For the Birds

Dear Annie, 

Well, you are not lying beside me, so I will make the rash assumption that you are either in Willits or Sacratomato, doing more tests. This being here at home without you, is for the birds, but I do understand and support you one hundred percent, as I have since this whole nasty bit of business began.

As strange as it may seem, February was as dry as July normally is. Though it is beautiful outside, and we have amazing veggies coming in like gangbusters, we are all nervous about the lack of rain. The pond is long filled, of course, but it just ain’t natural, gal darn it!

I had Little Man over this morning for a couple/three hours. I rarely consult the clock. He knocked my socks off, as usual. You know what the little dude did? He took a dirty tee shirt of mine and put it on the floor in front of your glass case, in case he dropped one of the glass figures.

Note the mini-water goblet,
just like mine...

I mean, I do that for him every day, but today, he managed to get down there while I was whipping him up some breakfast, and put the shirt there himself. It’s just one of those insignificant events in the life of a small boy, but to see him take precautions as a less-than-two-year-old-kid, to keep from breaking something, warms the cockles of my heart.

Miraculously I did a quick shopping trip yesterday, as SmallBoy said he was going after groceries, and did I want to come too? I tried to weasel out of it by saying it was too late (lunchtime) but I couldn’t even convince myself.

“Fine, but I’d rather go get drunk at Boomer’s instead.”

“We’ll do both,” he said agreeably.

The funny thing is, with all of those groceries just put away, I ended up cooking up a whole passel of fresh veggies that your oldest son, HeadSodBuster brought for me this morning. There were onions, bok choi, arugula, broccoli, Brussels sprouts (!), carrots, and leeks to go with the romanesquo I had from the other day.

I sautéed it all in chicken broth which I made the day I cooked up the chicken teriyaki, and added some balsamic vinegar and some Tamari sauce. Speaking of that teriyaki chicken, you would have been proud of me, substituting honey for sugar, so that Little Man could eat the teriyaki part of the show. Sugar does not treat that boy very well at all. I don’t even give him homemade catsup because of the sugar, which is OK because he prefers the homemade hot sauce anyway.

So yeah, the time is dragging big time these days, with you off the mountain again. I am keeping the house immaculate, which is not hard to do, so that when  you return you will be dazzled. I am working jigsaw puzzles still, hoping this pesky shoulder heals up. I did that when I completed the second part of the deck, but it’s all good because there will be no need for me to go under that knife again. 

I know these letters are not terribly exciting, but you did say you looked forward to them, and it makes me feel good to write you. I will also send another pic of the Little Man, so you can keep up with his progress. 

I will say this, at least writing you makes me appreciate what I have. I can’t imagine what life would be without you, my love. 

I love you,

Markie

PS: Hurry home so I can cook you up a storm, OK Annie? 

Annie?

Road Construction Not Included

I have not yet gotten past the Is-this-really-happening? stage, but at least I no longer expect to wake up from the most hellish nightmare imaginable. Nightmares end; this one won’t.

Annie with Dozer at the beach

I have been offered grief counseling from both the hospice folks up in Garberville, and from the VA in Ukiah. Though I have benefited hugely from counseling in the past, particularly when it comes to managing my mood spectrum disorder, I do not view grief counseling as necessary at this most painful of times.

Talk it out, folks say, and I do recognize the value of that. Fortunately, I correspond daily with someone who does exactly what a therapist does: She listens, or rather, she reads what I write, sifts through the detritus of my thoughts, and then she gently nudges me back on course. That's what sisters do.

The best therapist in the world can’t make my pain go away, she can’t make time go any faster and she can’t lift the cloak of sadness that envelopes me. If I were in bed, under the pillows, or stumbling around in a drunken stupor, then sure, bring in the white coats.

As it is, I still get up somewhere around one in the A of M, give or take a few, and I still crash and burn early in the evening. That part remains the same.

Meanwhile, the house is immaculate; I am, after all, a Virgo. That being written, I know absolutely nothing about the other eleven zodiac signs. I just know that every profile of a Virgo ever written, fits me. And this Virgo is pretty compulsive about the morning routine of polishing the house in preparation for a small boy’s visit.

My compass these dayz

Speaking of therapy. The presence of Little Man in my daily life is the single best thing I have going for me. Curiously enough, having a small set of ears available for reminiscing, also helps immensely. After all, Little Man spent time every day in the vicinity of Annie, in the last months of her time here, and we have had many occasions upon which to reflect accordingly.

He won’t remember his grandmother when he grows up, not yet being two, but he remembers her now, and that is the thread I weave into the tapestry of what is still to come.

In my first two posts after Annie left us, I referred to the abyss, or chasm that lay in front of me, and how it terrified me. I wrote of the mist, or fog. Well, that metaphorical crap is gone now. 

I am a 67-year-old farmer who has this bipolar thing going on, I don’t own a pair of shoes and I live on a mountain. Whatever. I experimented by driving off the mountain Monday, for the first time since the week before Christmas, just to see what that was like.

After half-an-hour at the farmers’ market, held in Harwood Hall these days, I fell apart and had to exit, stage left. Something about all of those middle school graduation dances, History Day and Science Fairs, working with Annie, and all of those memories, made me decide that it was time to bail out. 

Losing my spouse, my partner, a person so filled with life, leaves the unknown in front of me, and that is what initially terrified me. Why wouldn’t it? My world has revolved around and been intertwined with Annie for almost forty years. Now I walk around asking myself irrationally all day, “Annie died?” 

Talk about denial.

Time just needs to get a move on and pass. How much time one asks? I have no clue but I do believe it’s one of those I’ll-know-it-when-I-see-it things, like going off the mountain, doing whatever I need to do, and managing to do so without bursting into tears. 

Well, except for road construction. That makes everyone burst into tears...

The Gong Show

The gong in my head goes off less frequently, its boom no longer capable of startling me. Annie is gone. I expect the numbing of my emotions is partly responsible, but more likely it is simply that some time has passed. Ultimately, time will have the final say.

Gong and gone sound remarkably similar. She’s gone says the gong. No, not she. Annie is gone. Nothing has ever hurt me as deeply as this. The abyss ahead remains obscured by the mist, and it terrifies me.

So I turn backwards and remember. Annie placed two corner foundation bricks in place for our budding relationship: First, if I ever cheated on her or hit her, she was out of there, no second chances. Second, I could undoubtedly find sex with other women, but it would not be better.

Since I had no interest in either straying from her or abusing her, I merely cemented the bricks in place without further deliberation. Annie never gave me reason to doubt her words.

A chasm now exists in front of me because I have always dreaded being by myself.

I am content to wait out the rainy season, working my jigsaw puzzles, while basking in the glow of another Super Bowl appearance by the Red and Gold. Small minds, small pleasures, you know. At least if the good guys suffer a loss, it will not be the worst loss for me in the last month. A victory, on the other hand, would bolster the spirits a bit.

Annie was not a fan of football, but she must have watched a hundred games with me over the years, just because she was that kind of gal. She was also the kind of gal who would rustle us all up some football grub that could not be beat.

Yes, I take great comfort in looking back at the last seven weeks of Annie’s life, from the day after Thanksgiving until January 14th. She referred to her three sons as “the masters,” as in, “Are the masters around?”

The answer was always yes, and all it took was one of them, and me. If there were two masters in the house, which was frequently the case, then the masters took over. I include in this discussion of the masters, BossLady, whose knowledge, compassion and experience brought a sense of we-can-do-this to the entire process.

The kind folks from hospice had visited that very morning, Cindy warning me that “we were in the ninth inning.” She also informed me that quite often in cases where peace has been found, a person will wait until she feels no one is paying attention to transition over.

Nonetheless, I was horrified-at first-to have been in the same room (a curtain divided us from Annie), laughing hysterically along with HeadSodBuster and SmallBoy at an episode of “The Office,” when Annie made her departure. As the episode ended, I headed out to the kitchen for “Oh Boy/Oh Girl time,” while the boys looked in on Annie, only to find her gone. 

Leaving the dogs to wait dinner, I went in to view the inevitable, the gong in my head overwhelming everything else. 

Ollie Mac and Annie's Opus

I clean house, I work puzzles and I spend time every day with Little Man, an unspoken hero in all of this with his sunny disposition and his desire to be here with me in the first place. The people in my life have been here for me, making sure that no day goes by without a visit from a loved one. For that I am grateful. That and the fact the time will pass.

I’m going to write a long, newsy email to Annie, as I did whenever she was not home, to keep her up to date on what’s up. The letters I wrote were never terribly exciting but they allowed me to maintain a connection. Besides, she told me early on that she looked forward to them. Were I to write one this morning, it would begin, 

"Hey there,

The gong in my head goes off less frequently, its boom no longer capable of startling me…”

Anything on Earth

Guiding Annie (GlutenFreeMama) through hospice care from Day One until the end is the highest honor I have ever been accorded. I did not accomplish this feat without a tremendous amount of help. As HeadSodBuster so eloquently put it, “We done good.” If Annie could have scripted her own passage, not one word or action of what actually happened, would be out of place.

MamaMadeThree did not want to spend one more day in a hospital; she wanted to be at home. She wanted her loved ones around her, and she got her wish. Throughout the Holidays, folks came and went, Christmas chorale music reigned supreme and Annie was able to spend her final days blanketed with love, peace and goodwill to all.

BossLady did so much behind the scenes, it defies all logic. Organizing the daily meds and phoning in prescription orders took a huge weight off of my mind. Overseeing vast logistical operations to keep everything running smoothly and providing much knowledge when it came to making Annie comfortable, are just a couple more of the things BossLady accomplished.

SmallBoy spent many a night upstairs in case I needed help in the night, as did HeadSodBuster and BenJamIn. And every time he came from town, BenJamIn brought vast quantities of supplies. We took turns cooking up huge meals, the leftovers always consumed at some point after the fact.

Annie herself had contacted hospice folks up in Garberville, Heart of the Redwoods Community Hospice, and they were instrumental in helping us along the path. At different times at least seven hospice personnel made the trek up to HappyDayFarms to offer guidance, counseling and support. They were stellar.

Claudia, Annie’s longtime personal health adviser, made numerous visits in the last six weeks, each time imparting to us valuable information. She told us that Annie had no unfinished business and that she was at peace. 

Claudia told us that as the time grew nearer, talking and listening would become extremely difficult for Annie, but that it required no effort to reap the benefits of touch. In particular her legs used to need stretching and repositioning. Gently massaging her feet and legs was just one way of communicating, without it requiring any effort from Annie.

We have had seven-and-a-half years to prepare ourselves for this time. That being said, even if you know you are about to be kicked in the solar plexus, and you prepare yourself for that inevitability, it still knocks you for a loop.

I don’t feel loopy-I feel lost. I cannot see beyond the chasm that looms in front of me, nor can I penetrate the mist that prevails. I don’t even want to. I just want to mark time until the ache starts to diminish.

Having family around me, especially a certain small boy who has been coming every day since Annie took to her bed, is the best medicine a guy could ask for. Well, that and something to put in the bong.

Additionally, when I read the comments from the three hundred plus folks on my post about Annie leaving us, I am buoyed beyond words. Never mind that I can’t read the comments without shedding tears; that is unimportant. There can be only so many tears before the well runs dry.

For thirty-nine years I told Annie that I would do anything on earth for her, and then I proved it. This will help ease the pain in my achey heart. 

The Clueless Leading the Blind

Dealing with tech issues for me is like playing Pin the tail on the donkey, in that I would appear to be blindfolded every step of the way. Pin the tail on the ass is more like it. There is no other way to better describe it. At least when I look back on my various antics in these matters, I derive a fair amount of comic relief.

Not that trying desperately to pay a computer hacker is THAT funny. I thought we had agreed to let that one go.

It's hard to tell us apart when one is blind, the other clueless.

The beginning of the end began a month or so ago, when the screen on poor Suzy Puente's monitor went blank, and I was left in the dark (I give my computers names; this one was Suzy). I handled it pretty well until I got to the part about replacing her. There I encountered some technical issues. The saltier I got, the more comical it all seems to me now, after the fact. The gestation period for cooling off is generally around two weeks. I can hold a grudge but my grip is shaky.

Torturing my computer is an art; it’s a miracle I don’t have to replace it more often. Take coffee, for instance, but first let me just shift this mug a bit more out of range. And yeah, sorry about that; it won’t happen again. For sure, bro. There can be no food or beverages anywhere near a computer.

Let’s begin this most recent fiasco with my decision to go up to Arcata, instead of down to Santa Rosa to replace my Apple. I wanted a calmer experience than what one generally receives, when heading down into the frenzy that is 'Rosa. 

Calmer? The MacIntosh computer shop in Arcata was as peaceful as a mortuary. Arriving just as the store opened, I was the only customer and there were at least four employees. Having a veritable ocean of tranquility did not help me one iota, just as it probably would not have helped were I actually in a mortuary.

What would have benefited me I can now see clearly, would have been to have written down those things which were crucial to me. I could then have handed the list over to the clerk. If there were a problem after that, at least we would have had a starting point. As it was, I dug my own grave and then was surprised to find myself buried in it. How was I supposed to know that the new computer would have completely different ports than Suzy Puente, other than the fact that it was predictable?

This dude is good. I can fire specific instructions about the set-up on the new computer, even as he is buried in his own computer, looking up prices and information, and typing them into place. But, you know, these tech guys just absorb information. The rest of us have to listen first, and then write everything down. 

I was wrong on so many levels. He was certainly pleasant and most eager to help, but I had walked into the shop determined to leave with a computer, even if it did not match the one I was replacing. I announced as much at the outset of our conversation. The story behind the shattered screen, by itself, is comical enough, in a twisted sort of way. That's where I began.

This whole photo is what my screen looked like...

I had murdered poor Suzy Puente by simply closing her lid with something sitting on the keyboard, thus rendering her screen about one-fourth of the way unreadable, along with anything on the desk-top beneath the blackness. I was able to do that remarkable thing because I was not sitting down in front of the computer, but instead, I was standing behind the monitor, and had simply pushed the computer lid shut. 

The sound I heard was enough for me to immediately recognize that I had disabled-if not destroyed-this two thousand dollar tool. I might not have thought so much destruction could result from one, number two, yellow pencil. The irony of the pencil on my keyboard (I had been making a grocery store list) has not been lost on me.

In a perfect world I would keep the computer arena free of everything, to prevent this sort of accident, but in a perfect world, the valet would attend to these matters, and the cook would prepare fantastic feasts and the butler would-

[Editor’s note: My Dude…]

Poor Suzy. She lingered on for a couple of months before one day, just going blank, kind of like my mind. Call it blindfolded if you please. Instead of pausing for a week or so, to allow the dust to settle, I went off half-cocked, as my father used to call it.

I knew that my sister who lives in Sebasketball, which is coincidentally close to Santa Rosa, was off gallivanting around in The Big Apple, making her unavailable to help me with my little Apple. That contributed to my decision to go north. Had I chosen to mark time for a week, she would have been back in town, and we could have run a few ideas up the flag pole, maybe even saluted one. We’ll never know.

It’s not that losing poor Suzy Puente cut me off from civilization, it’s that I had to-gasp(!)-acquire some telephone skills. I thought I did that back in the late fifties, but now I need to do more than say, “O’Neills’ residence, Mark speaking…” Take a picture with my phone? Access face/book with my phone? Did you know there is this thing called Messenger? I had more than a thousand messages, heretofore ignored. And something called Chat? Ditto. I still do not know how to access them on my computer.

I can say one thing for sure: My new computer is no female. I know that because my new computer is clueless. Draw your own conclusions. As for the clueless leading the blind, I needed no assistance from the shop; I was perfectly capable of mucking things up on my own. 

I have the gift, you know.

Next: My sanity for an adaptor

The Case of the Lost Smile

This story is for Ollie Mac, a little man who is always smiling. 

One soft summer morning a small boy named Ollie Mac woke up to find that he had lost his bright, cheerful smile. Normally the happiest small boy on the mountain, this was quite a change and everyone noticed it.

When a scrumptious breakfast of hash browns and chili omelet failed to bring the fat, sunny smile back to Ollie Mac’s face, Papi suggested that maybe Ollie Mac should go searching for it. 

“After all,” Papi said, “It can’t be far away. Maybe you should take a walk around the land, and see if any of our friends have seen it. What do you think, Ollie Mac?”

Ollie Mac tried to smile to show that he thought it was a good idea, but that was hard to do when his smile was missing. He held out his hand for Papi to take and asked, “Will you help me, Papi? I don’t even know where to look or how to talk to my friends when I do see them.”

"I don't care for the way that cat is looking at me..."

“Oh, that’s easy,” Papi responded. “We will just have to go outside and start walking around, keeping our eyes open. There are many of our friends out and about today, if we only pay attention. As for talking to them, we’ll just wait for them to start the conversation.”

Papi was right. No sooner had they stepped out the back door when they heard blue jay on the railing, screeching his head off at Toby the cat. Toby was looking at the bird with a different kind of smile, one that alarmed the blue jay. It was certainly not like Ollie Mac’s bright, happy smile.

“Hey there, blue jay,” began Ollie Mac, but the bird did not even look at him, keeping his eyes fastened on Toby. “I know you are busy, but I was wondering, have you seen my smile? I woke up this morning and it was gone. Can you help me find it?”

"Can't you see we are busy?"

“I would love to help you, but I have a certain cat that has me on his menu for breakfast. I am sorry I cannot help you. Why don’t you ask the bees? They are everywhere, so maybe they have seen your smile.” The blue jay flitted from the fence to a nearby tree, never taking his eyes off of Toby, so Ollie Mac and Papi had no choice but to go looking for some bees.

They did not have to go far because bees are everywhere on-farm. Walking up to some sunflowers, Ollie Mac waited for one of the bees to notice him so he could ask about his smile. The bees ignored him.

“Hey there, bees!” began Ollie Mac. “Do you have a minute? I can’t find my smile. Will you help me?” He asked so nicely.

At first none of the bees answered, but when Ollie Mac asked again, one said simply, “Bees are too busy pollinating flowers and making honey and to help find smiles; maybe you should check with a butterfly. They seem to have plenty of time on their hands.” The bees droned on about their work.

"I hate to boast but I am beautiful..."

Heading over to some zinnias, Ollie Mac and Papi found exactly what they were looking for, painted lady. This butterfly was gorgeous and she knew it. She was perched on a brilliant red zinnia and she kept opening and closing her wings, staring daintily at nothing in particular.

“Hey there, painted lady, I can’t find my smile. Can you help me?” Ollie Mac began. The butterfly seemed not to hear him.

“Try using the magic word and see if that helps,” Papi suggested.

“Oh, I mean, please, Mrs. Painted Lady?” Ollie Mac tried again, but it did no good.

All the butterfly said was, “Can’t you see I am busy? It’s my job to go around looking pretty; if your smile is gone, then you will have to get someone else to help you find it. Why not try the hummingbird? He’s been hovering around here all morning, humming up a storm.”

"I will gladly help you Tuesday, after I have dined..."

And sure enough, just as Ollie Mac turned around, there was hummingbird, its wings beating frantically as it dipped its beak down into a flower, and then did it again and again.

“Hey there, please, hummingbird, can you please help me? My smile is missing and I can’t find it,” Ollie Mac pleaded, but the hummingbird ignored him. A little louder, Ollie Mac repeated, “Hummingbird! Can you stop for a minute and listen? Please?”

The racket stopped and all was silent. “What DO you want, Little Man? Can’t you hear I am busy?” the hummingbird spoke softly for a bird that was so noisy.

“I am looking for my smile, please, hummingbird. Can you help me?” Ollie Mac tried to smile up at the hummingbird, but as we all know, this morning his smile had called in sick.

“I cannot help you look for your smile. Can’t you see I am famished, and must visit hundreds of more flowers before I can take a break? I suggest you ask red-tailed hawk. She is at the top of a tall tree, so she can see more than anyone.”

“Thanks, hummingbird! I will do that,” said Ollie Mac. “That shouldn’t be hard,” Papi added, looking up at the ancient pine tree on the side of the nearest hill. “She’s right where she often is. You may have to shout.”

"Do I look like I'm smiling?"

Ollie Mac and Papi climbed down into the gully and up the other side, where they stood behind the dead pine tree, admiring the huge bird. Her back was to them. “Do you think she knows we are here?” Ollie Mac asked. 

Papi chuckled, adding, “Oh, she knows. She can see a mouse at night from a great distance. She is just resting. Go ahead and ask her; just yell loudly.”

So Ollie Mac tilted his head back and looked straight up at the red-tailed hawk and bellowed, “Hey there, hawk! If you can hear me, I have lost my smile. Because you are so high in the sky, I thought you might have seen it somewhere. Please!”

At the last word, the hawk bent her head forward, and without seeming to raise her voice, spoke clearly, “A smile is not something I can find from up here, even if my eyesight is excellent. The only person who can find your smile is you, but maybe visiting some of your friends who live on the ground, will help you find it. They walk the same soil as you. The best of luck,” she finished and then resumed her siesta.

"No smiles loitering down here...A"

No sooner had Ollie Mac and Papi walked back down into the gully, to climb back up the other side, when Ollie Mac saw a flash of blue. He knew that it had to be a skink because the sunlight shimmered and shined off of it for a second in the morning sunlight, just before it disappeared under a medium-sized rock. 

“It probably won’t come out again. Maybe you should just ask him without turning his house upside down. He might appreciate that.” Papi waited.

Ollie Mac decided to try Papi’s advice, so he got down right next to the rock first so the skink knew that Ollie Mac could only be talking to him. “I’m searching for my smile, and I thought maybe you could help me. I have asked many things with wings and they all said no. How about you?”

The skink knew it would do no good to ignore Ollie Mac, so he poked his head out and squeaked, “I’m not the right guy to ask because I never get out of this gully. I find it hardly likely that your smile would be loitering around down here. Why don’t you check with Jerusalem beetle, who lives in the middle of the garden?”

“That’s smart thinking,” Papi exclaimed. “I like a skink who is always thinking! Let’s go!”

"16 tons and what do I get?
Another day older and a deeper in debt...".

They found Jerusalem beetle doing what he always does, digging. He paused when Papi’s foot narrowly missed crushing him, sticking his head out of the ground and sputtering, “Why don’t you watch where you are going? You almost stepped on me.”

“Please forgive me, good sir. This young master has a question for you. Do not allow my rudeness in almost stepping on you to interfere with your good judgment.”

Clearly pleased, Jerusalem beetle glanced at Ollie Mac, who was quite fascinated by the zebra-bug. “Well?” he inquired. “Say something!”

“Oh! Yes! Please! I am looking for my smile; I did not mean to ogle. It’s just that I have heard so much about you, I had to stare.” 

The giant beetle never stopped moving, zigging this way and zagging that way, his two long antennae waving frantically.

He was a sight to behold and not one that made Ollie Mac want to smile. It made him want to count his fingers and toes before he got out of there. 

"I can't say why people do not smile when they see me..."

“This might come as a shock to you but people don’t generally smile when they see me, even though I eat lots of things that harm gardens. You smile is safe from me. You know who I would check with is scorpion, not that folks smile a lot when they see him, but because he’s not such a bad guy as people might think. I saw him over in the freshly dug dirt by the new steps.

“Thanks,” Ollie Mac ventured, as he and Papi moseyed over to the newly created rock steps. Upon their arrival an unusual looking specimen came scuttling out from a small pile of pebbles. “You looking for me? I heard you were looking for me.”

Without even wondering how the scorpion knew he had been looking for him, Ollie Mac nodded. He had never seen a blue scorpion. One thing he did know, though, is that the scorpions who lived in this neighborhood were not dangerous. Though it was not recommended that you pick one up, if you did and it stung you, its venom is comparable to that of a bee or yellow jacket sting. It would hurt mildly but otherwise would be no big deal.

Ollie Mac repeated once again that he was hunting for his missing smile, and assured scorpion that he knew scorpion wouldn’t know. “I just thought you might be able to give me your best guess as to who could help me find it. Please? I know you go inside our house, even. You seem to know a lot,” he added. A little flattery couldn’t hurt, he figured, especially since the scorpion seemed highly interested in his toes.

"Smile when you say that, Partner."

“Oh, well, I do know some stuff. Let me see. You know who also knows a lot? Mr. king snake knows a lot. You can find him in the orchard, hunting.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Come on, Papi!” And Ollie Mac trotted off towards the orchard where the tomato plants grew. Papi followed behind, glad to see that Ollie Mac had regained his enthusiasm, if not his smile.

When they arrived at the orchard, it did not take long to to find king snake, who was enjoying a morning nap after having dined on a pesky gopher. This little varmint had the misfortune of poking his head out of his tunnel, and right into king snake’s mouth. What was a bad day for gopher, was pretty much a good day for everyone  else.

"Ribbet, ribbet..."

“Good morning, king snake. You may have heard that I have lost my smile. I was wondering if you could help me find it. Scorpion said you know a lot so I thought I would check with you.”

King snake nodded his head sagely. “This is serious business,” he responded, “but I think I can help. Let me ask you something. Do you remember the last time you had it with you? That seems like a good place to start.”

Ollie Mac frowned and tipped his head to one side. “I’m not sure but I know I had it yesterday. Papi, do you remember?”

“I do remember you having your fat, saucy smile yesterday, especially when we read that book that had the frog in it. Do you remember? There was also a dragonfly, and those guys were chasing mosquitos and gobbling them up by the dozen.

"Here's looking at you, Kid."

And right on cue, a little frog poked his head out from under a cherry tomato plant. “My ears are burning. Are you talking about me?” To complete the picture, just then into the orchard flew a dragonfly, a brilliant orange fellow with huge eyes. He settled down on the top of a fence post and basked in the morning sunlight. 

And that was all it took, for at the sight of that frog and his dragonfly buddy, Ollie Mac burst out into the brightest smile ever, like magic.

“Just like in the book!” he exclaimed. And he smiled and he smiled, not only happy to see his friends, but happy to have his smile back. 

And Papi smiled too.

A smiling Ollie Mac

I Just Didn't Know

Standing at the kitchen counter Tuesday afternoon, peeling and cutting up potatoes for the homemade French fries, I had one of those Ah ha! moments. You know, when you suddenly figure out the answer to a question you have always had, but maybe didn’t know you had? In my case it dealt with the question, What’s the big deal with being a grandparent?

I have experienced GlutenFreeMama’s angst in the past, at the possibility of not living long enough to hold and cherish a grand baby. I have felt her anxiety as a palpable force, and I accepted it unconditionally. I kind of had to because the feeling just wasn’t there for me.

Don’t get me wrong, please, I love kids as much as anyone. My thought process had always been that grandchildren would be very cool, and I would embrace that phase of my life when I encountered it. Or not, whatever happened.

Besides, the way things had been developing the past few years, what with that pesky mood spectrum disorder cropping up, I have gone so far as to question whether I would even be entrusted with a munchkin. There have been times when I wouldn’t have trusted me.

Something happened along the path, when I became a partner-in-crime with Ollie Mac. After all, in the beginning, I had laid out specific guidelines such as, I need notice, mornings are better than afternoons, evenings are out of the question, and all of it was subject to what was happening on-farm.

That changed almost overnight, as Ollie Mac and I got to spend more time together. All stipulations regarding time and farm dissolved. Four in the afternoon? Perfect! Evening Bell Springs Volunteer Fire Department fund raiser? Even better! Watch Ollie Mac on Market Day? In the morning? Oh, heck yeah! Easy peasy… 

I had no logical explanation for my transformation of thought. What had changed? What made Ollie Mac more than “cool?” Why did all of those original requirements get dropped by the wayside? Why did I labor so hard with the communication process with Dancing Girl, so as not to miss out?

I could not seem to nail it down, other than to say that every minute I spend with him, is filled with wonder and pure joy at the way this lil dude views the world. Isn't that enough?

The things that fascinate him, fascinate me too, by extension. But still, there was something more, something that applied salve to my soul every time it occurred, without my conscious knowledge. Then, standing at the counter the other day, anticipating the arrival at some point of Ollie Mac, I saw him in my mind, running toward me with his arms out, and just screeching with delight.

And I suddenly got it. The element I had never factored in was simply how overwhelmed I would feel at having this little human being love me in return. Being told early on by Dancing Girl that “he loves his time with Grandpa,” had sent me home glowing. I never bothered to overthink the feeling, just accepting it as, you know, cool.

That glow has been replaced by a bonfire, and though I am approaching the winter of my life, I hope to infuse some of that bonfire into the soul of this small boy. I see him derive joy from being outdoors, and his awakening curiosity over books, music, popcorn, stories, Buster Posey, dragonflies, balls of any size, wheels, farm animals, fresh-picked apples, frogs and a wealth of other worthy subjects.

Love. I want to shower him with unconditional love, so much so that he carries around with him an access, to support him when the ups of childhood morph into the inevitable downs of adulthood. Love is the greatest power, as I am once again discovering. 

It’s nice to still experience new discoveries, even as my beard completes its transition to white. And it’s nice to be a part of my grandson’s childhood, allowing me to vicariously participate in the process of exploration and wonder, all over again.

I just didn't know because I couldn't know, not without experiencing it. You're never too old to start living life all over again.