My grandchildren are scattered. Three live in Indiana, three in Maryland and, our newest by way of marriage, lives in Canada. I don't get to see them often enough, so when I do, I soak in everything about them: their mannerisms, their attitudes, their styles and how they've grown and matured.
In choosing to move to Virginia, I knew I'd miss out on much of their lives. I must admit I hadn't a clue how painful that would be. Grandmas live for their grandchildren; it's a fact of life.
During our weekend in Maryland I got to see Ryan,who was just two days shy of turning twelve, run in his first middle school track and field event. I had the thrill of seeing my other grandson, Gavin, hit a triple and a double in his Little League game. And I am not bragging one bit when I say he is a very effective first baseman. And I cried like a blithering idiot watching my sprite-like granddaughter dance at her recital. Thank goodness the lights were turned down in the Maryland Theatre, and no one saw my tear-drenched face beaming with pride.
We are home now. The reality of the blank computer screen sits before me...waiting...ready to accept my futile attempts at writing. Thank goodness it does not talk back. If it did, it would turn into a virtual version of Judge Judy yelling, "You're an idiot! Can't you write something better than this drivel? You're a moron!"
Having been away from writing for five days, I'm having trouble getting back into the swing of it. I want to. Really, I do. But the mind is blank...the fingers stiff...the imagination still on hiatus. Frankly I'd rather dwell on how tall Ryan is getting and how he lives to text. I find myself smiling at Gavin's quick wit, how he can punctuate a grown-up's remark with an insightful quip. Of course there is the gratitude that Lauren's new medicine is controlling the epileptic siezures. Her bubbly, evervescent personality remains; and, yes, she is still a pistol. These memories fill my mind today like the sweet fragrance of a burning candle. Shall we call it "Essence of Grandchldren"?
I came home to an email from my granddaughter in Indiana--my Sugar Dumplin'. Like me, she is a voracious reader. She'd emailed me with a request for some books. Spoiling by long distance is not the best, but this grandma takes what she can get.
Tomorrow I'll get back into the swing of writing. How can I sit here in Virginia and push my mind into Wyoming in 1871 when I can't pull it out of Maryland?