A Convertible for Zoomie

Sometimes I find myself with an awkward-sized birthday present that no bag from Dollar Tree will work for. This was the case earlier this week, when Pa-pa and I took a road trip to Kansas to celebrate Zoomie's seventh birthday.

With no workable bag, I then have to improvise, this time with some leftover Spiderman Christmas paper. Look closely--the tiny sprigs of holly, though discreet, are a dead giveaway.

Zoomie didn't know it at the time, but he was about to get the only convertible I could find on my down-to-the-last-minute shopping trip last Thursday. Despite the fact that we are in the middle of summer, all the convertibles seemed to be on car lots rather than on the toy shelves at Target.

Except this one--and I almost missed it. That's because this blue plastic convertible came a part of a tow truck/trailer set, shown here with Zoomie, Bootsie, and Pooh.

If I do say so myself, the truck is a pretty cool rig with all the bells and whistles--or at least the working horn, lights, and backup/engine noises--any self-respecting seven-year-old could want. It even includes winch and harness for moving the convertible on and off the trailer. The toy is a neat birthday story in its own right, but the story behind the gift makes it even better.

When Zoomie and his family visited us a couple weeks ago, their visit coincided with that of some other very special house guests. The evening of everyone's arrival marked the first time in fifty-one years that Pa-pa had seen a friend he served with in Vietnam in the late 1960s. It was the culmination of an effort he and I had begun as a long shot via Facebook message last September after Pa-pa recognized the man's name in a veterans' newsletter.

To make a long story short, the man and his wife answered our message (from me--a name they didn't recognize) several weeks later. Phone calls between the guys followed, and finally the two reunited when the couple took a short detour from their vacation route and stopped to spend the night with us. 

Here's where the convertible comes in--they were driving one. As they prepared to drive off, they put the top down and prepared for a ride toward the Black Hills on a perfect summer day. Zoomie, in particular, was fascinated by the way the car top receded behind the back seat, leaving its occupants to enjoy the open air. He talked about it all day, and that was when I knew, somehow, there would have to be a convertible for his birthday.

We left Zoomie and his family after our birthday lunch together at McDonald's (his choice), but I have been thinking ever since then about him and the things I wish for him as he turns seven and prepares to head into the second grade.

Happy birthday, Zoomie-Zoo. I wish you a great summer of fun. You are riding your bike so well now, and I hope you can put the finishing touches on those swimming lessons. I hope your allergies and asthma improve with the testing and treatments planned for summer. In some ways, you have had to grow up beyond your years, and in others you have hung tenaciously to your role as the "little brother."

In just a few short months, you will no longer be the "baby." Little Pookie (trying out a blog name here) will be the youngest, and for the first time you will be a "big brother." I am sure you will be a good one, and he will learn a lot from you about the sweetness and kindness and gentleness that have always been a part of what you are.

I hope you meet the coming changes bravely, sweet boy, and embrace this transition. This time next year, when you are turning eight, someone else should be about ready to learn just how that blue convertible works.

The Bunion

It is just a matter of bad timing.

Just as I am exhibiting some of the less attractive features of growing older, my grandkids seem to be taking an uncanny interest in my anatomical anomalies. Translation: If something about me looks weird, the kids are anything but shy about pointing it out and demanding explanations.

Several years ago, when Zoomie asked me why I had "witch fingernails," I didn't think much about it. A chronic nail biter through my childhood, teen, and even young adult years, I was proud that my nails (all natural, I might add) had grown to medium-long and were good for gently scratching little backs at bedtime.

It wasn't much different last summer when Pooh seemed to be staring at me with a strange, curious expression. Finally, in a tone of wonder and amazement, he pointed out a "really long hair" growing from my chin. Those stray single hairs, which I like to call "chin wires," are not all that unusual these days.

But during the past week I have been asked if a mole on my collarbone is "a raisin" (honestly, it is nowhere near THAT big) and why there is a "little seed" on my lower lip. This, in case you too are curious, was an especially persistent flax seed from my Uncle Sam breakfast cereal (those little rascals have a mind of their own).

"Why do you eat cereal with seeds?" Bootsie asked, to which I replied, "because it has 10 grams of fiber per serving." This, of course, led to a discussion of the benefits of dietary fiber, a conversation which needs not be repeated here.

Perhaps the most interesting of our recent chats, however, centered on the bunion that protrudes from my right foot.

As you can see, the abnormal and rather unsightly condition of my foot offers tantalizing fodder for conversation. When interrogated, I spilled out the sad story of The Curse of the Narrow Heel. This, I told the kids, often required me to wear shoes that were too narrow for the wider part of my foot in order for them not to slip up and down on my heels. (Shoes with too-big heels, I explained, tended to fall off at inopportune times.)

The fact that my right foot is a little bigger than my left one only compounded the problem, resulting in a bunion that has worsened gradually over the years. The kids seemed satisfied with this explanation--but first they all had to actually touch the bunion to see if I was making all this up. "Poor little bunion," Pooh said, and I considered the subject closed.

That is, until the kids' parents brought them, from the weekend garage sales in our little lake village, a magnetic dart board. In the process of tossing darts and comparing scores, they found that some darts, because of their magnetism, stuck sideways out from the board rather than landing flatly on the face of it.

The kids labeled these errant shots "bunions." "Bunions" in darts, I guess, are kind of like "leaners" in horseshoes; they are not quite "ringers," but they ought to count for something.  Following are some of the "scores" I heard coming from the kids' room during an especially competitive game of darts:

"Twenty points and a bunion."

"Oh, man, I just missed getting a bunion."

"Oh, wow--TWO bunions this time."

"Darn it, I didn't even get a bunion."

"One more bunion, and I would have won."

"I beat you by a bunion."

Most people wish secretly and fervently for something to be named after them. They hope for one thing that will stand out long after they are gone--that one thing that will honor their memory in years to come.

I am so proud to have accomplished this while I am still living. I foresee that, down the line, the game of darts will be forever changed--all because of me and my unsightly right foot. At least, I think that will happen.

To the normal eye, I may appear to be just a Googie with a wire on my chin, a raisin on my collarbone, and a seed on my lip. But as you see here, I am so much more than that. I can only hope the full significance of this will dawn on you the next time you find yourself in a heated game of darts.

Goin' Fishin'

Pa-pa and I have high hopes for the prospect of grandkid fishing. That's partly why, nearly two years ago, we picked up lock, stock, and barrel to relocate our lives half an hour south near Truman Lake.

We had reason to think this was a good idea. Our son Teebo and his boys, Heero and Beenie, were already spending a lot of time at our farm pond in pursuit of the wily schools of bass, which we introduced there as tiny baby fish many years ago. Beenie, particularly, has embraced the fine art of fishing to the point where he enjoys posing with his catch after reeling it in.

He has even learned to cast proficiently and to contemplate the pond bank patiently while waiting for his bobber to first rock and then sink.

With Beenie already hooked (pun intended), Heero not far behind, and the other two grandsons ready to play catch-up, Pa-pa deemed the time right to add this brand new beauty to our fleet:

This way we can introduce the boys (and maybe the two girls as well) to the joys of fishing in the lake for crappie (pronounced "KROP-ee," in case you are not from around these parts), undoubtedly the most delicious fresh-water fish to ever tantalize the taste buds of a human being.

John Lasseter, a Walt Disney filmmaker and executive, expresses concern about the frantic pace at which many kids experience childhood today. "I worry about kids today not having time to build a tree house or ride a bike or go fishing," he says. "I worry that life is getting faster and faster."

Pa-pa and I want to make sure that doesn't happen here at the lake. Since the kids now range in age from five to eleven, we hope to give them the chance to enjoy the recreational opportunities this area offers. We also hope these six keep us young enough to offer this opportunity to any additional grandkids that come along, including the one slated to arrive at the end of September.

We learned just this week that he is a boy--and we sure hope he will like to fish.

The Easter Report

Memo to: "Googie's Attic" Readers
From: Googie
Re: Easter Celebration of April 2019

Number of bunnies spotted: 6

Ages of Bunnies: 5-11
Preliminary Bunny Activity: Hopping

Major Bunny Objective: Egg Hunt
Number of Eggs Hidden: 175 (new record)

Number of Eggs Found: 173

Evidence of Egg Hunt:

Secondary Evidence:

Evaluation of Event (Scale of 1-5): 5+
  
Report Submitted by: Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, Beenie, Zoomie, and Heero

Long-term Goal: Increase egg supply to 200 for next year in anticipation of new bunny.

"Googie's Attic": Time To Hang It Up?

"Googie's Attic" has been a big part of my writing life since the first post on March 9, 2011. This writing marks my 312th piece exploring and sharing the like-no-other experience of being a grandma--"Googie"--to six great kids.

When I started the blog, there were only three of them. Sooby, now going on twelve, was just three and a half. Pooh was two, and Bootsie was just five months old. The blog is a record of the last eight years of our living, loving, and laughing together.

From the start, I envisioned "Googie's Attic" as a place the kids can go when they are older to "rummage through" the trinkets and mementos of a time they will have been too young to remember vividly. For instance, how did we celebrate Pooh's third birthday?  What cute things did Bootsie say when she was learning to talk? The rummaging has already begun, as all three of them now read the blog for themselves.

Then, as I continued to chronicle, three more grandchildren, all boys, joined the subject matter. Beenie, Zoomie, and Heero are now seven, six, and five years old. With Heero's fifth birthday in November, all the kids are now school-age. They are getting old enough to remember the family celebrations we have on their birthdays and holidays. They aren't going to need "Googie's Attic" to do that for them.

As blogs go, "Googie's Attic" isn't very fancy. It isn't monetized with advertising. It uses a standard Blogger template rather than an elaborately designed web page. The first year and a half or so, there weren't even any pictures. It is just a series of writing-heirlooms that I have tucked away primarily for the kids, but always, hopefully, with a sense of the larger audience of extended family, friends, and general readers who also stumble across and follow it.

It was especially with Heero's fifth birthday that I began to think seriously about closing the treasure chest that is "Googie's Attic." I am doing more poetry now, and lake life makes for a rich, full existence. And so, I ask myself, Has "Googie's Attic" run its course? Is it time to hang it up--or, at least, post much less frequently? Is it time to softly close the lid of the chest, turn out the light, and walk away?

No.

Why?

Because we have just learned that, in early October, we are expecting another grandchild. Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, and Zoomie are preparing to add a little sibling. I know it is not a dream because I have already pinched myself numerous times.

On May 15, I should know whether future posts will be tinted pink or blue. Meanwhile, the saga of the other six continues, and I drift off to sleep smiling every night.

 

The Brunch Bunch

I love it when a plan comes together. Such was the case with a rather impromptu St. Patrick's Day brunch that granddaughters Sooby, Bootsie, and I pulled off several weeks ago.

I use the word "plan" loosely--I have to. The truth is, when our whole family gathers for a meal together, anything resembling a plan has to stretch or contract, like a rubber band, to fit the moment. This makes the whole thing crazy and fun--but, on a positive note, people rarely go away hungry.

When all of us are present, including Mom (our family matriarch), we are thirteen strong. When we are all hungry--and six of us are growing children ranging from five to eleven years old--you can see how we may be talking major amounts of food and considerable effort to get everything ready at once within the confines of our basic household kitchen.

So as a record to refer to for next year's now-annual spring family brunch, I list below our menu items and the amounts of each needed to replicate this year's success. Doing this will help us know from the outset how much food we can expect to consume, and, should you find yourself in charge of preparing a brunch for 12-15 hungry people, it will give you a place to start as well.

Just as important as the brunch ingredients is some attempt at attention to the time schedule and, at the risk of sounding like a math person, "the order of operations." Planning to serve our meal at 10 a.m. again next year, the girls and I will begin cooking the meat about 9.

Here, Sooby tends to a griddle full of bacon and sausage, while Bootsie prepares a skillet full of sausage.

Along with supervising them a bit, I put together a bowl of fruit. With the meat cooked and in the warmer, we could then clear space and recycle utensils for the next phase.

If you are brave enough to try this, assuming you have access to help as great as mine was, here is our menu list and the amounts we are projecting for next year:

• 2 lbs. bacon
• 2 nine-packs sausage patties (or about 1 1/2 pounds if you make the patties yourself)
• fruit salad (2 cans mandarin oranges, 2 cans pineapple chunks, 2 sliced bananas, 1 pt. sliced strawberries)
• 2 cans (8 each) large buttermilk biscuits (dairy case)
• enough 2% milk, flour, and sausage grease for a skilletful of gravy (you are on your own here--I have never measured these precise amounts)
• 2 dozen scrambled eggs (requires two skillets or two rounds of cooking)
• 2 cans of dairy case cinnamon rolls (bake and ice these before you bake the other biscuits)
• 2 1/2 gallons of orange juice
• 1 jar of apple butter (or use your favorite jelly or jam)

There. I am proud to report that our serving line opened at 10:10, only ten minutes late, but everything was delicious. 

With our own kids and now our grandkids, we have come to treasure family traditions marked by the seasons and holidays of our year. We love our Easter egg hunt (coming up this next weekend), our Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, our birthday parties, and our fall afternoons roasting hot dogs around the fire pit.

And now we have a spring brunch to add to our list. My mouth waters with the menu I just typed, and I am already looking forward to the next one.

 

Wonders

In "Barter," poet Sara Teasdale writes of "children's faces looking up/Holding wonder like a cup." Last Friday, as a new seven-year-old, Beenie reminded me just how accurate Teasdale's simile is.

I watched as he looked up onto Sheep Mountain and into the African savannah. Best of all, I watched as he gazed into the 1.5-million-gallon aquarium that is home to some 35,000 live fish and other aquatic creatures displayed at the Wonders of Wildlife National Museum & Aquarium in Springfield, Mo.

Pa-pa and I marveled as well at the sights and sounds of this 350,000-square-foot all-indoor attraction with its 1.5 miles of trails through land and sea habitats and their inhabitants. We saw zebra sharks and penguins, and touched the smooth, velvety backs of stingrays.

Now in its third year of operation, the museum/aquarium is the brainchild of conservationist and Bass Pro Shops founder Johnny Morris, and it sits next door to the original Bass Pro Shops Outdoor World at the intersection of Sunshine and Campbell Streets. On Friday, Pa-pa and I took advantage of a special half-price promotion in an attempt to make Beenie's seventh birthday especially memorable, since he has developed a love for all things aquatic.

After our trip we continued the birthday party on the dock near our home, where we tried to coax a few reluctant crappie onto the hook, but to no avail. They got a reprieve this time, but Pa-pa's brand-spanking new fishing boat portends a summer of grandkid fishing trips and family fish fries.

Although our adventures took place on March 22, two days after Beenie's actual birthday (and, coincidentally, our 38th wedding anniversary), we did celebrate the big day itself at Beenie's house with the traditional cake, ice cream, and candle. Looking back, I see that I had been writing "Googie's Attic" a little over a year when Beenie was born, and that I announced his birth in a blog post titled "The Trifecta." Now, as he did then, he fills our lives with joy and--yes--with wonder.

Happy birthday, Beenie-boy. You have a special lock on your spot as Grandkid #4. You are our intelligent, quirky, sweet, fun kid with a from-the-belly laugh that we can't get enough of. Like your great-grandma Florence, whom you never got to meet, you have definitely inherited the fishing DNA. When another seven years have gone by, you will be a teenager--but I hope that will be many, many fish from now.