there are other clothes so I don’t have the Great Laundry Challenge when he gets home.  I’d made sure to put out his hunting jeans the night before, but made the mistake of assuming he’d just grab a shirt out of the laundry hamper and go.  But No, he decides to stroll through the nicely laundered shirts hanging in his closet for a trip that will involve dirt, grime, mud, and blood.  Seriously?

Grouchily, I threw back the covers and put my feet on the floor, grumbling about having to get up and help him, how inconsiderate he was and a few other things I’m not proud of saying.  Then he decided he wanted a different sweatshirt than the one I packed.  At that, I launched into my spiel about how I hated last minute changes when we had decided on everything the night before.  Poor Paul  - I helped him alright, but he paid a 3 a.m. nagging price for it. 

At last he seemed to have everything he wanted and I headed back to bead, wishing him a safe trip and asking him to please turn off all the lights so I could go back to sleep.  I heard the clomp, clomp, clomp as he went downstairs, heard the door to the garage open and close several times as he and Duke did whatever it is they do to get ready to leave the house.  Snug under the covers I listened until I heard it.  Silence.  Beautiful, peaceful, undisturbed quiet.  Time to get back to dreamland.  Except that darn stairwell light was putting off just enough light into the bedroom doorway I couldn’t sleep. 

One more time out from under the warm covers, flip the light off, and back into warmth.  I said a prayer for safe travel, then thanked the Lord that I have a good husband, that I ‘m able to be his helpmate, that he puts up with my grumbling, that we have a lovely home and he is a good provider, and that the Lord forgives our bad attitudes and harsh words when we humbly ask.  Besides, I knew that after a couple of days of beautiful, peaceful, undisturbed quiet I’d be ready for the sound of that truck pulling into the driveway, ready to hear about the hunt, ready for a break from the quiet – something that comes naturally to the Hunter and Sir Duke.

Christmas Blessings

Unlike my dear friend Allison who is a faithful regular blogger, I go for months without blogging.  But it’s January 1, and my heart and head are so full I need to write it out.

Christmas at my sister’s with my family.  Love and laughter, stockings and presents, good food and good fun.  Nieces and nephews striving to be good people and good parents.  I am so blessed in my family.

Christmas Eve service at our church.   Simple worship, special music, the story of our Savior read from Old Testament prophecies to New Testament Nativity, interspersed between the harp, violin, piano, and voices lifted in praise and thanks.  Neighboring strangers welcomed, needing to hear the greatest story ever told and wanting to feel the love of God.

Christmas Day brunch with fellows from church who would otherwise not have anything to look forward to on that special day.  Threadgills was packed.  I never knew how many people eat out on Christmas Day; I thought everyone would be with family having coffee and a Christmas cookie - like me.

The Five Days of Christmas

Emily and Molly arrived with parents in tow Christmas afternoon.  The thrill of their coming to Grandma’s house never, ever gets old.  Unlike grandchildren, who get older way too fast. 
Molly’s hug is genuine but brief – she is off to check out the tree, the Christmas decorations and the grandkids room.  She finds all the children’s names spelled in alphabet blocks upstairs and shouts down, “M-O-L-L-Y  -  that spells ME!”  Emily’s hug is matched by my own, infused with love and deep connection.  She is ready to show me her new horse and stable, fresh from Granna and Papa’s house the night before.  Little does she know there is a large, soft stuffed horse under the tree for her here.  Craig and Laura are tired from the grueling I-35 drive but safe and sound.  Let the mayhem and chaos begin!

Playing with the girls in the grandkids room.  Paul and Craig unloading their car – amazing what you can pack into a little Nissan.  Laura and I sitting down for a visit, one of the many pockets of talk-time we’ll have while they are here.  It’s one of the things I love the most.  Butterscotch getting re-acquainted with Duke in their doggie way.

Grandma’s beef vegetable soup for supper, devoured by two hungry girls.  Bathtime, always with lots of bubbles.  Stories at bedtime, this year’s favorite the The Wild Christmas Reindeer by Jan Brett.  Then downstairs for the movie The Santa Claus, the first one, a tradition Laura and I have had for several years.  We are all so tired none of us can stay awake through the end. 

My nightly Kitchen Angel came every night they were here.  Dishes loaded in the dishwasher to be cleaned while we all sleep, food put away, counter cleared.  During the day the Angel is my wonderful son-in-law, but at night he uses his nightowlness to my benefit.  What a welcome gift.

Day 2
Laura and I once again get up early while all others are sleeping for our annual Day After Christmas shopping.  We go to 3 stores, specialty shops - NO mall.  After stopping for a Starbucks we spend the next 1 ½ hours sharing what’s on our minds and shopping.  A few perfect on sale purchases.  I love this time with my girl.

Walter, Eryn, Kaelyn and baby Liam join us later for Christmas morning.  Craig makes his wonderful coffee (that barista training in a past life is put to good use!)  Christmas music playing on the stereo, fire in the fireplace, a beautiful tree filled to capacity underneath with gifts.  We take our time, enjoy watching the children open gifts and relax as we leisurely exchange ours.  Emily and Molly want to set up their wooden nativity set immediately .  They have always loved playing with the nativity sets around our house, providing the chance to once again share about God’s love and what He did for us in sending His Son to earth. 

Emily’s new horse is a big hit; she and Gingerbread are constant companions now.  Molly looks adorable in her hello kitty pink hat, which is soon set aside in favor of the pink dressup costume complete with large butterfly wings and pink shoes with butterfly toppers.  In an eyeblink she strips off her pj’s and dons the costume – “Boys, turn your head while Molly is changing,” Emily announces.  Kaelyn is excited about her crystals mining kit and her new bracelet.  Liam is happy to sit in Uncle Craig’s lap and watch people try to get him to play with his toys.

The day unfolds leisurely, gifts slowly unwrapped, coffee maker going constantly.  “Thank you!”  “Oh I LOVE this!”  “How did you know, this is perfect!”  “We really needed one of these.”  “Hey, can I have that, that’s cool!”

Visit. Eat. Play. Relax. Build a fire.  Visit.  Eat.  Play.  Relax.  Bedtime.  Another wonderful day has passed.

Day 3

It’s just me and Molly this morning.  Emily went home with cousin Kaelyn to spend the night.  I had lots of one-on-one with Emily, but don’t get the chance with this one.  Molly and I read lots of books, play with the Noah’s ark figures and a princess carriage.  She is very creative and fun as an “only child”.

In the afternoon it’s total grandkid time.  We have all four.  For the most part the 3 girls do well.  They play upstairs outside with bubbles, inside with Legos, and other games not easily named.  They make a clay dish with Emily’s new pottery wheel; Kaelyn patiently works the clay to shape it while Emily uses the power pedal to turn the wheel.   Laura and I get to play with Liam.  Nothing better than a 10 month old sweet cuddly boy.  He plays in his bath, then with his fresh clean baby-smell we sit him between us in the living room and explore his toys.  He likes the truck and blocks from Aunt Lolly and the animal noise toy from Grandma.  He cruises around the couch.  Red hair, big blue eyes.  Grandma Heaven.

Day 4

We take the girls to visit their new twin cousins, less than 2 weeks old.  What tiny precious bundles, a boy and a girl.  I never had a baby that small, but they are almost 6 lbs. now.  Newborn blessings.

Tonight is our big family Christmas Dinner.  In addition to Paul and I, Laura and Walt and their families, we’ll have my “second daughter” Lena and her family plus Tracy.  Laura and I kick it into gear planning the table setting, centerpieces, napkin folds and place cards.  I love a beautiful table, using all the Spode Christmas china – SO glad Laura loves this pattern, it’s all going to be hers!

We thank God for all of this.  Table is ready, all are seated.  It’s my own little sweet-spot, all the work preparing the food, desserts and dining room is so worth it for this time of gathering.  Steak cooked to perfection, homemade mac and cheese.  Icecream dessert, Christmas cookies, homemade fudge.  Yum.

The Kitchen Angel had a real challenge that night but he came through beautifully.  Storytime for the children, bedtime to calm and wind down.  Sleep.

Day 5

It’s Sunday and I’m subbing in the 3yr old class at church so Molly will be one of my students.  Works out well - she leads the class in an impromptu singing of “Jesus Loves Me” during snack time.   Emily visits Teamkids and learns about the Jewish names for God.  During worship I adore hearing Emily singing beside me, her voice is that of a child-angel.  I hope she keeps on singing.

Fried chicken for lunch, with Grandpa’s special mashed potatoes.  I think I may turn into a chicken leg covered in potatoes, I’ve eaten so much.

Emily has the idea for a roadside cookie stand.  She and her dad set up the little table and chair, we arrange Grandma’s Christmas cookies in a lovely red felt-lined gold Christmas tray and she sets up shop.  Molly helps at firsts, standing on our sidewalk in her ultimate cuteage waving to cars driving by.  We are amazed at the people who stop to buy Emily’s cookies on this cold Sunday afternoon.  Some even make a U-turn.  Our entrepreneur ends up making a little over $18.00 in an hour.  Off to a good start in life.

Their visit is coming to a close.  I don’t like to think about it.  We spend the last afternoon/evening quietly together, and after supper we have a snuggle party in Grandma’s big bed watching Molly’s new Barbie movie about a horse riding camp.   More Grandma Heaven.

This year Emily said, “Grandma, I think I can leave without crying this time.”  I replied, “I think I can too.  If you can, I can.”  She is growing up, able to recognize that we will see each other again before too long.  I am growing older, realizing that every moment is precious and not wanting it to end.  As Grandpa and I wave to them, our treasures pulling out of the driveway, I wonder who is trying hardest not to cry, Emily or me.  I think it’s me.  Prayers of thanks and gratitude trump my tears.  Another blessed Christmas.

Helga the Horrible

Bone Crushing.  That’s not usually the phrase I think of when I consider getting a massage.  But that is exactly what came to mind after my first minute on the table at the hands of Helga the Horrible. 

I had an about-to-expire Groupon for a half-price massage at a spa I’d been to a few times in the past.  The gal I knew was no longer there so I was given luck of the draw.   Spas are designed to be peaceful and relaxing, with soft-spoken young ladies who take you back to the relaxation area and serve you cucumber water while you wait to be pampered with a massage or facial.  They aren’t cheap either, so I rarely treat myself.  But a 1 hour massage for $30 is hard to beat, and I figured they had to have decent “massagers” or they wouldn’t still be in business.
I sat relaxing with my flavored water for only a few minutes when a large, muscled, plain looking woman entered the room and softly called my name.  I stood and smiled tentatively, then the smile faded as I noticed the large teeth her smile revealed.  Suddenly I felt like Little Red Riding Hood staring at the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf.

She led me to the room to get ready and slipped out, closing the door quietly behind her.  As I undressed and slid onto the table, in between nice warm blankets and a warming table, I tried to quell my growing uneasiness.  The strange music playing not softly enough through the speakers didn’t help.  I’m used to those nature sounds of wind and water; the sound of strange voices and instruments emitting foreign sounds was just not conducive to quiet nerves.

Helga knocked on the door and I told her I was ready.  I was face down, trying to breathe slowly, listening to her move about the room.  Then I felt the first assault.  Hands moved up my neck, almost choking off my air and threatening to relocate my jaw.  Bones were seemingly crushed, muscles relocated; my nerves quivered inside their sheaths, terrified they were next.  Helga was very thorough; no eligible part of my body was left untouched.  She rubbed the polish off my nails and the freckles off my arms.  My hair looked like an army of Barbies in their highest heels had romped through it.  My legs felt as if they’d been on the rack of torture.  I couldn’t believe my hips were still in their sockets.  My scar tissue at the knee was given a beating, my 37 year old scar repositioned down the leg.  The callouses on my feet retreated in full surrender under Helga’s tank-hands that cleared away any knots, kinks or spasms.  Her entire arm steamrolled my back over and over.  How could my flesh be made to move around so, I thought to myself, gritting my teeth after the second time I asked her to please not massage so “firmly.”  She gave special attention to my buttocks, which were covered by a sheet thank goodness, and which were experiencing their first massage ever.   Praise God in heaven I didn’t get her for my facial !!!  

However, in all fairness I must admit that after all was said and done, when I was alone in the room again, shakily dressing and wondering how I could tame my hair for the walk through the salon, I did feel loosened up…

Monday Night Dinners

Taco Night.  Monday Night Dinners.  These terms mean a lot to our family and “family” who participated back when.  Recently we revived the practice and had some of our kids, theirs and their friends from junior high & beyond who were regulars.

Some things have changed.  The kids are in their twenties now; their friends have careers and college educations and fiancés or regular steadies.  Some have babies and children which only adds to the chaos and fun.  And Paul and I have classed up the menu a bit.  When Sydney arrived she said, “Walter said Taco Night so of course I couldn’t miss it.  Then he said steak and baked potatoes, and seemed surprised that I was confused!”  Who says Monday Taco Night can’t be on a Wednesday with prime beef steaks?  But the love, banter, all hands helping in the kitchen and the laughter haven’t changed.  Oh the laughter, music to my heart and balm for my soul. 

Laura was in town (oh happy day!) so she helped me prepare the dining room table.  A setting for everyone, this time totaling 12 since all the kids but baby Liam were old enough to sit at the big table.  Kaelyn and Liam were already with us, Kaelyn playing upstairs with Emily and Molly, Liam either in Aunt Lolly’s lap or Grandma’s arms.  Paul had the steaks marinating, potatoes in the oven and grill ready to fire up.  Amanda and Austin arrived first, and as she set about preparing her awesome spinach/walnut salad she and Laura caught up.  Austin, a “tree-man”, and Paul went immediately outside evaluating our tree situation. 

Pretty soon Walter and Eryn arrived, looking refreshed – amazing what a couple of kid-free hours can do.  Birthday-month boy was in full form, already asking about presents.  Another thing that doesn’t change :)  A knock at the door and Aunt Tracy was here.  She’s still and always the Cool Aunt – another thing that doesn’t change.  She and I were looking pretty festive in our Jamaica sundresses we’d worn out to dinner on our recent Sib Trip. 

I kept looking heavenward, my grateful heart overflowing as the volume inside my home rose to include kids laughing and squealing, dogs weaving in and out of people’s legs, girls exclaiming over the baby and taking turns holding that precious cuddle bug, and all in the male species busying themselves with platters of steaks and tending the grill.  Amanda joked, “How many guys does it take to grill steaks?  However many there are.”

At table, platters in place and glasses poured, Paul offered God a heartfelt prayer of gratitude in Jesus’ name for our blessings, abundance, means to have the meal and loved ones to share it with, and a request that our time together be special.  And it was.

Walt quickly started the witty repartee by asking about the oversized round saucer under his plate.  I said, “Those are chargers, of course.  You know, like we always had when you were growing up….”  Which made us all laugh because I wouldn’t have known a charger if it bit me back in the day.  He announced his ‘placemat’ would be the overflow for his food.  Sydney quietly asked if she might have a fork, setting off another round of jokes and laughter about my table setting attempt at elegance for this crew.  Conversation flowed as freely as the second servings; no silence at these meals and I loved it.  Liam at one end drooling as he worked in a tooth, Austin at the other beginning to clear the dishes that were officially empty, and Paul and I seated in-between, feeling as happy and contented as we looked.

During dessert I decided to give Walter his birthday present, the long awaited 6-string acoustic guitar he had hoped for. I loved seeing excitement and appreciation light up his face.  Amanda asked him to play something, so he entertained us with his Song in C, which was the only chord he knew at that moment.

You know it’s a good party when everyone shows up and stays later than they intended.  But even excellent evenings must end.  Hugs.  Collecting condiments and childrens’ items to be taken home.  Thank-yous and goodbyes and promises to do it again.  More hugs.  As I watched the last person drive away and returned to my already-cleaned kitchen, all I could think of was Psalm 16:6.  Whether we have tacos or tater-tots,

            “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.”

Journey through December - Overtime

The drive from Houston to Dallas was indeed interesting.  Fortunately the rain didn’t last long.  Although it came down boots and hats, almost everything in the truck bed was packed in plastic so nothing was damaged. The upside-down furniture was packed in so tight that the rain couldn’t even get to the table tops.  I looked on with relief as Paul unstrapped them when we got to Dallas and I saw the wood was fine.  After all the craigslist searching, it would have been quite the disappointment to arrive at the Ranch with damaged goods.

But it wasn’t time to go to the Ranch yet.  It was a different kind of Cowboy time.  Dallas Cowboys.  Football.  In Jerry’s House.  Sunday afternoon in a Suite with grand food, a fabulous view of the field and best of all our children and theirs with us.  ALL of our children, together under one roof, for the first time since our wedding day.  It was only December 16^th but Christmas had already come for me.  The older grandchildren were there too, as well as Sally and Jim, beloved sister and brother-in-law.  My heart was full and my eyes were brimming; what a grand day.

My biggest desire was to get a group picture of all of our children together.  As I watched everyone go in and out of the suite, going down to the field or out to explore the stadium, I began to think that would never happen.  How could I corral everyone one into one area at one time?  Fortunately, daughter-in-law Carri came to my rescue and managed to make it happen.  She’s a get-it-done kind of gal.  That photo still makes me smile today – Craig & Kerry, Chris & Dawn, Heather & Steve, Laura & Craig, Walter, John and Carri – and amazingly you can see all the faces and all of them are smiling.  Really. Big. Deal.

Another cool shot is the one of Grandpa with his kids and grands, down on the field.  His gorgeous red sweater stands out against the blue and white worn by the others, happiness written all over his face.  Not to mention the picture of the Robinson kids, in which Heather clearly stands out as the most beautiful :)

The fact that the game ended in an exciting overtime, Cowboys 27 – Steelers 24, was gravy.  I was raised on God, Dallas Cowboys and Dr. Pepper so it was truly a banner day for me.  It was after dark when the game ended, so we assembled in our various cars and threaded our way through the parking lot to the freeway.  By the time we got back to Sally & Jim’s where we had parked our Jed Clampitt truck, it was after 9:30.  We still had over an hour drive to the Ranch but neither of us wanted to wait.

This was the big week we had been waiting for, planning for over a year.  We gave our thanks and hugs to the Nations, then I hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.  Grandpa would get a short nap while I headed north east to Ben Wheeler.  No rain, no freeway, just open road on a clear night with stars in the sky and smiles in our hearts.  Soon we would be at the Ranch, and our children and grandchildren would see the results of months of effort, some of them for the first time.

The Happy Club

Just an afternoon at Emily’s & Molly’s house.  In town for work and staying the night with them,  I happily picked the girls up from school.  At home only to discover we have the wrong house key, an impromptu plan is born.

As they know, Grandma travels with snacks in the car.  Lots of snacks.  So we scrounge up some paper napkins, goldfish, sunflower seeds, rice cakes and bottled water and have ourselves a nice little Tea Party right there on the sidewalk with the ants and roly pollies – pinky up and everything. 

Pinky Up Tea Party is followed by a walk to the park.  Grandma also travels with a stroller so we put Molly in that.  She likes to be pushed fast.  Sister pushed and did a bit of careening around the corner. I wasn’t sure the umbrella stroller could go off-sidewalk but being a Jeep it held its own.

Molly loves dandelions so she selects one along the way and we pick it for her.  Emily says whoever gets to pick it gets to make the wishes.  I hold on to it so Molly can wish-blow the fluff into air when we get to the park. 

Swings are Molly’s first stop – anything with the capability to “go faster”.  She likes to swing really high, and she always says “go faster”, even if I’m already going faster than I want to.  Emily is more like me, she likes to swing lower but long and steady, and she’s got the nice long legs to kick out and giver her extra swinging power.

Emily leaves the swings to go make a club under the playscape. When I come up to join her, she introduces herself – “Hi, my name is Emily and this is a very happy Club.”  She created a general store where wood chips (conveniently used for playground cover) could be used to purchase pretend books.  I buy two and Molly buys one.

Mom and Dad call us on the cell phone, trying not to sound worried but wondering where we are.  We just needed an outing, I tell them, and assure them we’ll be back soon for supper.  A little more swinging, some sliding and playing chase and it’s time to head back.  Secured in her stroller, Molly immediately cries, “go faster” and Emily is only too happy to push her way faster than any Grandma probably should allow.  Besides, it’s good exercise for Grandma legs.

We make it home with no mishaps, arriving tired but with happy smiles and another happy memory.  Emily was right, it was a very happy Club.