Gramma,
Five of the thirteen grandkids spent last weekend with us. After school was out, they arrived from three different directions, each about an hour away. The girls chose to share the queen size bed in the guest room, a room as big as a living room and outfitted with a fireplace and tv. That left the boys with the little room. The girls watched DVD's. Much to their chagrin, the boys wanted to hang out with them. Eventually, I sent them to watch tv in their room.
It took all morning to get them ready to go to a play. We stopped at Walgreens so I could pick up a prescription. They all chose a snack item and vitamin water for the road trip. Then they railroaded me into buying them each a small toy item. We were the first ones at the theatre. We looked at art displays while we waited. The kids couldn't believe the prices.
We saw "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Costumes reflected the sixties-seventies era. The father came out in the most hideous leisure suit I have ever seen. I almost said WTF out loud, which I related to him afterwards. The story revolved around two families from different sides of the track and a Christmas pageant run amok when the usual director was out of commission.
It was funny and poignant at times, interspersed with inappropriate behavior that delighted the kids. The mean girl was fond of smoking cigars in the church bathroom. She had no idea who Jesus was. The boys were terrified of her and her younger sister. The draw for this financially challenged family was free refreshments. In the end, the three wise guys brought peculiar gifts to the manger, including a canned ham from their welfare basket.
During intermission, the kids roped me into buying cookies, which I had intended to avoid, but it was a fundraising effort. I hadn't been to this bare bones theatre with open seating in a hodge-podge of chairs. We had seen all the plays at the usual venue, where the special effects and seating reflected a high degree of sophistication. In the car, I asked what they liked best. The naughty kids won out.
The last year of the Macy's Christmas display was showing in Minneapolis. In line, there was some annoying old bag in front of us. Her short dark hair was sprayed into a helmet. She held a winter scarf up to her nose and mouth the whole time, as if she were fending off chemical warfare. I began a barking cough, caused by dust, cobwebs and the smell of cigarette smoke on coats. Each time I coughed, she looked at me in horrified disgust. So I took pains to cough when I didn't need to.
The animated displays were worth the wait. Santa's gift shop beckoned at the end. Stuffed items were thirty percent off. I wanted to be young enough to own one of those soft treehouses with stuffed animals poking out all the knotholes. I asked the twins if they would like to share one. "We don't like to share," I could understand that. Everybody got their own.
The kids unboxed gingerbread houses before I could change out of my good clothes. I was tired and put some leftover hot dish in front of Dave. Veve and Ollie got into it over some triviality. Ollie stormed upstairs. I sent Dave after him. Eventually, he put down his book and rejoined us. Five houses were uniquely covered in frosting and candy. The table was littered with leftovers.
The kids ate pizza in the living room before heading to bed, which meant falling asleep with a movie. House cleanup the next morning took upwards of two hours. The twins were leaving around ten to go see Santa. Dave watched the Vikings play at noon, while I took two kids to Wisconsin. Dave took Ollie home while I watched the Packers play.
Memories were made. The twins said I was much more fun than their other gramma, and could they come for a week in the summer. I hoped so. More waffles with free reign of Reddi Whip and sprinkles. More hands for the dogs. More carrots for the donkeys.
Veve's mother called the following week to tell me that the kids were told to draw something that reminded them of Christmas. She drew a picture of a building with Macy's on the front of it.
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Oh, Holy Night
Gramma,
Drove an hour to see two of my grandchildren perform in the annual "holiday" music program. It has become commonplace in many schools to avoid any reference to Christmas. The music teacher has been with the district for three years. She is young, energetic, and innovative with her selections. This year, it was very jazzy.
The singing also involved actions, with hands, entire body movement and sometimes instruments. There was a song about lighting a candle for peace. The lights were dimmed. Three kids with flameless candles lit the candles of other students, who in turn spread the light until they all held lit candles. It was a somewhat mournful song, almost a lamentation of the futility of hoping for peace.
Tears ran down my face as I though of the children of Aleppo being murdered, their last vestiges of hope and life being witnessed on social media. Their parents pleading for help, the world watching. No savior arriving. No peace for them.
For more than a month, Veve has been telling me they have been practicing a super secret song they can't tell anyone about. She was very excited about it. She is in the third grade. I didn't pry. The third, fourth and fifth grade sang their separate songs. Then they performed together.
The teacher was visibly nervous. The auditorium was dark. She told the crowd that she hoped we would like it. She didn't know how we would receive it. The kids worked very hard to make this happen. As she tuned her guitar, I heard what I thought were the first frail notes of what I couldn't believe was coming.
The kids began with soft voices, as if they were far away. "Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining, this is the night of our dear Savior's birth...." Their voices rang out louder and louder. The music teacher sang solo for two verses while the kids did the chorus. Her voice conveyed a passion for what she was doing. My eyes were leaking again. You could hear a pin drop when it was over.
I was among the first to stand up. Somebody had dared to put Christ back in Christmas in a public school. I wondered if she had gotten permission for this. Would it become necessary to sign a reinstatement petition?
The quality of the children's voices was beyond their years. I would guess there were some unfamiliar with the Christmas story. I wondered if in the process of learning the words, they were helped to understand. Had the teacher taken a chance on overstepping boundaries to explain it? Whatever happened here and whoever was in on it, Wow, just Wow.
Drove an hour to see two of my grandchildren perform in the annual "holiday" music program. It has become commonplace in many schools to avoid any reference to Christmas. The music teacher has been with the district for three years. She is young, energetic, and innovative with her selections. This year, it was very jazzy.
The singing also involved actions, with hands, entire body movement and sometimes instruments. There was a song about lighting a candle for peace. The lights were dimmed. Three kids with flameless candles lit the candles of other students, who in turn spread the light until they all held lit candles. It was a somewhat mournful song, almost a lamentation of the futility of hoping for peace.
Tears ran down my face as I though of the children of Aleppo being murdered, their last vestiges of hope and life being witnessed on social media. Their parents pleading for help, the world watching. No savior arriving. No peace for them.
For more than a month, Veve has been telling me they have been practicing a super secret song they can't tell anyone about. She was very excited about it. She is in the third grade. I didn't pry. The third, fourth and fifth grade sang their separate songs. Then they performed together.
The teacher was visibly nervous. The auditorium was dark. She told the crowd that she hoped we would like it. She didn't know how we would receive it. The kids worked very hard to make this happen. As she tuned her guitar, I heard what I thought were the first frail notes of what I couldn't believe was coming.
The kids began with soft voices, as if they were far away. "Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining, this is the night of our dear Savior's birth...." Their voices rang out louder and louder. The music teacher sang solo for two verses while the kids did the chorus. Her voice conveyed a passion for what she was doing. My eyes were leaking again. You could hear a pin drop when it was over.
I was among the first to stand up. Somebody had dared to put Christ back in Christmas in a public school. I wondered if she had gotten permission for this. Would it become necessary to sign a reinstatement petition?
The quality of the children's voices was beyond their years. I would guess there were some unfamiliar with the Christmas story. I wondered if in the process of learning the words, they were helped to understand. Had the teacher taken a chance on overstepping boundaries to explain it? Whatever happened here and whoever was in on it, Wow, just Wow.
Friday, December 16, 2016
It's Cold Outside...
Gramma,
It's been a month since my last post. (didn't that sound a bit Catholic) We are experiencing another super moon. The tree shadows on the ground last night were spectacular. I love tree skeletons. Too bad they don't photograph well. The windchill is 25 below zero. Prediction for tomorrow and the weekend is worse--45 below. Snow will also be involved. At these temperatures, the ice melting stuff does not work on the roads. Glad I don't have to go anywhere.
Last night I made several trips out to the rental unit in the shed. One of the energy efficient heaters needed repair--since last summer. Nothing like being on top of things. Not my fault. Our professional heating and air conditioning friend kept promising to do it. By 7:30 last night it was determined he was unable to figure out the problem. The off peak heaters are a breed that requires specialty training for installation and repair. First thing I did this morning was call for repair.
It has been crazy hectic around here this past month. The only lull was on Thanksgiving. We did not go anywhere or have anyone over. I still make a large meal, freezing leftovers for soup and pot pies. Eleanor gave up this holiday a few years back, but demanded that we show up for pie. Forty-five minutes one way to forgo a nap and force down some pie. Glad that's over.
In a moment of stupidity, I almost ruined Thanksgiving by calling my estranged son to come over for food. There is a large family gathering on his dad's side every year, but he was unwelcome. This is not the first time he has alienated everyone with his vicious postings on Facebook and in the flesh. He posted that he had dinner with an older couple that took pity on him. I'm sure he was all charming and polite. They don't have to deal with the Aaron we know.
Eleanor had a stroke around Thanksgiving. It was mild, with no long term effects. She was laying on the floor in her bedroom when she called family for help. She spent several days in the hospital before going to a nursing home for unnecessary transitional care. She was afraid to go home because she might have another stroke and die, She is over eighty. WTF. I would absolutely rather die than be in there.
The problem for her was deciding which "Help I've Fallen And Can't Get Up" device to purchase. Call your friends. Ask what they have. Nope. She had to pester all three of her kids to research the market. All three kids had different opinions. We went to visit. The nursing home was noisy--nonstop beeping equipment, loud voices echoing off bare walls and floors--bad smells and people slumped in wheelchairs. I could smell Eleanor's halitosis before I got to her room.
The weather was bad and we got there around dinner time. We were practically chased off by Eleanor so she could go eat the food she was complaining about. To get Medicare to pay for this unnecessary care, she was required to go to rehab classes that she complained about. There were such activities as taking directions on how to make a sandwich.
Dave's son Cory had open heart surgery this week. When he tried to join the military ten years ago, he was rejected because he had a leaky aortic valve. That was replaced with a mechanical valve. He is in and out of consciousness with the pain meds.
Dave tried to get his mother to go with him to visit Cory. Eleanor is busy having a full blown pity party for herself. She's whining again about how she wishes her sons would get along. She doesn't talk to one of her brothers, but of course, that's different. She can see the asshole in him, but not her beloved ass-clown of a son.
In preparation for knee replacement surgery, Dave has had several doctor appointments this month. I am required to go along so I know what's going on. He has vague reasons why he is not telling his family in advance. I will honor his decision. Due to the nature of his work, he will be home for twelve weeks. Good practice for retirement. He also needs shoulder surgery and the other knee replaced. Then it will be time to retire.
I had a colonoscopy that revealed why I have had the diarrhea for several months--some breed of colitis. The drugs are $1500 a month. Co-pay was $150. Hopefully two months of treatment will clear up the problem. Cause? Ibuprofen 800's or some prescription mental health drug. Getting old is not my thing. I do not like to talk about my ailments, because that is what old people do.
Winter is here. Going out to rearrange the snow. Be back tomorrow.
It's been a month since my last post. (didn't that sound a bit Catholic) We are experiencing another super moon. The tree shadows on the ground last night were spectacular. I love tree skeletons. Too bad they don't photograph well. The windchill is 25 below zero. Prediction for tomorrow and the weekend is worse--45 below. Snow will also be involved. At these temperatures, the ice melting stuff does not work on the roads. Glad I don't have to go anywhere.
Last night I made several trips out to the rental unit in the shed. One of the energy efficient heaters needed repair--since last summer. Nothing like being on top of things. Not my fault. Our professional heating and air conditioning friend kept promising to do it. By 7:30 last night it was determined he was unable to figure out the problem. The off peak heaters are a breed that requires specialty training for installation and repair. First thing I did this morning was call for repair.
It has been crazy hectic around here this past month. The only lull was on Thanksgiving. We did not go anywhere or have anyone over. I still make a large meal, freezing leftovers for soup and pot pies. Eleanor gave up this holiday a few years back, but demanded that we show up for pie. Forty-five minutes one way to forgo a nap and force down some pie. Glad that's over.
In a moment of stupidity, I almost ruined Thanksgiving by calling my estranged son to come over for food. There is a large family gathering on his dad's side every year, but he was unwelcome. This is not the first time he has alienated everyone with his vicious postings on Facebook and in the flesh. He posted that he had dinner with an older couple that took pity on him. I'm sure he was all charming and polite. They don't have to deal with the Aaron we know.
Eleanor had a stroke around Thanksgiving. It was mild, with no long term effects. She was laying on the floor in her bedroom when she called family for help. She spent several days in the hospital before going to a nursing home for unnecessary transitional care. She was afraid to go home because she might have another stroke and die, She is over eighty. WTF. I would absolutely rather die than be in there.
The problem for her was deciding which "Help I've Fallen And Can't Get Up" device to purchase. Call your friends. Ask what they have. Nope. She had to pester all three of her kids to research the market. All three kids had different opinions. We went to visit. The nursing home was noisy--nonstop beeping equipment, loud voices echoing off bare walls and floors--bad smells and people slumped in wheelchairs. I could smell Eleanor's halitosis before I got to her room.
The weather was bad and we got there around dinner time. We were practically chased off by Eleanor so she could go eat the food she was complaining about. To get Medicare to pay for this unnecessary care, she was required to go to rehab classes that she complained about. There were such activities as taking directions on how to make a sandwich.
Dave's son Cory had open heart surgery this week. When he tried to join the military ten years ago, he was rejected because he had a leaky aortic valve. That was replaced with a mechanical valve. He is in and out of consciousness with the pain meds.
Dave tried to get his mother to go with him to visit Cory. Eleanor is busy having a full blown pity party for herself. She's whining again about how she wishes her sons would get along. She doesn't talk to one of her brothers, but of course, that's different. She can see the asshole in him, but not her beloved ass-clown of a son.
In preparation for knee replacement surgery, Dave has had several doctor appointments this month. I am required to go along so I know what's going on. He has vague reasons why he is not telling his family in advance. I will honor his decision. Due to the nature of his work, he will be home for twelve weeks. Good practice for retirement. He also needs shoulder surgery and the other knee replaced. Then it will be time to retire.
I had a colonoscopy that revealed why I have had the diarrhea for several months--some breed of colitis. The drugs are $1500 a month. Co-pay was $150. Hopefully two months of treatment will clear up the problem. Cause? Ibuprofen 800's or some prescription mental health drug. Getting old is not my thing. I do not like to talk about my ailments, because that is what old people do.
Winter is here. Going out to rearrange the snow. Be back tomorrow.
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