I See Dead People

The last two weeks might have made a good movie. I celebrated two graduations, a wedding, a funeral, a birthday party, and Memorial Day. You’d think a title like FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL would have come to mind, but instead, I found myself stuck in THE SIXTH SENSE movie, brooding, “I see dead people.”

What gives?

I See Dead People - THE SIXTH SENSE

I guess I need to cut myself some slack.  I’d hit a physical brick wall, driving 2,670 miles in ten days through Minnesota rain, South Dakota hail, Wyoming wind, and Montana snow — then back again. That coupled with the emotional fatigue of saying “good-bye” (for now) to my sister made me see the world temporarily shadowed by the dark cloud of negativity inside me.  I was hypersensitive to:

  • flat-emotioned parents watching their kids at the motel swimming pool,
  • zombie-looking youth shuffling down the sidewalk,
  • cranky waitresses watching the clock.

I wanted to shake these dead people to say, “Wake up!”, but I didn’t have the strength.

Behind this urge, I really wanted to shake my sister.  I wanted her to wake up.

As I analyze this cloud, I can shoo it away and recognize the dead person in the mirror — nose out of joint from that brick wall — too fatigued to interact — too jet lagged or self-absorbed to really “be there”.  Without the despair and self-pity of my dark cloud, I have the wherewithal to look outside of myself.  When I move my gaze from self to others, I see how positive conversation, a smile, or a big tip can bring the dead to life – in the giver and the receiver.

I can also reflect upon and appreciate the hospitality, love, and humor of my family and others.  There were so many shining examples of life lived well during this adventure:

  • My niece, “the cheerleader”, shared grief, love,and loss with me and her siblings over the telephone. Then she urged us to move forward and celebrate each other. Ta-Wanda!
  • A graduate’s father’s blue eyes twinkled in response to a compliment. “Clean livin’ — that’s why I look so good. Clean livin’.” Liars can be so charming.
  • A mourning Coast Guard master chief stepped out of his comfort zone to memorialize his mother/my deceased sister with the bronze star of motherhood. Aww. How she must cherish the honor.

In the sunshine of hope, I can hold to the promise of life after death.  My sister doesn’t need to be shook out of that urn full of dust.  She’s awake and more alive and beautiful than ever.

FishingWhen I lower memory’s gaze I see life lived extravagantly — in the joy, abandon, love, curiosity, and hope of children.  They’ve mastered the present — in freely given smiles, all-out tackling welcomes, birthday candles, garden tractor rides, messy bowls of salsa, and red fishing poles.

WaterslideIn the shiny, tan walls of a fiberglass water slide my own life-filled reflection pleasantly startled me — urged up winding stairs by the exuberant, shorter reflection of my grandson.  He showed me I could love better with green chlorine hair. The pleasure of holding him  close through the twists and turns of each exhilarating  plunge far overshadowed my anxiety over racoon/mascara eyes.

This is why I find so much satisfaction in writing and reading children’s books. The characters teach us how to look outside of ourselves and live.

If you see dead people today; give them your smile, an all-out tackling welcome, or a big tip. If those methods don’t bring life to them and you — I know of an invigorating water slide…

Strategic Spontaneity V

When you’re two years old and your grandma says, “George, wanna go on a date?” you have no idea what she’s talking about, but you nod your head “yes” anyway.

This was the case with our fifth grandchild, “George”. For his spontaneous grandparent/grandchild date, he just wanted to play outside in the snow. He didn’t know about more complex options and I wasn’t about to volunteer them.

Easy, huh?

Well — no. Our date involved an hour of preparation:

  1. feeding George
  2. cleaning George, his chair, the table, and the three-foot radius around where George dined
  3. chasing and wrestling George out of his full-to-capacity diaper
  4. selecting George’s clothes
  5. selecting “diff’nt” clothes — George has definite opinions about onesies vs. regular
  6. chasing and wrestling naked George into clothes
  7. finding George’s snow pants
  8. getting snow pants on George
  9. finding snow pants “Gamma” can wear
  10. squeezing Gamma into snow pants
  11. realizing Gamma has to use the bathroom
  12. peeling snow pants off Gamma, then squeezing them on again
  13. putting coat on George
  14. putting coat on Gamma
  15. putting cap and boots on George
  16. hot flash — taking coat off Gamma
  17. putting mittens on George
  18. finding gloves — George doesn’t like mittens
  19. putting gloves on George, most of his fingers in one finger space
  20. putting coat, boots, cap, and gloves on Gamma

George did the snowpant shuffle into the garage and emerged with a shovel and a rake. I shoveled snow.  He raked it back on the sidewalk and driveway.  Somehow, this made perfect sense to George.

I forgot my iPhone in the house and wasn’t about to rearrange my snow gear to retrieve it, so I tracked mud and snow through the entrance and kitchen. Then I crawled out backwards, wiping the floor with wet paper towels.

Whoever says our masculine or feminine nature is molded solely by our environment should explain George. He came into a pink world of three sisters and foo-foo everything. He won’t have any of it.

I snapped three warm-up pictures before the stars aligned for the perfect shot — and my battery went dead.  George was happy.  Gammas are more fun with dead phone/camera batteries.While we played in the snow, George’s four-year old sister “Sadie”  set up a “su-pwise” for us in the warm house. “It’s weady!” Sadie,  adorned in pink and purple flowered jammies and red and green snowman socks, motioned to us from the front door.

“Honey, you’re sick,” she gushed, mothering George out of his snow gear.  She pointed to the couch.  “There’s your bed.  Lay down now and I’ll feed you. Cuz this is a hospital westauwant.”

Sadie had arranged 54 toy dishes, food, and utensils in neat rows on the piano bench and the piano.

“Let me give you your cough sywup,” Sadie poured pretend medicine into a plastic spoon.

George didn’t play sick patient like Sadie had hoped.  He dove straight for the dishes like a wrecking ball toward a popsicle stick house.

Sadie stopped gushing.  “Lay down or I’ll draw chicken pox on you!”

By the time I confiscated Sadie’s red marker, George had a bad case of marker pox.

“Gwamma! Can you take him outside again?” Sadie begged.

Since George pretty much demolished Sadie’s hospital restaurant,  Sadie had to be admitted (into what was left of her medical facility).  So Gwamma became Sadie’s nurse and the neighborhood reclamation expert.

Later George was banished to quality time with Papa and a wash cloth. The pals watched two and a half  minutes (George’s attention span) of This Old House, then loaded toy food and toy dishes into the Tonka truck with the Tonka loader.  This included plenty of saliva-spewing sound effects. (George’s saliva, not Papa’s.)

When Sadie’s sisters got home from school, the three females moved the hospital restaurant upstairs.

They quarantined George to stay away — and not because of his marker pox.  He didn’t even notice.  He just pulled me to the front door, pointed outside and said, “Date?”