I am so much enjoying staying with my son’s family for a few days to celebrate my grandson graduating from high school. They live in a lovely small town in the southern half of New Hampshire and coming here is always a treat for me. This state, especially the lakes region and the White Mountains is beautiful in every season. It’s bike week right now and motorcycles are everywhere. Graduation ceremony is tomorrow night and then on Saturday the grandson is having a small party at home with some of his friends. I look forward to meeting them and will make snacks for the party, be sure that plenty of soft drinks and food are available, as an assist to his mother, then get myself out of the way. I recall my younger days and my grandmother hovering over my party was not my idea of fun.

When this grandson was born eighteen years ago, followed by his brother a year and a few months later I was pleased to have new babies to love. I thought there probably would not be more babies for me to cuddle. Well, since then my granddaughter has had three babies. We have a great granddaughter who is six, a great granddaughter who is four and a great grandson who is one. Every one of the grands and great grands have had a bath in Granny’s kitchen sink and been rocked to sleep in my favorite chair. The first grandson is thirty now and the mother of the greats is twenty-six. I am seventy-seven this year and I believe that there will be no more babies before I am done, but one can never be sure.

A few days ago I was near my old neighborhood and decided to drive by the house I grew up in to see if it had finally fallen down. My great grandfather built the house during the first years of the twentieth century so it was well over a hundred years old. All gone now. All I saw where the house used to be was the concrete slab it was built on and a lot, a whole lot, of weeds. Sad and inevitable.

I remember that house to always be full of family and friends and laughter and music. My maternal grandparents lived there when I was a small child and my mom, dad, brother and I lived there with them so that we could help with my grandmother who was ill. After both my grandparents died my family lived there until I graduated from high school. There were three of us children, myself, my brother and sister. But, there was always a cousin, sometimes two, staying with us. Then in middle school two boys were added to the family. The oldest of my foster brothers is six months older than me and the youngest a year behind me. It was common for all of us to have a friend staying over on the weekend so it was noisy and chaotic and fun.

Holidays were a big deal that we spent days, sometimes weeks, preparing for. My great aunt Louise, a widow, was always included in family events and entertained us playing the grand piano for sing-alongs and assisted mom with meals. Our house was after all where she grew up with my grandfather, her sister and brothers, so she was literally right at home. She was the organist at our church so usually began our song fests with hymns, but after my dad made her a couple gin and tonics she played boogie and even some rock and roll.

Christmas was the social event of the year at the old house. The boys and dad cut a tree and we always had a tree trimming party a week or so before the holiday. Cookies and punch and old and new jokes and stories were the order of the day and many of our school friends helped hang ornaments and lots, really a lot, of tinsel on the tree. Christmas day was a party all day long and into the night. There was a huge spread of ham, deviled eggs, several casseroles, cakes, pies and fruit salad, yeast rolls and the punch bowl full of eggnog. All day, as different groups of aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors and special friends came and went the food was moved from the fridge to the table and back again. The teens played ping pong in the shop; the adults visited in the living room or later in the day played cards at the dining room table. Penny poker mostly. The old house seemed to sigh with relief when the end of the day came and quiet settled over us all.

I parked on the street and walked around the neighborhood for a bit. All that I have in my memory is only that now. The house is gone as are others where I used to sit on front porches with neighbors. The little town where I learned all that was important for me to know is smaller now than ever. Since I left there sixty years ago there is hardly anyone I remember there. I walked past the Kalbacher building that housed a bar when I lived there and walked by what was Judge’s tavern when I was a child. Just a small, boarded up old brick building now. Same for what was the bank, post office and grocery across the street. All empty and dilapidated. The bar at the base of the bridge that crosses the Ohio river where my grandfather used to drink, a lot, is still there and functioning. I thought about stopping in for a drink, but I was driving, so no.

I love to read banned books ever since high school when I checked out Lady Chatterly’s Lover from the library. It wasn’t available in our school library of course, so I went to the Dale Carnegie library in another town. Our little town didn’t have a library at all. At that age I found it to be a more real kind of love story. Surprisingly enough the description of oral sex did not inspire me to give it a try. Just like the old bible story of Cain and Abel didn’t make me want to murder my brother. I was more impressed by the quality of the writing and the careful building of the characters. So, I read more works by D. H. Lawrence and learned more about the world outside the little bubble I was growing up in.

A quick look at the list of most often banned books makes me think far too many folks are going through life with a big stick up their ass. Must be hard to navigate that way. I cried when I first read To Kill a Mockingbird and again when watching the movie. The realistic depiction of racism and bigotry made me see the existence of those terrible traits in my community. That book was part of my growing disdain of the abuse of minorities by those who appeared to be upstanding citizens.

Some may be surprised at which books have most often been banned. Like Huckleberry Finn, The Diary of Ann Frank, Of Mice and Men, even Through the Looking Glass with Alice in Wonderland. The Bible has also been banned, which actually makes sense to those who have read the whole thing. I somewhat understand that some object to Nabokov’s Lolita and Huxley’s Brave New World because of explicit content that the very young might not need to know just yet. But please trust me, high school kids already know this stuff. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger was intriguing to me and as far as I can tell had no negative effect on my morality.

Last year I sent a copy of Maus to my grandsons specifically because this graphic novel by Art Spiegelman was banned in many school libraries and I am convinced that knowledge of the Holocaust is essential to a complete education. I hope my children and grandchildren always read banned books so that ignorance will not be part of their character.

A few days ago my granddaughter was driving down a country road with her children in the back. The five year old called out, “Mommy! Look! That cow is giving that other cow a piggy back ride.” I got a big laugh out of that, and then I began to think about how fresh the world is for young children. How new everything seems and how many questions they seek the answers to.

I am seventy-six years old now and innocence is mostly just a memory for me. I remember believing that my deceased grandmother lived behind a star and she was happy there. Such a comforting feeling that would not remain as innocence faded away. As a child I believed everything my mother said was true and that my dad could fix anything that was wrong. I trusted adults to be truthful and expected to be safe in their presence.

As adolescence came along so did skepticism as I learned more and more about the world around me and the people in it. The caution not to talk to strangers began to make sense as I came in contact with more who were outside the circle of safety of my family and neighbors. Not all the kids at school were good choices for companions. Some might even be dangerous and it became important to recognize danger and equally important to know which friends to trust. Then, along came boys. Boys who followed you around, teased and clowned to impress. Boys who saved a seat at lunch or walked home from school just to keep you company. Boys who visited your brothers but wanted mostly to spend time with you. Sweet, respectful boys who were not at all dangerous. Other boys, those who embarrassed you with dirty jokes or called you nasty names when you were not interested in them. Boys who would ruin the innocence you still had. Boys to stay away from.

I remember holding hands and kissing. Just that. The sweetness of a kiss all by itself that was not the start of anything. Just a kiss that was soft and warm, the kind that only happens once, or maybe twice before kissing is the beginning of something more.

Once someone said to me that we wish for innocence we lost just so that we could lose it again. That may well be so. In the time and place where I grew up innocence and ignorance were closely related. Parents tended to delay some information as long as possible in the hope children would not make poor choices if they didn’t know about adult matters. This was not a particularly effective practice, but common nevertheless. Many of my school mates knew very little about their own bodies and even less about the opposite sex. Menstruation came as a surprise to some and was a traumatic experience that might have been less so had they been informed. Even in today’s world there are those who are convinced that young people get pregnant because they have too much information about sex. Not so. Those who are innocent, maybe ignorant, do not have the knowledge needed to make a choice that serves them well.

I have been fortunate to look at the world through the eyes of my children, grandchildren and now the great grandchildren and see it as a fascinating place. To take a walk with a three-year-old through the back yard as she sniffs each flower in the garden and is in awe of the clover and the bees buzzing around. So may questions. Why is that flower purple? Do rabbits live in those bushes? Where do squirrels go at night? So very much to learn and it’s sweet to see her face when a new discovery is made.

I know that innocence does not, cannot, last. But we can keep that sense of wonder, that joy of discovery, if we choose to. If we strive to look through the eyes of children the world can be a place of wonder, even as age dims the brightness of our days there will always be something new to discover, something awesome to see, somewhere else to go.

Yesterday the husband and I got our Covid booster. No issues yesterday, but this morning I ached all over, so I just laid around and waited to get better. That happened about noon so I had been watching first one news channel then another most of the morning. The world seems to be changing ever so slowly and not always for the better.

It seems that most of the lakes, rivers and oceans are contaminated with fecal matter. Shit. The water we want to swim in is full of shit. We humans are shitting in our nest. We have done so for many years and apparently just tried not to notice. If we realized what was happening surely something would have been done before all of our water is mostly shit. No, not us. We just keep doing what we have done and let someone else solve the problem. Of course, someone else, nobody else, takes care of our earth, our home.

It’s not just water. The air is also polluted all over the world. More and more people have breathing issues, some are deadly illnesses. The land where we grow our food is contaminated with chemicals. Even our minds are filled with sound bites and flashing images to the point of crowding out rational thought. Gloom, doom and tragedy oh my. But not everything is awful and there may be reasons for hope.

Like the young people I saw recently at the library asking for some of the political best sellers. Wanting to know what is happening and maybe wanting to do something about it. Like my great granddaughters at the park making friends with children very different from them and sharing their snacks. Like my neighbor who keeps his lawn perfect and while he is at it mows his neighbors’ yard just to help someone who can’t do it himself.

The most good in this world is done quietly by common folks just doing the best they can where they are. These acts of kindness won’t be a news item or receive accolades or change the whole world, but each changes a moment for someone. Just maybe this goodness will catch on enough for humans to work together to change the world. Hope so

Today I had the pleasure of babysitting the two-month-old great grandson for a few hours. We rocked and sang and we walked and talked about lots of baby stuff. Found out that changing diapers is a lot like the riding a bicycle thing; it comes back to you when needed. He is breast fed at home but took his bottle just fine and stayed happy during the entire visit. Then his mom came to take him home and it got quiet again at my house.

My son called today, which is usually a high point in my days. This was one of those conversations that began with “First, everybody is okay”. That usually means that while everyone is okay everything is not. The bad news always follows. So, my sweet, gentle not entirely mature adolescent grandsons were in a wreck. Both are not injured, which is the good news. The bad news is the car is demolished. The also bad news is that the car was old so not fully insured. I am still working on finding the also good news. Maybe by tomorrow I can say something more positive about it all.

The rest of this day was filled with mundane chores like paying bills, sweeping up dog hair, cleaning the coffee maker and pulling dying flowers off the Petunias so more will bloom. Oh, yeah, and I changed the bird bath water and took the dog out to poop. That’s enough for this day for this old woman. Time now for a glass of wine and a good book before bed. Each day has its rewards, the wine is mine.

Just decided that it is time, probably past time, that I put pencil to paper. Actually more like fingers to keyboard. When I began this blog several years ago it was just my way to record random thoughts and maybe record daily life for an atheist living in a small town in the bible belt. Did that for a while and enjoyed the writing and actually had a few folks who liked reading my stuff. Then life happened and I found less and less time and even less motivation to sit and think with my computer.

I retired about ten years ago and for a while had free time for writing, reading good books and enjoying my grandkids. But somehow I got busier than ever. The grandkids had soccer games for me to go to. I spent more time boating and then even more time selling one boat and buying a smaller one that my husband and I enjoy more. We traveled to New Hampshire to visit our son’s family and to Tampa to visit my brother and sister-in-law. I began to spend a lot of time with my daughter to help with household chores and doctor appointments. She had several health problems that ended with her death in 2017.

At that time my 19 year old granddaughter was several months pregnant and going to school full time. We decided it would be best for her to stay with my husband and me so we would be able to help with expenses and with the baby. Her boyfriend also stayed with us and looked for employment, which he took a while to settle into. We made a home for them through school, working at her first job and a second baby when the first was two. Time for them to be on their own, which they are now with the third, and last I am told, child.

About the same time that the second great granddaughter was born our grandson came home to us after being on his own for a while. He made his home with us most of the time after high school with a few breaks to be with his dad or on his own. He was struggling with opiates as well as the loss of both his parents in a short time. He moved out of town for a job but was only gone about a year when he needed to come home. Short version, quit drugs and rebuilt his health, met a woman he loves, got a really good job and the two of them now live together with her son.

My brother in Tampa had cancer of the bladder and had major surgery for that. He was close to death but recovered and is doing well now. My husband had surgery twice during this period of time. So, that is where my time has gone.

Now, just trying to keep healthy and enjoy time for the husband and me. The grands and great grands still visit a lot and need a sitter now and then. Love that part, especially since I get to send the back to their house after a while. Today was a peaceful and quiet Fourth of July for us for the first time in a while and it is nice. We even have plans not to have any plans for tomorrow. Ahhh.

Once upon a time when I was young Saturday night was fun time. Off to the skating rink or to the local teen dance hall. Maybe go bowling or to a ball game or movie. Always with friends, sometimes with a date, sometimes with my brothers and cousins. If it was summer my family might be camping out on a lake and we would be around a fire telling tales. Fun times long ago.

Then when we were young together my husband and I would spend Saturday night out with friends for dinner or finding someplace with a band for dancing. Maybe have a cookout at home or a party. Saturday night was for leaving the children with a sitter or with grandparents and letting our hair down.

Later when we had an empty nest we bought a houseboat and weekends were for parties on the pier or boat trips down the lake to find a lakeside restaurant or bar or maybe there would be a festival to attend. Might get together with the children now that they were grown up and take them somewhere special.

Then there were grandchildren and some Saturday nights were for keeping the grandkids so that the kids could go out and have a good time like we used to do. Bubble baths and story books have a special appeal all their own. Then they got bigger and there were soccer games and school plays to show up for.

Now here I am on Saturday night comfortable in my recliner. After cleaning up from supper I found an old Eagles concert on television and poured a glass of wine to sip as I listen. The husband has fallen asleep watching old war movies, since it is Memorial Day weekend. The dog is asleep on my feet which is nice because it is unusually cold tonight. We quit going out all together when the pandemic hit last year and have gotten used to that for the most part. Last Saturday, since we are both vaccinated, we actually went out for dinner and to hear a local band. It was outdoors overlooking the lake so not too much for our first post venture back out in the world.

More and more often these days I say to myself, “My how things have changed.”

I have started binging Pretend It’s a City on Netflix for the second time. Why? Well I am a big fan of Fran Liebowitz. I love her sense of humor. I admire her talent and attitude. I like to thing we are alike, that we have a common outlook on life.

On the surface it would appear that we have nothing in common. I am a small town girl. Never traveled as much as I would have liked. I made my living in several administrative positions and only have two years of college; community college at that. I used to go to church and even teach the children there. Now I am athiest. I have been married for fifty-five years and have six grandkids and two great grandkids.

Fran however, is a New Yorker extraordinaire. She has been successful as a journalist and comedian. She is a lesbian and Jewish. She has no children. She spends time with famous people just as regularly as I go to the grocery. So her world is entirely different from mine.

When listening to her interviews my mind says “I would have said that”. It’s like we see the world the same way even from our very different perspectives. And, she looks a lot like my great aunt Louise, who was a character in her own right. I like that Fran does not abide bullshit. When she gets a stupid question she doesn’t answer it. Just points out the idiocy and moves on. Fran wears jeans with a big cuff and boots. I love that . I would wear that. In fact, I think I will wear that.

If I could spend an afternoon hanging out with Fran it would be fantastic for me, but maybe a bit boring for her if she were as curious about my life story as I am about hers. I can come up with one or two items worth telling but nothing to compare with her New Yorker life. But that is not really the main thing that makes her so interesting. It’s the way she cuts to the chase. How informed she is. She has experiences many ordinary people like me only dream about and it all seems so plain to her. I bet we would have a great time.

Like Fran, I have no use for bullshit. I like a good laugh. I have opinions and don’t mind sharing them. Can’t abide fake people. I am liberal and do not put up with bullies. Maybe we were sisters in another life.