Don't have much to say, but I realized it had been a while since I've been here. My brain was so full post, "Sunshine Holiday." So much to process about where I'm from and who I am and where I am now. So many moments to re-live and savor.
The savoring d'jour this evening involves imagination. The power of the two insanely creative minds that I live with. My daughter's mainly. The fact that she moved from princess to ballerina to baker of a mother's day cake (the icing was made of her NightNight and Sol's softie, their beloved blankets folded neatly on top of the "cake" for me to enjoy) to impromptu pots and pans drummer to water color artist to bed jumper. The way she somehow manages to incorporate Soli into all of her games. The fact that he totally gets them, even if he can't articulate with the same eloquence.
She has the wildest little catch phrases...
Ah, mom, this is totally awesome, like, I am doing the most amazing dance ever right now! (Who's mama was a Valley Girl...)
And there seems to be an appropriate song to accompany every occasion...
Like singing R.Kelly's, "I Believe I Can Fly" while balancing on one leg on top of the dishwasher, touching the ceiling, her other arm out to the side, flapping like a wing. Nothing like that for a pre-coffee wake up greeting. When did she get so big and bright and...weird...
All Sol wants is to be a part of things, all the time. If she bonks her knee and moans and rubs, Sol is instantaneously whining and rubbing his knee. If she dresses in the Pooh suit, he dresses in the Pooh suit (ah, Jody, the good love those costumes receive).
Anything she eats, he wants. You should have seen him at sushi last night. Sucked the raw salmon right off the rice, just like his sister. Ah, sticky sushi poops.
And the underlying shadow to all this beauty of the little milestones, the little steps my little people take every day that distinguish them further from the teeny creatures that emerged from my belly, as their sentences grow longer, their independence more astute, while they grow brighter and more capable, their PopPop grows younger and younger, less articulate, less certain, less able to make his way. The circles of life seem to be spinning in all directions. That sassy, bright, vibrant superstar of a man who told me to, "Shit or get off the pot," the first time I met him when I took too long to play a Scrabble tile is fading out. It seems like just in the few weeks since we celebrated Christmas together, there's been a shift. Christmas a few weeks early with the Kesslers, Christmas when Sol kept ripping open gifts that weren't his, Eliana with her red sparkly new Mary Jane's and lots of, "Oooh this is soooo beautiful!" as she opened up her gifts from her Nana and PopPop. Pop had a smile on his face. Kept saying, "Oh, this is some guy!" about Solomon. Seemed to enjoy receiving and being.
Aging. I can't imagine what it's like in PopPop's brain right now. It must be so confusing. It's all so, so sad.
I remember my BFF in sixth grade doing a report on Alzheimer's. She would tell me facts about the memory going, about old people having to wear diapers. I remember how it made no sense to me. I was so young. I couldn't imagine any grown-ups not being smarter, wiser, more together than I.
And here I am. The grown-up.
We take care of our babies, pray for their health and safety. We take care of our parents, love them more than they know, would go to the end of the earth for them too. But it's ever-changing, never-static, never predictable.
Jeff's driving down the mountain from the ski hill, nothing but endorphins from having a much needed day with his buddies. The phone rings. PopPop is in the ER. And while he's fine, he's 86, he has Alzheimer's, he has a fever, he has a bad foot, and his body has seen an awful, awful lot.
It seems that the key to it all, the key with both the old and the young, is to take in every moment. Every now. Because sometimes the how's and why's just don't add up. It's too sad. I don't know when they say brain power peaks, but I'm pretty certain I'm already past my prime. I sometimes have to think long and hard about the simplest things. I certainly can't wrap my brain around all these big thoughts right now.
I'm not much of a pray-er. But tomorrow is the one day a year we ever go to church. To the MLK service with the kids and their poetry. The local folk singers and the academics at the pulpit. So in honor of my favorite church day, I'll send a shout out.
I send a shout out to PopPop. May his brain hold on to the goodness of the world. May he feel the love of the people around him.
I shout out to Nana. May Roseann be able to find a way to hold on to her beautiful, bright, life-loving self while her rock sways. May she hold on to her radiant, open smile in the midst of this huge, huge sea change.
I shout out to Jeff. Jeff who tries to keep it together for everyone. Jeff and his honesty and intelligence and loyalty. Shout out to his time on the mountain. It's preventative medicine.
I shout out to my own Mama. To all her body has been through over the years. To the way she's a total trooper about it all. So composed and gorgeous and resilient. So dedicated to us all.
I shout out to my Dad. His body too has seen it's share of ridiculousness. And he's getting ready to travel the world. Hiked around J.Tree with us. Reads poetry out loud.
I shout out to my babies. I shout out to my girlfriends. I shout out to my sisters. I shout out to them all. To the here and the now and the lovely weight of it all.
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