Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today is our oldest grandson's birthday. He's turning six. Tomorrow the family is driving to Traintown to celebrate. I Facetimed with him when he was in the car after being picked up by his dad from kindergarten. He had on his crown birthday hat and was clearly thrilled. He's not a little boy anymore. He's getting gangly and his face is not a round baby face. How surprised we were when we were out to dinner with my cousin and his parents and my daughter-in-law handed me a card, and inside was an ultrasound of him. He was in profile and had the turned up nose of his mother1 We were so thrilled because they had been married over fifteen years and didn't seem interested in having a child. He's been the sunshine in their lives and a joy to us ever since. Our granddaughter is seven years older, and now she has four bungly boy cousins: 6, 4, 2, and 1. It's like having a basket of kittens. Andway, happy birthday to a dear fellow whom we love dearly.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Out of the blue I received an email that an old friend had died, at 66. They live in Illnois, and we have known them for forty years, yet they had not communicated for a while, so we assumed everything was well. But the wife had cancer, and today her husband emailed, including the funeral service, where to donate, and a video option to film a message. She was so young, and a school psychologist. Their daughter lived out here for a while and they stayed with us several times when they came out to visit her. I assume our friend chose not to share her diagnosis and treatment with others. Many people don't like to be considered a victim. They don't want the cards and flowers and fruit baskets and prayers and calls. I respect that, but it does leave my husband and I with the feeling that we've missed the boat, and cannot grieve adequately. The shock is too great. I feel for our friend, his daughter, son-in-law, granddaughter and son. But the lack of connection for so long makes this seem surreal and unabsorbable.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

There is a chill in the air that is making the arthritis in my lower back act up. I walked to the post office this morning and felt achy after. I traipsed down the stairs into the basement and brought out my Halloween decorations, little as they are after giving most to my kids over the years. But I have fake pumpkins (the squirrels eat real ones), a sign for the door that says Welcome My Pretties, a small crow, a black cat with a Halloween hat on, a felt cat on top of a pumpkin, a black plastic kettle where I put candy to give out, and some small pumpkin people and a moon and child with a black lantern. I enjoy Halloween because no presents are necessary, and I love to the kids' costumes, and some of our neighborhoods decorate so elaborately that it is fun to walk around, day or night. A couple of blocks away from us a house has these giant, car sized spiders around and over the front door, and this year some children have painted pumpkins in psycadelic colors. A lot of imagination is at play. My husband and I used to dress up and go to parties, and we made an effort with our kids' costumes. Now I admire how my kids dress their kids - witty and fun. I don't know what they are going as yet, but I am pretty sure I will be delighted.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm in a mood. Deciding not to try to fly up for the virtual memorial service is probably the right thing to do, but it's depressing. Hopefully, this Delta mess will subside and I can travel later. I feel kind of mired in quicksand. I'm bored, restless, afraid, feeling elderly and vulnerable. I saw today in the news that the people who are vaccinated are cautious and not testing the waters of inside dining or travel, etc., while the unvaccinated are out there on a limb drinking, dining, seeing shows and games and traveling. This is not reassuring, because if I feel brave, I'll be galavanting around with the unvaccinated. As I told my dentist yesterday, I don't really want to go to our cabin, because nobody there is vaccinated or masking, and they are downright hostile to people who wear masks. Their numbers of cases are way up too, so it's not a safe environment. And people become angry and belligerent if you wear a mask. I feel safer in my area, where people mask and are careful, and the numbers are low. What a mess! I'm weary.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My friend and I walked this morning, and she told me about putting her baby granddaughter in a kind of hammock her daughter has in her back yard, and somehow the baby flipped out and fell on the side of her face. Everyone was freaked out, and they took the baby to urgent care and spoke with their pediatrician and all was well. But it's pretty traumatic to feel responsible for your granddaughter's fall, and my friend was quite shaken. It's what all us grandparents dread, but with the normal outcome of no harm done. Luckily, babies are like jellyfish, and usually bounce back without disaster. When I was in Fiji, with my first child, a friend of my mother's had sent an infant seat, this was 52 years ago, and I put my son in it, and before I could strap him in, the seat flipped and fell on the floor with our big portable stereo coming down on top of it. I screamed, my husband came running, and the neighbor in the downstairs flat ran up and bundled us into the car to go to the emergency room. How relieved and grateful we were that he was absolutely fine. I never used that seat again, and never had one for my other three kids. But I never forgot how suddenly even little babies can move or twist. It's a wake up call to how on alert we must be.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I visited an elderly friend yesterday and took her out for a walk in a nearby rose garden. She is in a care center, after a heart attack and bad fall. Nevertheless, she is sharp as a tack and manuevered herself well in and out of the car and with the walker when we arrived at the park. We wandered around and tried to smell the various roses, but most we tried, after taking off our masks, were not scented. It was a warm, beautiful day, and she wanted to go for ice cream, but it was a Saturday, and the place was packed. Then she suggested a tea place, but the ones I knew of are closed, due to the pandemic, so we returned to her facility and she showed me around the public rooms and then up to her room, which was nice. We sat there and talked for an hour. I told her I have not eaten inside since the covid, and didn't really know anymore where to go and what had outside seating. I'm not sure if she has. Her situation is nice, and the people are friendly, but there is no outside space anywhere, and no balconies, so fresh air is a problem. The building is around big box stores, without any parks or public spaces close enough to walk to, and therefore it seems to me claustrophobic and sterile. She is dependent on family or friends to take her out, and most of the group activities organized inside she says are poorly attended or don't happen. She seems comforted by the safety of the place. But she's used to going out a lot and seeing art, music and other things. I felt a bit sad last night. She is 93, so she is probably not going home again. But maybe the change I'm witnessing is harder for me than her. Safety first at that age.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

A column I like to follow in my local newspaper, dealing with animals, had a great story today. A woman wrote in that one morning she heard a cacaphony of crows in her backyard, and she looked through the window and crows were surrounding her swimming pool. She stepped outside and there was a crow lying on it's back in the pool. She grabbed a rake and gently lifted him out of the water and carefully lay him down on the path. The crows retreated to the trees, still watching and making a ruckus. The crow got up and began walking, at which point the observing crows went dead silent. She went back inside, and eventually the crows all left, including the floating one. The columnist suggested the crows had assumed the crow was dead and when he was resurrected, they were stunned into silence. She thought the noise was a warning to other birds that danger was near, and the silence was shock and awe at the rescue. She reminded the reader that maybe she should put out some food for the crows, so they wouldn't identify her somehow as the source of the danger, because crows remember faces, and leave gifts for friends and dive bomb enemies. I like to think that crows in that area are spreading the news of the miraculous recovery of one of their brethern. It's how religions begin.