Special Time

Old Friends have just joined the Grandparents Club, and everyone is ecstatic.  FlapJilly is keeping the beat in her Daddy's arms, and Little Cuter is over the moon.  Fast Eddie and JannyLou are about to escort a granddaughter to college, with equal measures of pride and exhaustion.

I needed a kid of my own who was available for hugging.  It's a good thing Mr. 10 was of a similar mind, having informed his mother that he was in need of his own special time with me.  She brokered the arrangements, paid for lunch, and chauffeured us around town, content to let us have our fun, as long as she didn't have to follow us around the fabric stores.

That was just fine with us.  We were on a roll, and we weren't letting a little thing like being unable to purchase the fabric we wanted at WalMart because there was no one who could cut it for us... and NO, we were not to cut it ourselves..... get in our way.  We were on a mission.

JoAnn's Fabrics came to our rescue, once we found it.  Mr. 10 and I agreed that we could love the $4.99/yard fabric every bit as much as we could love the $12.99/yard fabric, and with the savings we could make a blanket for his very good friend, and still have money left over.

Responsible 10 year old boys are some of my favorite people on earth.  Mine managed to remember the blade-less tool, and found a replacement, suggested by Amster who, by this time had finished with World Market and missed her boy as much as I enjoyed having him all to myself.

This is a good kind of competition to have with a friend... who wants to hug the kid more?

And the kid accepts the hugs with smiles and a lovely leaning in, which even being in 5th grade, the oldest in elementary school, hasn't managed to embarrass out of him.  He is the kindest person I know; it's lovely to reflect the light within him.

So, home we went, and work began.

Amster took over when my fingers no longer flexed.  My forearm is talking to me as I type this, 24 hours and several Bayer Aspirin later.


In order to create the fringe, which holds the two sides together, slits must be cut at evenly spaced intervals.   That calls for an awful lot of slits.



The rotary cutter which  Mr. 10 carted around was useless unless we wanted to sacrifice the ceramic floor tiles.... which we did not.

The protective cardboard sucked up the fury of the new blade.  It made a sludgy noise and not much of a cut through two layers of fuzzy fleece.

The dogs were bemused by the whole thing.  Their slobber was unwelcome, so they and their ball were banished to the couch.  It was hard to explain that cuddling was an intrusion.  

We finished Mr. 10's first, and he commanded me to wait until he was ready before I took this photo:

He's in there, head to foot.

And just look at that head.

Yes, he is usually that happy.

After a brief rest and some time communing with his new blanket, it was back to work we went.

The boys spent a week splitting logs and practicing archery and generally being mountain men last month on a combined family vacation near Flagstaff.  

We thought he'd appreciate the arrows as something he likes and, Mr. 10 continued, I just like this other pattern for him.  Those are good colors.

And they are.  

And he is a good kid, who loves basketball and piano and his family and his friends.

I'm very pleased to be counted as one of them.

Two Kids in Double Digits

Amster has two sons, one 10 and one 12 by the end of this month.

Two kids in double digits.  The little one, little no longer.... at least in his own eyes.  It's filled with rapture (Finally, I'm in 5th grade and The Oldest in School) and a vague sense of unease.

No one says it better than Billy Collins, so I'm not even going to try.


On Turning Ten

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed. 

Ben's Bells, Ralph Stanley, and The Littles

They don't like being referred to that way, the elementary school cohort in Amster's life. True individuals, they require different pieces of my attention.  Always have, always will, I imagine. That's what makes it interesting.

Because of a difference of opinion over child care, my presence was required on Thursday afternoon.  Somehow, life knows when to send me the means to soothe my soul. I was in need, and The Littles were there to help.

Off the bus and into The Schnozz, Kindle taken out and promptly put away as I declared my car an electronics free zone. No, not even just on the ride.  I kept to myself the fact that some of the most interesting conversations I've ever had have occurred just on the ride.

Train switches and round-abouts, bicycle riding and banjos and being the elder sibling, a little bit of teasing and tickling and a whole lot of laughing and we were in the parking lot.... because none of us had any quarters for the open meters surrounding our destination. The Littles help me figure out the Pay Here Machine, Miss Texas ran back to put the ticket on the dashboard, and, after a brief discussion about the difference between the visor and the dashboard, we were on our way.

The last time I brought them, I couldn't keep up.  On Thursday, we all tumbled in together.... noting the restroom on the way.

It's a beautiful, open, courtyard in the middle of downtown Tucson, where the temperatures were in the upper 60's and the sun was playing hide-and-seek between the clouds. The kids carted the supplies to the table

and started painting like old hands.

There was no poking or teasing.

There was serious concentration

and an eagerness to share  

the more interesting of the fired pieces we were able to decorate.

There's something about the atmosphere that brings out the best in everyone.

They were amazed that the activity came with no fee.

We're doing a good deed by making these beads.

The notion was a big one for little heads.

There was silence, and random nodding, and then, accompanying Ralph Stanley on his Pandora Radio station playing softly on my phone, were Messers 8 and 10, crooning that they, too, would Fly Away, oh Lordy

It was a moment, denizens.  

All the pieces of my life were coming together.

There was nothing to do but smile.

At ten minutes to closing, we cleaned up

and rinsed off

and admired our work. 

Do you see the smiley face?

We made a donation, 

I hugged Ben's mom, who was working but still had the time to applaud my BE KIND Ben's Bells' logo'd t-shirt,

we bought some Kindness Coins and a BE KIND hand and took a decal or two 

and I dropped them off at Amster's office, full of stories and Mom, listen as she and I smiled and hugged.

Life is good.

Doing good makes it even better.

Doing good with little ones..... for me, that's the very best of all.