A Tree Grows In Brooklyn

In fifth grade I checked A Tree Grows In Brooklyn out of the library.  I don't think I got very far, and for some unexplainable reason have never read it since.  Luckily I had a 40% off coupon to boarders and the book I was intending to get was sold out.  I called my older sister, a font of useful knowledge and good conversation, for "what books do I have on my To Read list" advice.  As we talked about possibilities I came face to face with Betty Smith's classic. 

"Oh, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn!"  I say. 

"Yes, get it!" She says. 

She had been telling me less then a week before that it was one of her favorite books and I should read it!  It was a sign.  I purchased it happily and now anticipate soaking up a great, never-been-read book just in time for spring to begin making an appearance.  

The anticipation of a good book...

Evening With Grandpa

My Grandma passed away on the 31st of Jan.  I spent a week in Colorado, helping with preparations and then attending the funeral.  Within three weeks my Grandpa lost his wife of sixty years, his house of thirty years, and his home state.  You see, he needed to be out here with family so they could take care of him.  They brought him over yesterday.  

I went to visit him tonight.  He was distraught and tired and aching.  He didn't understand where he was, and why they had put him there.  The plan is keeping him in this truly wonderful facility that is small and personable where all the meals are home cooked and his walls are painted a soft butter yellow.  Pictures of my Grandma hang on the wall.  

We sat on his old blue sofa in his living area and I patted his hand when he began to moan, or ask why he was not at home.  "Why am I here?" was the oft repeated question.   I told him that he was here to be closer to his family, then I named all his children and added that his grandchildren were here as well.  He then said, "Well, that sounds alright."  One of us will be with him at all times for awhile, the problem is he doesn't remember who his grandchildren are.  Just more strangers.  

"I am your Granddaughter."  I said at one point. 

He looked and smiled, "That's great!"

"And I love you."

"I love you, too."

Later, after my aunt and I had put him into bed, I leaned over and kissed his cheek before going.  Opening his eyes, he smiled and said, "Do I get to kiss your nose?"

"Yes."  I leaned forward and he kissed my nose. "I love you, Grandpa."

"I love you too little lady." 

Change

Exciting and progressive, yet the feelings of a million other directions that "could have been" are asking me if I want to launch myself into this world of elaborate blog backgrounds.  

"I don't want to go to Brooklyn!"

"We've all gotta go sometime."

(For those of you who know that reference, you know what I am talking about.)

X marks the Haunt

Kip and I were called as primary teachers a month or so ago.  Since then I have been put into the Young Women program as well, and so Kip goes to sharing time with the class alone most weeks.  Today we were driving down the road and he told me of a little seven year old who all during sharing time was walking around with a green crayon.  

What was he doing?  He was marking "X" on all the chairs.  Kip was amused and as the little boy worked his way up the row, especially when he caught Kip's eye and said in a solemn, erie manner, "Look at your chair."

"Why?"

"Stand up and if it has a green x on it you will be haunted.  I marked all the chairs and for every chair that I mark they will be haunted by a ghost!  I've marked thirty of them already."  

I can imagine Kip now trying not laugh, and he said that by the time the boy had moved on to the row behind him the green crayon was confiscated.  When sharing time was all over he noticed someone had given the boy a rag and a spray bottle, leaving him to "de-haunt" all thirty of those chairs.    

"I can promise you a feeling of peace and joy when you speak generously of others in the Light of Christ."  

- Pres. Henry B. Eyring

Conversation With Grandma

Saturday, January 17th

I call Grandma's hospital room.  They had taken her in on Friday night.  Diagnosis?  Double Pneumonia.  At 92.

"Hello?"  I don't recognize the voice for a second.  I have never heard her so subdued before.  

"Hello?"  She says again. 

"Come on, Grandma," I say.  "Why can't you just be like everyone else?  The rest of us get just normal pneumonia, and you have to go get double pneumonia!"

"It's triple pneumonia!"  She insists in a stern voice, before she begins to laugh.  

"How are you doing?"

"Well, I am thinking of a way to break out of this place without anyone catching me."

I laugh, "I could fly my private jet over and we could go to the Bahamas where nobody could find us."  

"Yes, yes."  She says, "And after I spend enough time down there I'll look so beautiful that no one will recognize me."

"Exactly!  No one will be able to find you to put you back in the hospital."

"I'll just tell them to look up pictures of the Bahamas, find the most beautiful person there, and that would be me."  

We both laugh.

"I still can't believe how you shot up so fast!  When did that happen?"

"I wanted to excel in something," I tell her "so I choose height."

We make a couple more jokes and then I hear her say "hello?" before she drops the phone.  

I called her again today.  She is doing worse.  As soon as I say hi she begins the ritual praising that she does whenever she talks to any of her grandchildren.  Today she can only get out about five adjectives in a low voice telling me that I the "Sweetest, most wonderful, kind, considerate, angelic..."  Most of the time we get at least fifteen.

"You know that we all get it from you, Grandma."

"Well, I am glad you realize where it came from." 

"I've arranged the personal jet.  We can take off anytime you are ready."

"Now, is it at least a ten day stay?"  Grandma asks, with a tone implying that if it's not I'm out of luck."

"I was thinking at least three weeks."

She laughs and I inquire how she's feeling.

"Not very good, but I'll be just fine.  I've just got to shape up and ship out."  She emphasizes the impatience in her voice. 

"Yep."

"Well, I love you, and take care of yourself."  She says, tired. 

"I love you too, Grandma."

"I love you, be good, and take care of yourself."

"Goodbye."

Grandpa, Grandma, Me, Kip

A Sunday Afternoon Walk On Holdaway Rd.

I wish we wrote more letters.  Rose sent me a fantastic letter today and it helped ease the desire that has crept up in me every since I've been reading through all the Anne books.  Sigh.  I love progress, but sometimes I wish I wasn't so attached to what that means.  Letters are divine.