I don’t know what everyone else will be doing on this day that really doesn’t seem to celebrate anything but a toxic and heartless dominance over indigenous peoples, but in my little world, except for family, there isn’t a whole lot to be grateful for. This is a Thanksgiving mainly of fear for the future, an unsettling feeling that we don’t know when the other shoe will drop and this country will erupt in absolute and total chaos.
But that’s just me…
“Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.” Joy Harjo
While we’re in the midst of preparations to enjoy a feast with friends and family tomorrow, I hope we don’t forget to honor, and with gratitude, recognize the Indigenous Peoples.
For many Native Americans, Thanksgiving is a day of mourning and protest because it commemorates the arrival of settlers and the oppression and genocide that followed.
“Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.” Chief Seattle
“When you know who you are when your mission is clear, and you burn with the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.” – Chief Seattle, Suquamish/Duwamish (1786-1866)
Chief Seattle (more correctly known as Seathl) was a Suquamish and Duwamish chief. A leading figure among his people, he pursued a path of accommodation to white settlers, but I bet he regretted it as soon as he realized what it really meant to his people.
Photo of people and tents and quote credit to Chief Seattle and Native Red Cloud Maȟpíya Lúta~Hińhan Wakangli. Photo credit of Chief Seattle from Wiki
Recently I was standing in very crowded and chaotic place (physically, not emotionally lol) and I observed a bit older than toddler-aged child having a problem coping with it and was having a meltdown. I could totally relate because I get a bit disoriented in crowds and noise, too.
The mom crouched down to talk with her son. She told him she understood that he was having a hard time and it was OK, that she understood his feelings and was trying her best to figure it all out. She didn’t yell at him, she didn’t censure him in any way; she respected the big emotions he was feeling as he was trying to process this scary atmosphere. She didn’t meet his emotions with anger. This was awesome parenting.
After she finished and he calmed down, she stood up and I told her she was a great mom and handled the situation in an amazing way. It was immediate positive reinforcement.
Her face brightened, and she thanked me, gave her son an extra hug, and they were on their way.
We should all take the extra minute to understand the behavior of little ones and to use that time for emotional support, not to be annoyed or lose your temper. Listen to your children and validate their feelings.
Have you ever noticed great parenting and complimented them for it? Sometimes it really does take a village.
In the midst of this dystopian hellscape in which we’re enmired, something beautiful happened in my little beachy town, a glimmer of hope that humanity is not completely dead.
A hundred or so of our neighbors showed up to celebrate the retirement of everyone’s favorite mail carrier.
When news spread throughout his neighborhood routes that our special and beloved mailman was retiring after forty-two years, a plan was formed to host a potluck in his honor at our local park.
This guy has been more than someone who simply delivers our mail; he’s become one of the family. There are few people who have an inner light that shines brightly. We all have been touched by his many kindnesses and we wanted to return the love, not that we haven’t gifted him with things over the years, but this needed to be a spectacular celebration, a send-off he’d remember.
Families from all of his routes showed up with food, decorations, and gifts. People we’ve said hi to for decades now had a name, and we shared stories about our personal experiences; especially his sweet tooth!
Since I’m known to be extra, I contacted our mayor and asked him if he could possibly create some sort of formal commendation or award to present to this exemplary human. He liked the idea which had actually never been done in the history of our city, and asked me to write a little speech for him, which I did. He took it a step further and created Mailman Steve Day and presented him with a framed award.
It was an old-fashioned community gathering, enjoying a beautiful SoCal evening AND happily for me, a little Leon Russell chat.
I yelled out to a neighbor, “Hey, Leon!” because he has long white hair and a beard, so of course I always refer to him as “Leon”, and another neighbor said, “Why do you call him Leon? That’s Jim.” and I told him it’s because he looks like Leon Russell. His response was, “How do you know about Leon Russell? Do you know Mad Dogs and Englishmen?” I showed him the playlist on my phone and told him to pick a favorite Leon Russell song and he chose two of my personal faves, “Girl From The North Country” and “Cry Me a River”.
Someone else requested “Tight Rope” and “A Song For You” and as a crowd gathered, we had a proper singalong. These guys knew every word and we all marveled at the musical genius of the one and only Master of Space and Time. #goodtimes
Best of all for me is that I’m still referred to as “Jason’s mom” even after all these years. It was so heartwarming to have several forty-year-olds (!) fondly remembering the backyard skate ramp and shared lovely memories about my original angel boy. I am so very proud to be Jason’s mom.
This happy community gathering to honor our mailman shows me that there IS hope for our country, even if it’s hanging on by a thread.
P.S. Next Saturday, October 18, is another day to protest the regime, another NO KINGS DAY, and I’ll be on the frontlines to again gather with my neighbors, this time to protect free speech and save America.
Is it ever too late to say you’re sorry, to make amends, to repair the damage? That’s actually today’s theme but you have to keep reading to figure out where this is all going.
When I see these guys skateboarding together, it hits hard. It fills my heart with joy but it’s also bittersweet to realize that so much time has passed. Tick. Tock.
OG skater dad is his hero right now. The kids had no idea their teacher dad could skate.
Being well-rounded and balanced is important, right?
When the original Angel Boy wanted a skateboard, I weighed the pros and cons (cos it could be dangerous) and decided that it was a way to balance his intense interest in books and school, not that academic success wasn’t critical for his future, but skateboarding helped him feel “cool” and more relatable with schoolmates. It was about the only time his head wasn’t buried in a book.
As far back as elementary school, his nickname had been “the professor”, which was actually, happily, prophetic, but he enjoyed skating so much that we worked hard to get a skatepark built in our city and also created an Explorer Post to be eligible for donations which eventually funded the members on a state-wide skatepark trip, which was EPIC.
There was a skate shop near school where the kids would hang out and that’s where they met some of the famous skaters from SoCal: Danny Way, Hawk (of course), Sal Masekela, and Muska. Angel Boy even named his kitty after Muska.
It was a really nice time to be a kid, before our stupid little town ruined it all by rampant overdevelopment.
Here he is, nicely executing a flip. I can’t count the probably thousands of times this move had been practiced and failed and practiced again until he was proficient. What my mom brain sees in this photo is that he’s not wearing ANY protective gear. It’s a miracle he only ended up with one concussion and a couple of broken bones. No one wore helmets or knee/arm/wrist guards back then. What were we thinking?
The original Angel Boy
During high school, at the height of his interest in skating, we built a half-pipe in the backyard and our house was the cool place to be. I was kept busy supplying the kids with cookies and smoothies. #goodtimes #smothermother
Then there were many inevitable graduations and milestones; a doctorate and post-doc; an empty nest. The skate ramp was silent and began to deteriorate as it was never used nor maintained.
An executive decision was made to have it dismantled because it was in such poor, sad, unsafe shape.
At one point, when AB came home and saw it was gone, he was NOT at all happy. He felt that he hadn’t been included nor consulted in the conversation and not only was it a surprise, but I think it represented the end of a happy chapter in his life.
Actually, over the years I had explained to him a few times that he needed to help maintain it if he still wanted to use it, and like most things I said, he either didn’t listen (or ignored me), but in hindsight I agree that I could have been more sensitive. I guess I didn’t know how much it meant to him. It was an important rite of passage.
But I did something even worse…
I got rid of his skateboard! I didn’t do it with malice, honestly!
One day I was cleaning out the garage and thought it was never again going to be an activity he was interested in so I set it out near the street. I literally had no idea that he would ever want it for any reason; to ride or for the memories of all the fun he had skating OR to share with any future children…
But I was wrong…I was such a bad mom!
During a visit home, he asked for his skateboard because he wanted to show the kids some of his cool moves and when I told him I had put it out in the driveway and someone took it, he was SO ANGRY!
I fully understand that he felt betrayed and I felt horrible about it, especially since I’m known for never throwing anything away. Why that? I have no idea, but I did, I admit it.
I’ve been trying to make amends for the last twenty years. Yup, that was all about twenty years ago.
And now I’m offered the opportunity to make it right.
His clone, AB 2.0, is now obsessed with skateboarding!! He went to a skate camp this summer and got his very first real skateboard. Like all the sports he’s tried, he has some real talent, just like his dad. Watch out, Tony Hawk!
Is there anything more adorable than seeing a little guy all decked out in a helmet and safety gear, positioning himself to drop in? I think not.
Bad pic from a video AB 2.0
In this case, it’s not too late to make amends because I was finally able to replace AB’s sk8board and that feels good.
I did it. I made amends. I bought the skateboard; I made the necessary reparations and repaired the bad mom damage.
Even better, I was able to watch those guys skate together which is such a mom/grandma moment. Heart is bursting with love!
(And hopefully, Dad WILL wear his helmet at all times, or I’ll hear about it when the kids call me to tattle on him.)
Sometimes it’s not too late. All is takes is thehonest willingness to want to make things right, even two decades later.
Because both of the Angel Kids’ eyes literally roll back in their heads when I make them listen to Leon Russell music, I found a slightly obscure song called “Too Much Monkey Business”. It’s more spoken than sung, like a precursor to rap music, and was written by Chuck Berry in 1956.
I played it and the Angels started singing along, as it’s a very catchy tune. I’d call out “How much monkey business” and they’d respond, “Too much monkey business!”
This song is totally earworm-worthy because they couldn’t stop singing it to themselves. All day long, during breakfast and helping to organize their books so we could donate some, I heard them quietly repeat “too much monkey business”, or “too much for me to be involved in.”
I said, “Cool song, huh?” as I planned my final move in my neverending quest to make them love Leon as much as I do.
When we sat on the sofa together after dinner playing card games, I asked Siri to play “Too Much Monkey Business” by Leon Russell and AB said, “Wait, that was LEON? It didn’t sound like him!” I replied, “That was my little joke. You had no idea you were singing one of his songs hahahahaha!”
Too late to stop it from happening; the lyrics are firmly embedded in their brains. They changed the words to: “How much Grandma business?” and “Too much Grandma business.”
They grudgingly agreed it was GOOD but asked me to pleasepleaseplease stop dancing because I was embarrassing them. I can only imagine the many ways I’ll be an embarrassment when they’re teenagers. It’s a rite of passage. They can ask their dad for confirmation.
Those kids are uber funny but I won. They’re now listening to and appreciating the Master of Space and Time–in spite of themselves. My work here is done.
Runnin’ to and fro, hard workin’ at the mill Never failed in the mail, yet come a rotten bill Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Salesman talking to me tryin’ to run me up a creek Say, “You can buy it, go on, try it, you can pay me next week” ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Blonde-haired, good lookin’ tryin’ to get me hooked Want me to marry, get a home, settle down, write a book, ha Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Same thing every day, gettin’ up, goin’ to school No need to be complainin’, my objections overruled, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Payphone, somethin’ wrong, dime gone, will mail I ought to sue the operator for tellin’ me a tale, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
I been to Yokohama, been fightin’ in the war Army bunk, army chow, army clothes, army car, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Workin’ in the fillin’ station, too many tasks Wipe the windows, check the tires, check the oil, dollar gas, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business I don’t want your botheration, get away, leave me be
I remember that the original Angel Boy was about fourteen years old when he entered the final stage, taller than me. Now I have to get on my tiptoes to hug him and HE bends down to me.
In my mind, he’s still and forever #1 or #2, so it doesn’t seem right that the roles have reversed, and it won’t be long before the Angel Kids will also be taller than me, because mostly everyone else is.
I guess that’s why they call me Little Grandma.
**I found this on Pinterest, but credit goes to artist Giselle Dekel.**
These incredibly observant Angel Kids of mine are full of nonstop chat as they watch my every move with their laser focused eyes and brains, especially when they sit at the counter (their favorite spot), waiting to be served exactly like baby birds in a nest with their beaks open wide for mom to bring a freshly caught worm..
“Why are you always in the kitchen, Grandma?”“It’s like you have a force field around you and you’re stuck in there.” (He is SO funny.)
“Yeah, Grandma, you’re always in the kitchen!” Angel Girl has to offer her opinion, too. ALWAYS.
I stop chopping veggies or flipping pancakes or cutting the crust off another slice of bread (only for Angel Girl), and respond with a question,
“Why are you guys always hungry?”
Well, that made them think a bit, that’s for sure.
“Good point”, Angel Boy 2.0 sagely nods as he ponders what I meant by that, as he chews on a slice of apple.
Those kids LOVE apples as a pre-meal snack. Sometimes dipped in nut butter, but they’re perfectly satisfied with a bowl of sliced apples.
The key is to give each of them their own bowl or they’ll squabble about equal amounts. “Why does s/he have more than me?” Since I only birthed one child, I’m not used to this kind of sibling behavior. I actually find it incredibly annoying and to avoid listening to it, for me, separate bowls are the easiest solution.
They eat a lot, not junk food or snacks, but wholesome and dense nutrition. That’s what healthy kids do; eat, play, sleep. They’re exactly like puppies. Their growing bodies and brains demand it and I’m only too happy to oblige.
“Play with us, Grandma. We’ll even play Candyland just for you. Or Scrabble.” That’s quite the concession on their part, as they know those are my two favorite games.
“How about after you guys have this smoothie and ants on a log and a (lentil/oat/kale) muffin, we’ll play. How does that sound?”
Early this morning, I opened the back door and walked on the deck. Near the steps, I saw a motionless bee which I gently nudged with a stick and found him able to move ever so slightly. I brought him a small amount of water in a jar lid and watched as he thirstily inhaled a few drops. As soon as he had enough, he stumbled down the rest of the steps to a shady area on the ground.
I’m not sure if I helped him or simply prolonged the inevitable, but at least I did something to aid a living creature and that always feels good.
Later that morning, I went to the grocery store where I picked up some yummy cherries and cucumbers and avocados.
The woman in front of me had a lot of items and it looked like she was making a special dinner, maybe anniversary, or at least that was the little story I told myself as I patiently waited my turn.
I noticed that she didn’t have her own shopping bags and I watched the clerk take out a couple “store” bags and fill them with her food. After the food was paid for, the employee asked her for thirty cents to pay for the bags, which was really odd because usually they’ll ask before, so they can add it to the total. Right??? So my spidey senses were on alert as I observed the conversation.
The lady became flustered as she looked in her handbag because she didn’t have any cash or change. I could see that she was super embarrassed and I could totally relate. It didn’t seem as if she was unsheltered or didn’t have money; she was well dressed with great jewelry (I always notice stuff like that).
I said, “Let me check. I think I have thirty cents.” I usually don’t have ANY cash or coins either, but I did locate enough to pay for her store bags.
The poor woman was beside herself with gratitude, wanted to pay me back, couldn’t believe I would do that for a complete stranger, asked me my name, WAY overly intensely thankful and appreciative for a mere handful of coins.
I told her it was my pleasure to help and it wasn’t as if I offered to buy her food (haha) and she could pay it forward to someone else in the future and keep the good deed moving along.
Because her gratitude seemed oddly disproportionate, I thought it was possible that she had a bad day and my minor act of kindness gave her a bit of hope — who knows.
She did seem close to breaking down, poor dear. And all for THIRTY CENTS! I wonder if this was some sort of low rent scam so the employee could pocket the money, but that was most likely not the case. Anyway, it was a strange encounter and I was glad to help because it did seem that was the only way I was going to get out of the store, haha. (BTW, I had my own bags.)
Sometimes I’ll see someone do a kind but simply mundane gesture and I’ll just get filled with this unexplainable joy that someone did something nice for someone else with no strings attached; no ulterior motives, no agenda.
After that experience, I went to Sprouts because I was out of probiotics (I love probiotics). The woman in front of me in line (same scenario!) turned to me. She held out a couple pieces of candy wrapped in shiny gold foil and asked me if I wanted them. She said they were free and pointed to where she got them, somewhere else in the store.
I told her how much I LOVE free things (I really do) but asked why she didn’t want them. She explained that she had tasted another one and they were milk chocolate and she only likes dark chocolate. I said I like all variety of chocolate (except white) and gladly accepted her little gifts.
Two acts of kindness were immediately repaid by another; what a great (and sweet) day!
Back when the original Angel Boy began to walk and talk, my default response when the “I’m bored, I have nothing to do” complaints started, has always been, “Go read a book.”
Now I do the same thing to the grandkids, especially Angel Boy 2.0 who has become a wonderful reader.
Recently we were in a baseball card shop and he was TAKING LITERALLY FOREVER to look at cards and decide which ones he wanted to buy and figure out how much of HIS money he was willing to spend and how much he could get from me. That scenario brought up happy deja vu memories of his parsimonious dad at the same age. The thrifty apple didn’t fall too far from THAT tree, haha.
I walked outside, I walked back in, I pulled on his shirt and whined, “Are you almost done? I’M SO BORED!!”
Without skipping a beat, he said, “Hey Grandma, why don’t you go read a book!”
And then he laughed and I laughed but I got the last laugh because that proved that he had really listened to me. A total win for Grandma!
I gotta confess though, I was SO BORED in that card shop, every minute seemed like an hour. Memories.
It’s really funny, because the original AB is NEVER without a book and leveraged that love of reading into a Yale PhD, writing his own book (published by a prestigious house), and tenure at a major uni, so I guess my annoying mantra helped guide his path to success.
Grandma’s Mantra: 📚 If you’re bored, read a book! 📚 If you have a minute before school starts, read a book! 📚 If you’re waiting for a doctor’s appointment, read a book! 📚 If you can’t think of anything productive to do, read a book!
Feinting is a deceptive or pretended blow, thrust, or other movement, especially in boxing or fencing.
Fainting, or syncope, is what I experienced a couple months ago. I definitely wasn’t feinting when I got dizzy, nauseous, fell, and hit the fireplace. The loss of consciousness felt really weird and not entirely unpleasant.
I thought it was simply an unexplained but strange incident, and finally told my doctor about it.
Her response to me was, “Of course you went to the ER, what did they say? I don’t see that in your notes.”
I replied, “Oh no, I didn’t go anywhere and I didn’t call the paramedics, either, because I was wearing my Hello Kitty jammies. No way was I going to let anyone see me.”
She shook her head and laughed as I explained to her that my RN mom had often drilled into my head that I should never EVER go to the doctor or a hospital unless I was well dressed and nicely groomed– and always with pretty underwear. I mean, there might be scenarios where that’s impossible, but her words are tattooed in my brain.
Of course I would have sought immediate medical help if it happened again, but so far I’ve been lucky.
My doc said her mom was exactly the same, so she understood. However, after asking me a lot of questions, she was concerned enough about my syncope episode to want to rule out any underlying and serious reasons, so she gave me an electrocardiogram and referred me to radiology for a carotid artery ultrasound.
The ECG looked OK and I’ve booked the appointment for the ultrasound to see how my four carotid arteries are performing. Most of the time I think I’m pretty smart but I didn’t know there were FOUR carotids–I thought there was only one, so I’ve learned something. Hopefully, we can rule out any underlying blockages to explain why I fainted. The worse case scenario is that a blocked artery can lead to an increased stroke risk or an aneurysm, but at least I’ll find out one way or another.
The best case scenario is that it was a singular vasovagal syncope episode with no lasting harm. Fingers crossed. Maybe I will actually have “feinted” and dodged a direct hit. That’s funny to think about, but then I’ve been accused of being easily amused…
Since then, my goal has been to mindfully dress for the emergency that might never happen; a personal version of disaster preparedness.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 