Entertaining the Grandchildren

A large strawberry moon rose above the trees shadowing the youngsters chasing the lightening bugs. Their loud frantic voices brought the old dull neighborhood to life again. We heard a harrumph from the old man across the street. He still works so he is not yet 65, but he has lost his youth to the daily life of the job. We have been retired for about 7 years and have begun our next passage. We have a fast Camaro- my retirement gift to my husband. Travel is high on our list. We have been to New England, North Carolina, Kentucky (numerous times) Bowling Green, Ohio, Florida. And Arizona. I have been to Italy 3 times myself. Then there are the repetitive trips to doctors from Cleveland to Clyde to Mansfield that always include stops at Hobby Lobby or some antique store  Antiques are cheap now because this generation wants stuff easily thrown out in the trash. No treasures or keepsakes for them  
My 10 year old granddaughter who is one of the firefly catchers has a malfunctioning phone and her concern is about photos never printed and videos in a cloud.
Today I have five grandchildren guests ages 3,5,7,8,10. For compensation, they are supposed to help me carry and sort items for a garage sale. The 3 and 5 year old are most cooperative, the 10 old girl is begrudging with her help, always worrying about the actions of the 2 older boys who are tired and sly about avoiding assistance. The little girl comes to talk as I unpack boxes and to give me smiles and kisses. 5 year old boy does lots of shopping in the Scooby Doo section and finds numerous items he might need at home. The 3 older kids find the music and proceed to blow horns and beat a loud tune out of the xylophone that no baby ever played.
I do not remember any adult entertaining us as kids. The closest we came was one winter when my Uncle Harold visited us at Jackson. He was a teacher and knew lots about motivating children. On that trip he taught us how to cut paper houses and glue them with a mixture of flour and water. We made whole towns.
Now most adults plan events for their kids or grandkids. Mine have been here 4 days, and we have done the following: painted sharpie shirts, played with water guns, learned Yahtzee (on 2 consecutive turns I rolled Yahtzee), played croquet, shopped in my collection of small found objects, made found object robots, caught lightening bugs, twirled sparklers lit by Gary's torch, watched Pitmasters with Gary, shopped at my barely set up garage sale, had popcorn and Zootopia night, visited their cousins home one evening, made dozens of octopus with sculpey clay and had a science day with Aunt Leah. They always needed something to do. Don't get me wrong that they are not creative. I am constantly amazed by their humor and opinions on life. They are not very open to reasoning yet.
The planned activity regimen here is totally my fault. I want them to experience simple things that they create themselves. To learn self worth. And all of this is sprinkled with my stories and my love for them.

Summer Ages

Summer will never be the same. Last Sunday, as Gary and I drove to the lake at Huron, we drove past Valley Beach Swim Park south of Norwalk. As I looked over the hill thru the trees, I saw no sign life, of the crowds that packed the place on a hot afternoon. The large pool had little water, and the surrounding grass beach was uncluttered. We wondered if it was closed. Then today, I googled the name and found the posting from March stating that they would not reopen in 2016.

Kids and families have been going there for 61 years. My family belonged for 20 of those years. When the girls were little, I usually met my sister Carol and her 2 children there. We sat at the water’s edge while the kids played on the small slide. As the girls grew, every Saturday or Sunday after chores, at around 12:30, we dressed in suits, gathered towels, a quilt, snacks and drinks. And assorted pool toys although the park provided tubes and balls. Often we included friends of the girls which involved picking them up. I have since thought how easy those mothers had it to have their daughters occupied for the afternoon. They probably took naps.

We always sat on the west side grass to avoid looking into the sun. As soon as we spread the quilt for me to lay on, the girls were in the water. I usually had a book to read and a beer or two to pass the time. And in those days, I was a smoker. As soon as I was settled, I heard the “mom call”- “ Watch me jump off the dock”. I did the wave, shaded my eyes and watched for hours as they jumped and slid and paddled across the pool in the tubes. Snack time usually came during the hottest scene in the romance I was reading. They ate chips, pretzels, and granola bars. No apples or good foods. They needed energy. The second snack break required a trip to the concession stand for a popsicle that promptly ran down their arms and dripped on my quilt. They were sent into the water to wash off and with the warning that we would be going soon. Potty breaks meant crossing the bridge to the restrooms. And at 6, they went alone without fear. I watched as they dawdled on the bridge to see the stream flowing underneath and to spit.

As they swam and played, I watched the crowds. Many were regular members like me. Most sat in the same area each time. I watched their children grow from year to year without knowing their names. Visitors respected each other’s space.  One man chose to wear a speedo type suit. He stood at attention with arms crossed guarding the actions of his children. We referred to him as ”Dick”. Lots of laughter.

The weather was always a consideration. If it showered, swimmers ran out of the water for shelter. When we heard thunder, guests packed up quickly for home

Our stay was usually from 1:00 pm to 4:00 pm. At my final wave, I gathered equipment and waited for them with towels and money. Before we left, they always needed a candy bar for the trip home. Usually a KitKat bar. Chocolate for sure that would melt and make a last mess. As I walked to the Blazer, they trailed behind me with towels half over a shoulder and half dragging in the dirt of the drive looking like sad little urchins.