Happy Times In Minnesota

The disadvantage of having multiple computers in our house is that occasionally a few pictures become "lost" in a file on a desktop, so some time later, I find them. I guess they're never really lost.

It's like my car keys or some articles of my Annie's clothing, which ironically she misplaces.

The entire family struggles with the "lost item syndrome," which happens--almost without exception--two minutes before we have to be anywhere.

What is fun about the discovery of these pictures is the fact that I am almost certain they happened in Minnesota, an incredible place to visit--unless of course that visit happens between the months of October and March.

I miss the sound of frogs, the trills of songbirds. I even miss the horrific sound of lightening that would crack and sizzle in the air. Until being there, I had never heard anything like it.


However, I'm sure that this strange nostalgia I wallow in right now is because of the fun times I spent there with grandchildren.

Each visit was similar, yet every time was an adventure. Mornings were pleasant with warm sunshine and walking Tommy to the bus stop, just outside the house at the foot of the driveway.

It was OK to stand and watch, as long as we didn't hug or kiss the little guy in front of fellow bus travelers. If I called to Tommy, reminding him I loved him or to watch carefully during the day and be safe, he gave me this look.

It's one that my Annie sometimes uses: "Who in the hell is this person talking to me right now?"

Ironically, I learned quickly not to say anything when Tommy gave me the look. With Annie, it's just too much fun to pass a moment like that.

These were precious times. Tommy still craved a new dinosaur, anytime we found a new toy store. Anna loved pink clothes and accessories. Sammy was too little to know the difference.

Things change, although Anna still loves pink. It's her "signature color." And nothing says pink like something with a Hello Kitty pattern on it, which I find particularly satisfying.

"I sure like your Hello Doggy shirt, Anna." Anna would give me this grin. Tommy would laugh out loud. Sammy was still young to understand Pop Pop's teasing ways.

Without exception, anything Ann and I found at a store meant that Anna would try them on and do the whole modeling thing: something I can mention now only in a blog, because little ones grow up so quickly, and if they sense their behavior is "cute," they shy from it. 

I still miss Ema, Anna's imaginary friend. When I asked Anna about the name scrawled on a small chalkboard in our kitchen by our little one's own hand, she acted embarrassed. She shrugged her shoulders. Pop Pop knew she was too old to talk about imaginary friends at that point.

And with any visit came the delivery of Star Wars toys I would continually find in toy stores.

It only took two moves for Lydia to discover just how annoying boxes of toys could be, regardless how cool they looked.

And at this point, both grandsons quickly approach a time when those toys will become distant memories.

A day will arrive when I hand one or both of them a cherished box, gift wrapped with blue colors and patters of C-3PO or R2D2, and they will shrug their shoulders like Anna did.

Times change. Children change. Even Pop Pop changes, which says more about walking and getting out of a chair than it does about the selection of toys or clothing.

My three grandchildren love books. Hopefully, that will remain constant.

Other things change so quickly, even more so than when I was young. My imaginary friends were still functional until I was in my mid to late teens: Sophia Loren, Ann Margret and Raquel Welch.

All things change. Personally, I have an incredible life--in spite of the catastrophic health issues, that once controlled me mercilessly. An incredible wife, great children and wonderful grandchildren make life worth living.

 

 Besides, where in the world could I have these things and still be the second highest scorer on the Buzz Lightyear ride at Disneyland at the same time.