Chalk and Cheese Chronicles

Tea for three (generations)

Today was a day for the ladies, a day to savor a few moments of tea with my mother and grandmother.

The rain poured down.

Huddled next to warm yellowed walls and forget-me-nots on teapots, we sat, stopping time, three generations, together.

Tiny, tender greens.

The aroma of tea steeped to perfection.

Savory delights.

And Sweets.

We are making tomorrow's memories, smiles my grandma, her eyes tearing a bit.

I smile back, shy with sudden emotion.

We chat, we munch, we share. 

At home, boys run circles around Grandpa.

Tea cups leap out of memories, from cupboards of the past. 

We are linked, we three.

Alive at the same time.

Scones disappear in a puff of clotted cream, leaving us wanting more.

Always more.

Original post to Chalk and Cheese Chronicles.

Keeping up with my Grandma

Over ten years ago, my sprightly grandma sold her large San Francisco home and moved into a comfortable life care facility ("the Meadows") in a tony Silicon Valley suburb. She left what had become a lonely house full of stairs and settled comfortably into a one bedroom apartment, filled with familiar mementos and her comfy pink couch.

At her new digs, she quickly made friends in a lively community peopled by retirees who'd led accomplished lives. She made friends easily and every day, every meal was a social affair. She relished visits from family, especially when we came with children in tow. We lived nearby so we visited often and by the end of each visit, we'd been introduced to every single resident and worker who'd strolled within sight of her.

"Regina, " She'd say to the very patient cafeteria worker, "This is my granddaughter and her family!"

"Ed, this is my granddaughter," she'd announce proudly to a very busy Ed. "Ed has worked in the office for 5 years, " she'd explain to me.

Thank You for Thanking Me

I forgot to thank my grandma for the thank you card. My mom passed along the inquiry, "If you received it, Akemi, please just call her and tell her you received it."

"But Mom!" I want to whine, but I suppress the adolescent in me and say instead, "OK, sure."

Since my grandma is thanking me for a gift I gave to her, it's sort of like I'm thanking her for thanking me. My mother and grandmother are caught in an unending circle of politesse. I do get it - my very sweet grandma just wants to know if her handwritten thank you note has made it safely into my mail box, and then into my hands. I know I should make the courtesy call, but sometimes, especially now that I have kids, I forget.

I make the call.

"Thank you for the thank you card,"  I gush to my delighted grandma.

Here is the Church, Here is the Steeple

Here is the church,

Here is the steeple.

Open the doors,

And see the dead people!

Ok, so my preschool age boys didn't exactly utter this twist on the traditional fingerplay game, but it's probably close to their perception of what they think happens in a church. When my mother-in-law passed away about a year ago, my then almost 3-year-old boys were just starting to grasp the concept of death. Within the scope of their limited experience, only bugs died. But when their beloved Grammy died, my boys had an "aha" moment. People, they realized, die, too.

When Grammy passed away unexpectedly, I found myself in the unenviable position of having to explain what had happened in a way they could understand. I didn't have time to query friends or search the Internet for recommended ways in which to explain death to children, so I kept my explanation simple and rooted in reality, avoiding metaphors about angels or butterflies or extended vacations.

Missing Teddi

My mother-in-law passed away a year ago yesterday. I miss her. She passed away just weeks into her retirement, her former life packed away in boxes in anticipation of happy move to a new home in a desert town. We'd planned to visit her soon, hoping to sample her life while scary mutant jackrabbits raced in the background. I know she enjoyed hearing me talk about my boys and she put up with a bit of bragging which I unleashed because, well, you can only brag about your kids to grandma. She was intellectual and funny, and I loved her cooking. Sometimes I think she's still here, that I can pick up my 6 year old cell phone and ring her number and reach her, as I always did on that phone. My boys remember her, they do. And as that memory starts to fade, they need not look any farther than at their own father to catch a glimpse of Grammy Teddi. She's there, in his expressions, in his salt and pepper hair and partly, in his outlook on life. It's uncanny at times. "Whoa, that's your mom!" I say.

Grammy Teddi, we love you dearly.

Original Chalk and Cheese Chronicles blog post. Read my post about my boys' experience at the service on the Silicon Valley Moms Blog.

Grandpa's Garden

My Dad is always out in his backyard. Doing exactly what, my Mom and I are not sure. But he's always doing something. He never has fewer than a half-dozen projects going at one time, digging this, pruning that but in between, he takes the time to show his two grandsons the joys of his backyard.

My boys get to dig up carrots, pluck beans from vines, plant sunflower seeds and sample some of the best organic fruit around. From a tiny harvest of blueberries (all 30 of 'em) to the prolific offerings of the plum tree, fruit is always bountiful, always organic. My boys water plants and learn how things grow and how some foods get to our dinner table. They search for bugs and were happy to have Grandpa fasten a snail house out of strawberry baskets (see photo below) so they could observe snails up close. They are fascinated by bees. My boys love to run around the garden naming the different types of plants. They know that backyard intimately.