Becoming Grandma: Time Goes On

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Day 11

It is becoming clear that this time in North Carolina will not be a daily posting opportunity. The time is going by so quickly, and the schedule is… well, there is no schedule. Instead, I’m going to record stories the way I remember them. After this, no more numbering the days.

Last week was a whirlwind of activity. On Wednesday Julia had a day off work, so we packed up Gwennie Ru and did a shopping trip. She slept in her car seat, even as we were in and out of stores.

My other event of the day was driving an hour away to Raleigh to pick up Esther at the airport. We had planned to both be here in NC for a couple of reasons. One, we were going to attend an additional memorial service for Dennis, my husband, in Pennsylvania. We planned to have a girl’s road trip with three generations in the car – me (the aged one), Julia and Esther (the middles) and Gwennie Ru. This service was for the Pennsylvania relatives and friends who were unable to attend the service in July. It was also for Julia, since she hadn’t been able to travel then either. More about that later.

The following day, I hadn’t even dried off from my shower when Julia called. She and Gwennie Ru had been having some symptoms of a cold and she was worried about the way Gwennie kept rubbing her ears. She wanted to make sure there was no ear infection going on before we went on our PA trip. She had been able to get an appointment with the pediatrician. Could I get Gwennie there in an hour or so?

So you may be thinking, what’s the big deal about that? And that was what I told myself to quell those sneaky little twinges of panic that leapt up from who knows where. I can take someone’s precious newborn in my car and drive half an hour through an unfamiliar city and present her, with the correct information, to an unknown band of professionals. No sweat.

And that’s what happened. We got through the trip, two short feedings, a dirty diaper, and exams by an intern and a doctor. Gwennie was well behaved and had perfectly fine ears. Truly, this is why I start every day in prayer, asking for help with unexpected tasks, and end every day grateful to God who understands and hears.

Gwennie having some Auntie time with Esther

Becoming Grandma: Day 2

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The beautiful, green Haw River

Day #2

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like Gwennie Ru needs a person pretty much dedicated to her, without too much else to do. I did just go outside and water some flowers and empty the garbage, but to do something like writing, something requiring thought as well as time, is really hard.

This morning we took another walk along the Haw River that borders the property. Some of the trails have been recently mowed, others not so much. I took one of the “not so much” trails today and found a couple wood ticks when I got back. I lost one of them somewhere in the bedroom and ended up vacuuming the whole room, hoping to get rid of it. I should probably think more about where I go with my precious bundle, but it’s been so nice to be able to walk while I’m here. It’s almost a sure way to get Gwennie to quiet down and wait for the next thing scheduled to happen.

Today I dressed her in a short sleeve onesie and some long pants to cover her legs on our walk. I put socks on her too because it always feels like her feet are cold. She has no extra fat anywhere to keep her warm and padded. She has SO MANY CLOTHES. I would be surprised if she gets to wear all her outfits before she grows out of them. A lot of them are handed down from friends and relatives. Her mama doesn’t know how to say no to anyone, especially when everything is so cute.

This morning it was 54 degrees in my RV and that was fine when I was under the covers, but pretty chilly when I wasn’t. I learned how to light the furnace – my one accomplishment before grandma duties began.

My spiritual reflection for today came while looking down at Gwennie’s little face as she slept. How easy and compelling it is to love someone who is so helpless and dependent. That condition is part of why I love her. I want to guard her, meet her needs, teach her to live safely in the world and let her know she is valued and loved. Duh, lightbulb moment… that is why God created us to be able to have parenting experiences. He wanted us to have that feeling toward helpless children in our care, because that is exactly what we are to him. And that is how he feels toward us. It is such a rich blessing to be created in the image of a loving God.

An eerie looking stump along the path

Becoming Grandma

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These posts may be less carefully edited because the baby does not sleep very long.

My last visit to North Carolina, Riverbend Farm, was for the birth of Gwendolyn Ruth Shanahan on July 24, 2023. Unfortunately, I got sick and missed the main event almost entirely. I stayed only three weeks and then went home to recover.

I arrived again on September 16. This time I am devoted to figuring out some of this “Grandma business”. It sounds like something that should be simple – you become a grandma when your grandchild is born. I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.

The timing of this visit is because Gwennie got baptized the day after I arrived. In this case, the terms baptism and dedication are interchangeable, in my mind. She will make her own decision about believing and choosing to follow Jesus someday, but this was a decision by her parents and church family, to raise her in full knowledge of that path. I loved being there and making my own promise to show her God’s love. Of course, water was involved, but she behaved well as it was poured on her little head.

Day #1 Grandma Daycare

Gwennie Ru is very small, not yet two months old, and I know that it will take some time for me to recognize her personality. Today was my first day doing her care while Mommy went to work. We hung out together all day and I’m still not sure who she is. But I now know that she gets hungry every three hours and is intelligent enough to get bored quickly when awake. I have heard her cry “bloody murder” when trapped for hours in her car seat, but in the course of a normal day she doesn’t cry loudly or often. She fusses and makes funny faces. She can be coaxed into a nap easily and I’m getting good at that.

After I figured out how to get her pack fastened on me, and then how to get her in it, we took three walks around the farm. I got over 14,000 steps. I’m teaching her to pray with me while we walk.

It was only a small bowl of water and much of it went on Daddy’s sleeve.

So Many Questions

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Today I am doing some reading in the book of Judges, in the Holy Bible. I love scripture and believe it is one way in which God tells us things we need to know, so don’t get me wrong when I say that it quite often confuses me. I read it anyway, for the parts that aren’t confusing.

There is the story of Samson mid way through this book. He was an Israelite during a time when the country was being persecuted by another tribe of people, the Philistines. God used him to provide some relief for Israel. Even though he did some very dumb things, overall, he paid the Philistines back for all their evil deeds.

One of his early accomplishments was burning down a good many of the Philistines fields of grain. He went to a lot of work to do this, and this is where my questions start overwhelming me.

“So he went out and caught three hundred foxes.” I stop reading and can’t go any further. Three hundred foxes? How do you “catch” a fox? Where do you find 300 of them? Are they just everywhere, like rabbits? Where do you keep them while you’re catching them? Does no one notice when you finally get 300 and have them in your barn, or wherever? No one complains, not even your parents?

“He then fastened a torch to every pair of tails, lit the torches and let the foxes loose in the standing grain of the Philistines.” Wow, I try to think how I would orchestrate a project like this. Would I take two foxes at a time to a field? How would I get them to stand still while I tied a torch between their tails? What would I tie them with? Should I muzzle them while I’m doing the prep, probably…

Or do I tie all their tails together with torches attached while I’m still at home, and then transport them all at once? In my fox wagon. Once I start, I’ll probably have to do it quickly or someone will try to stop me.

My only conclusion is that this project would take a good deal of prayer first, but I don’t think Samson did that. He apparently was a bit of a hot head.

The most telling statement about this story is found early in the narrative, and is in parenthesis. “(His parents did not know this was from the Lord, who was seeking an occasion to confront the Philistines; for at that time they were ruling over Israel.)” There you have it. Miraculous intervention. There’s no other explanation that I can think of.

The way I see it, there is a principle involved in today’s reading. For me, it is – when something is “of the Lord” you might not see it coming. God, who invented imagination in the first place, is still way better at it than any of us.

Where Am I to Sleep?

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That was the question in my mind as I traveled south to be with my daughter’s family for a few weeks. And not just to sleep, but to lay out my suitcase, charge my computer, and all the other things that people do when they live someplace. I have stuff with me. Where am I going to put it?

River Bend Farm has a large farmhouse with four bedrooms. However, the rooms are occupied with Julia’s three stepchildren, and of course, Julia and husband Kevin. They don’t even have a designated spot for the baby when she comes.

My plan was to look for something portable, like a camper trailer, and to do it as soon as possible after arriving. During the first week, while I was borrowing one of the children’s rooms, I started looking on Facebook marketplace for used campers. Having never owned an RV of any kind I knew nothing.

I looked at little, cute and retro. But there wasn’t even room to set my suitcase. I looked at large and roomy but it was 16 years old and I wasn’t sure I could handle that much brown in my living space. I was saved from further deliberation when my son-in-law said a friend had a nice later model camper and was willing to sell it underpriced, as a personal favor. It had space for 10 people to sleep, which was a little frightening, but we went to see it. I now own it and have jumped on the learning curve of RV life.

Quibble

I have named it Quibble (model 295QBLE). It came none too soon. I got sick and needed a place to retreat and quarantine. It came home with Kevin and I the same day we went to see it. He parked it close to the barn where there was an electrical outlet. That’s when I learned that you have to be somewhat of an electrician (which I am not) to match your electricity with your camper. Even after watching a You Tube video on amps, volts and watts, the thought of having to figure out that equation for every one of my devices was too much. Kevin kindly drove to town and got adapters, so I could run the AC. That was enough for one night.

You also have to be somewhat of a plumber (sorry, also not) to feel peaceful about your faucets, toilets, water and pumps. Kevin and I finally got a small stream of water to run into the kitchen sink by hooking a hose up to a hole labeled “city water”, no city anywhere close. But who knew that I needed a drinking water hose, a water filter and a pressure regulator. Not me. My water pump, which shouldn’t have been turned on at all, was supposed to be whisper quiet. It started making enough noise that I could hear it even above the AC unit. I may have made it permanently very quiet. I have watched videos on water, gray water, and black water. Even I could figure out what those were.

One day I figured out the refrigerator. The next day I got a ladder and gave Quibble a good washing. Yesterday I drove back to meet the previous owner and got the title transferred and notarized. Today I tried to figure out insurance and registration. And in the days ahead I will learn about the stove and the propane tanks and the outdoor kitchen, and why the lights in the slide out don’t work. There are YouTube videos about all these things. I am discovering a whole new world of fun things to do.

But now I have my space. I almost feel guilty retreating to my air conditioned fiberglass box

Out by the barn, where I belong.

Would the “New Normal” Please Stand Up

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I have some catching up to do in my journaling life. Stuff has been happening that I don’t want to forget. Let’s start here.

I am in North Carolina, waiting for my daughter to give birth to her first child, a little girl who is already named Gwendolyn Ruth.  I am also waiting for the most accurate words to describe these new experiences since the husband passed away.  I want the new normal to start soon. The word “normal” suggests that something happens often enough for one to become used to it.  Nothing like that is happening yet. 

I have been busy most of the time since arriving. I have picked blueberries, beans and tomatoes. I have vacuumed centipedes and cat hair off the basement floor, and washed bedding and helped set up beds for the company. I have given half of a donkey a haircut. I have washed dishes and helped with meal prep. The work is distracting and it is nice to feel useful.  I keep thinking that I should help Julia so she can rest but then I go looking for her and find her out pulling weeds in the 90 degree heat. Her very pregnant self seems to think things will happen faster if she works harder. 

Yes, it is hot and humid here in North Carolina.  North Carolina where dirt is orange and tobacco fields are everywhere. North Carolina where roads are never straight and every other one is named after a church or chapel.  North Carolina where there are fireflies at dusk. 

I’m from up north. It just doesn’t seem like dirt should be this color.

I’ve been watching life from the sidelines a lot lately.  Words to describe it all don’t come easily, or they come all in a jumble and don’t get themselves in order to make sense.  At the moment the words are flying around in confusion because I’m sitting at  Julia’s kitchen table where there is commotion.  Julia has friends who are visiting from Florida for a few days, camping out in her basement. The five active children want to go shooting, no, they want to take the ATV on the trail, no, they want to play a board game, no, they… the parents tell them to go brush their teeth. Parenthood is in full swing.  

My daughter keeps thinking of things to cook and bake.  She likes to experiment with sourdough and has made bread, muffins, doughnuts, and pancakes in the days since I arrived. I have always been in awe of her ambition in the kitchen. There are dozens of appliances, several pantries full of ingredients, three full refrigerators and a large freezer, also full. The trouble is that she is just as interested in a dozen other things as she is in cooking and baking.  Preparing meals and eating them are often not priorities and so get done at odd times. Even so, no one is starving here.

I’m observing and doing the work of learning other people’s routines, seeing what things have changed in the years I’ve spent preoccupied with the husband and his disabilities. Now that I am not his caregiver, who am I and what will I do with myself? Time will help sort it all out, I’m sure.

Meanwhile, everyone here is waiting. Waiting for the little girl named Gwendolyn Ruth to make her appearance. Waiting for things to get back to normal.  I can already see the trouble with those expectations. 

A to Z Challenge: Xander, Yancy and Zeke

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people like you and me.

They were born two years apart, giving a hierarchy of sorts but also giving them enough in common to make good playmates out of them. It would be wrong to say that there was no competition between them, but as brothers go, they were more inclined to stick up for each other and get along. They grew up on a farm in Wisconsin, which as it turned out, was a pretty good place to grow up.

Xander was the oldest. On his own for his first two years, he may have acquired more of an independent spirit. Also being the first son, he got to do many things first, before the others. Sometimes this was a privilege, but other times it felt more like a restriction. When you are the first to be taught to drive a tractor it is pretty heady stuff, until you have to drive that tractor making hay while others are playing. As a child, Xander was an endless well of grandiose ideas. His aspiration at the age of eight was to ride his bike down the road with three ice cream cones in each hand. That took imagination.

Yancy and Zeke were sometimes thought to be twins. They shared a spot in the family behind their older brother and spent a lot of time together. Zeke grew faster than Yancy, and almost surpassed him in size. They both had sandy brown crew cuts, which would bleach out to near blonde in the summer. The sandy part was not just descriptive of color. One of their favorite pastimes was playing in the soft sand of the driveway, throwing it up in the air and letting it fall on their heads. The layer of sand on their scalps was thick enough for Mom to scratch off at bath time.

All three boys were often dressed alike since it was easiest to buy, or make, the same shirt in three sizes. Getting them dressed up for church was always like a circus act. One would get finished up, but before the second one was half done, the first one would spill something on his pants or decide to take shoes off. Given enough time, the miracle would occur and all three would make it into the car mostly dressed.

These three young boys were a force in the neighborhood, and at school for years. Bike riders, lawn mowers, basketball players, and friends to young and old. But as they developed their unique interests, their paths were tending to take very different directions. What would they do to maintain their sense of family closeness and their unity as brothers? Would it take something intentional, and what would that something be?

A to Z Challenge: Wesley

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real people, like you and me.

Wesley was 90 years old. Some people would have said he had no business being on a tractor, much less on a tractor, with other people, showing them how to drive it. But this was the Wesley who collected old farm machinery and got it running, the Wesley who was caregiver for his somewhat older wife who had Parkinson’s, the Wesley who cut and burned wood to heat the house, the Wesley who was used to being as healthy as a horse. They were having a great time on the tractor until he fell off.

Of course, things like this are not planned or practiced, they just happen. And they happen rather quickly. The people who have accidents like this probably can’t even tell you how the event happened because they are too busy watching their lives flash before them in an instant. Wesley thought he remembered how this fall came about – he was standing beside his granddaughter, who was driving, and as he leaned forward to pull a lever, he lost his balance and down he went.

Down he went between those huge big wheels on the back of the tractor. Even the thought of it is scary. Wesley, however, was a man of faith and calmly accepted the gift of getting to live another year. He tucked and rolled, appearing from under the tractor, completely intact and not at all run over. His shaken family members who got to watch him, insisted on taking him to the local hospital to get checked out. He did have a broken collar bone from landing on it too hard. He was a bit sore the next day.

He did a lot of downplaying the whole thing. He was a man of few words anyway. Whereas some people would have bragged and made sure everyone knew about their close call, Wesley was more worried that someone might actually tell his wife. She had no love for old tractors and would not have understood the desire to ride on one. Fortunately, she was not among the watchers as this went down. No one gave her any details.

There comes a time when even the most capable elders start to worry about their ability to keep themselves and others safe. Wesley is completely prepared to give this issue some serious thought when he gets older.

A to Z Challenge: Valerie

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Being in a choir was not the usual thing for Val, although she did sing pretty well. This particular choir was quite a large group. They were practicing a moderately difficult program to be performed over the course of a week at a conference. There were singers from all over the world who had come for the music and for the fellowship. They were a faith based group, which made it possible for Val to feel a small degree of comfortable, but that wasn’t saying she was all the way there by any means.

She was standing in the alto section without being sure that was where she belonged. It was better than trying for notes up in the stratosphere. She was standing near another singer who didn’t seem as timid and unsure as she was. She decided they should become friends, and set about making it happen. She was good at that job even though she came across as being the quiet type at first. It just took her a while to get warmed up.

Valerie, who preferred to be called Val, was a Virginia girl with a slight southern twang to her speech. Like everyone else, her family had its share of dysfunction, but it was still a supportive, intact family. Val had finished high school and her first year at university when she met her friend in choir. They found out they shared a high love for adventure. Val also had a dry wit and a sense of humor that drew friends. She looked at life with an expectation of fun, and who wouldn’t want to be around that?

After singing in each other’s ears for a week the conference ended. They went their separate ways, but their friendship started its long distance phase. Letters went back and forth frequently. There’s something about the safety of writing to someone far away and not having to deal with judgment, for at least as long as it takes for a return letter – they became very well acquainted with each other’s personal lives. They were both writers, who actually preferred the written word as a means of working out their everyday angst. Their bond deepened.

Val was working on her degree in elementary education which left her somewhat free in the summer. Her friend had children who were old enough to be self-sufficient. So it came about that in the summer of 1996 her friend, Louise, invited her to do a trip out west with her. They would meet at Louise’s home in Florida and travel to Colorado in Louise’s aging Dodge van, camping as they went. Val went for it.

Patterning themselves after the duo of “Thelma and Louise” of Hollywood fame (well, except for the illegal parts, which make up most of the movie, oh, and the ending…) they set off to have an adventure. They had a great time traveling the Florida panhandle the first day. Safely reaching the campground Louise had lined up for the first night was their first triumph. They managed to set up their tent, have a walk on the beach and survived their first camp meal out of a can. It was the next day they were excited about and spent some time discussing. Neither of them had been to the city they were coming to next, and they had a list of what had to be seen and done.

“Thelma and Louise” in New Orleans, yeah, it had a good ring to it. Let the adventure begin…

A to Z Challenge: Uriah

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real people, like you and me.

He couldn’t figure out why his mother had named him Uriah. It was a perfectly good biblical name, she explained. It even meant “God’s light”. But why did she have to name him after a guy too dense to figure out why he was being sacrificed in battle – unwilling to think that the king could have been fooling around with his wife. Early on he adopted the nickname of Ri. Maybe people would assume he was a Ryan.

He had been a busy kid, grown into a busy man. He liked being busy. It was more interesting than being idle. It was true, he had become more balanced, mainly due to his wife’s influence, but it still drove him crazy to sit and endure small talk. He would start to fidget and then excuse himself to leave and get something done.

There were ample excuses. He was always involved in three or four projects of his own, in addition to his role as mayor of his small town, his own business, and his family. Oh yes, and there was the church board, his elderly mother’s estate which he kept track of, and the condo association and property that he managed. He was always surprising people with his newest idea to improve, clean up, organize.

Many people are busy because of their desire to advance themselves, but undergirding Uriah’s constant motion was his generosity. He almost never met a person he didn’t want to help, if they needed it. He was aware of his own abundant blessings and felt that he should be distributing his energy, his time and his wealth wherever his faith directed. As a result, God was always dropping something or someone in his path for him to consider.

And then, unexpectedly, his wife got sick and died. It was a devastating, unthinkable blow. For a while it was even more necessary to keep busy. He tore through the house, every drawer, cupboard and closet to make sure he knew what was there and that it all had a purpose – for him, now that he was alone. And then a gradual apathy settled in. The urgency was gone and he was looking, not for energy, but for motivation.

He didn’t need money. His business almost ran itself. His two children were out of the house. He had not been in this stage of life before, and had not imagined being in it by himself. It called for some deep introspection and he decided to give himself some time. Time for others to speak into his life, and most certainly for God to direct him.

But as so often happens, God directs people according to their personalities and the talents they already have. Uriah was at the church for a meeting one night when childcare was being provided for couples with children. The girls managing the nursery decided to take the children outside to play. The small play yard, fenced and lighted, had an unusual structure with a slide built in it. It was a ship, representing Noah’s ark. One of the girls noticed that the chain had been cut on the locked gate. Someone had moved into the ark and set up housekeeping.

Homelessness was on the rise in Uriah’s small town and this was not the first time it had affected the church. But this time the situation was going to land on Uriah’s plate. God needed to act through an energetic, generous person. Uriah was about to become busy again. Very busy.