I Am Grateful for Rain, Orange Semi Trucks, and Rusty Nails

Pictures of Jon in his natural habitat.

Jon and 2 dump trucks, two race cars, and a handful of MardiGras beads.

It had been raining all day. We came out of the building on our way to run some errands and Jon found a spout and a puddle of water. Mom went to run the errands and Grandma watched while Jon explored and played in the small oasis of water. Two of his greatest loves, water and trucks, combined to occupy him completely for the better part of an hour. Only when his hands were all puckery from so much time in his small pool and his sleeves sodden from the splashing and the drizzling rain did Jon finally stand up and look around. He saw me and lifted the sopping wet cuffs of his jacket to show me--he then decided that he was thirsty and sucked on the sponges that now surrounded his wrists. I asked if he were ready to go in and he reluctantly nodded. I began to walk around the corner to the main door of the apartment complex--Jon, still held mesmerized by the magic of the downspout's miniature waterfall. I walked slowly--only glancing back out of the corner of my eye. Jon still stood there--watching the water trickle down from the spout. He noticed my absence and walked quickly to catch up with me at the corner. "Where's your truck?" I asked. Looking around him, he spotted the bright orange of one of his favorite tracker trailers and ran back to recover it. He fetched it, but was still reluctant to surrender and come inside--where he had been stuck for the last three days--held captive by the frigid rain and high winds. I kept walking, he finally caught up with me and we went back inside and upstairs to his apartment; home.

I am enchanted by the faerie look of him here.

While Jon was playing with his truck and the water, he also found a few rusty nails that had been washed off of the roof--who knows how long ago. He found one that was about 3 inches long. Now, one of Jon's joys in life is putting things INTO other things: he specializes in putting his smaller cars into his larger cars. This nail, he discovered, was the perfect size to put into the circular slot where the semi connected with the trailer. He carefully placed the nail into its place and, for a time, concentrated exclusively in "giving a ride" to the nail--pushing the semi carefully on the sidewalk around where he was crouching. He attempted to place some muddy soil onto the top of the nail so that he could then wash it off in the water dripping from the downspout. The nail, he discovered, did not possess the lateral surface area to carry the dribble of mud in sufficient quantity for Jon to then put it under the spout and clean if off. The semi, however, as well as the trailer were perfect for this process and he spent a long time carefully getting the vehicles "dirty" and then immediately washing them clean again. His hands, too, it must be noted, were also washed completely clean after each mud-to-truck-to-downspout cycle. He found great satisfaction in creating a logical series of events and then carrying out that series again and again. Very serious stuff--must be repeated to be perfected and established as a viable system in Jon's world.

I write this and wonder what things I am trying to link and then repeat in order to give my daily experiences order and routine.

Here, he sits on my small suitcase as he tells me about his red COOL CAR.

I Am Being a Grandmother This Week

Jon and his mom--lost in the serious consideration of one of his favorite cars.

Jon then tells me about the car.

His mom cut his hair since Christmas--the last time I was with him--he is no long a baby. Jon has graduated from baby to toddler--almost to pre-schooler.

This is supposed to be the video of Jon and his mom reading a bedtime story.

I am being a grandma this week. It is a most excellent experience. I have had the opportunity to get to know better my grandson Jon. He is two and three months old and understands Greek, English and is able to communicate with his parents quite effectively in ASL. His passion is cars, trucks, cars, trains, cars, ice cream, cars . . . and, oh yes, cars. There are COOL CARS and NEW CARS and FOO CARS [a clone of the Greek word for truck and his generic label for wheeled vehicles]. Trains are CHOO CHOO! and tractors are GRUMMM GRUMM [sounded back and deep in the throat]. He puts himself to sleep by singing the ABC Song with lyrics of CAR CAR CAR CAR CAR CAR CAR . . . [you get the idea] or MA-MA MA-MA MA-MA MAAAA [again, you get the idea] and has the CARS DVD memorized. He is also a fan of SHAUN THE SHEEP—which I take credit for, since he first experienced this creation while visiting at my home. A DVD of Thomas the Tank Engine short stories is also one of the choices he picks to watch some times. His mom limits his DVD time to under an hour a day—most frequently watched in 15 minute intervals throughout the day. His day is full, with little time to sit still watching someone else’s creativity. He will lay for a long time on his stomach on the carpet—lining up 8 or 9 cars or train engines or small trucks. His mom says that she loves watching him when his does this—pushing the line of vehicles back and forth, changing one car for another in the line. He is a thoughtful young man, pressing his index finger on his lower lip and chin as he considers an idea or situation before him. He is visually oriented—like his mom he can sit quietly and happily looking at an intricately illustrated page and pointing out items he notices, making the signs for some of them or for their colour.

Tonight I am here with him while his parents go together to do something.

I am just back from Jon’s room. Since I am an unknown quantity as far as bedtime is concerned, he has enjoyed straying out of his room—a drink of water, another car to sleep with, leading me into his parents’ room and indicating that he would like to sleep in their bed. It is a sheepish, though determined, inquiry into the validity of what I "enforce" as his “bed time”. After his third trip out of his bedroom, I put myself on the floor in the hall—against the wall—reading. When he opened the door the next time, I merely turned my head, looked at him, and smiled. He returned my smile and then backed into his room and crawled into bed. I thought he was finally asleep—but after 30 minutes, he again waundered out of his room. I lead him by the hand back to bed and told him that I would be glad to pat his back. He lay down with head on his pillow, nose in his favorite blanket, car clutched in his right hand—and I softly patted his back: the same way that I had patted his mother to sleep more than 25 years ago. After a few minutes, I also began a low, soft hum—a few notes in slow rhythm. It was soothing for both him and for me.

Now I am back online trying to download a short video of Jon’s mom reading him a bedtime story two nights ago. His Grandma Anne, I have been informed, has “an ancient” computer—so I am posting pictures and the video here so that she can see them without me having to reconfigure them three or four times so that they will attach and send successfully.

Jon lives a sweet, structured life—directed by a mother who has read “The Happiest Toddler” and other books and been intelligent enough to glean from her readings select ideas that she has adapted to enhance her own brilliant method of raising my first grandson. There is music here and logical thought; visits to the Thrift Store and Trader Joes and Ikea; Nursery at Sunday morning Church; endless songs and books and walks outside—down to the sidewalk by the main street where [on a really good day] they will be able to see a garbage truck, dump truck—or better still—a police or fire engine with a horn or siren blasting out. Today was a bumper day—lots of good trucks and cars to see.

Being here in MD, sleeping on an air mattress along one wall of the living room, I am so very much at home. There is a sweet spirit here, welcome and inviting to everyone who is invited in. Jon’s parents take time for Jon—but also serve the many others who are under their sphere of influence—people who need help, friendship, and a glimpse of what true joy can be.

"I'm Foldable For Easy Storage!"

Lauren and Adam in front of the Eureka palms that surround part of our home lot.

December 2010

When my children were infants, they slept on their stomachs with their legs bent up under them--like tiny frogs. I came into the TV room and saw Lauren with her knees all bend up around her ears. She smiled up at me. I reminded her that she and her siblings used to sleep like frogs--her answer? "I'm foldable for easy storage!"

At the time she was knitting the second of two socks for me--a late Christmas present. They are a deep, dreamy, fog of dark red, dusty navy and abyssal gold. I told her that when she finishes them that I am going to frame them. She told me that I need to wear them.

But then they would get dirty! Like BJ on M*A*S*H--who washed a pair of argyle socks (his wife sent him) over and over again without wearing them--I want these socks that Lauren has made for me to always stay clean.

Lauren is the last of my two daughters to leave me after everyone was here for Christmas. Meg came early with Jonathan--then Anton. Lauren and Adam arrived on Christmas Day--Adam left a few days after that (There is nothing to climb in Florida!) and so I get La until Monday.

School starts this next week for Nathan. Trig, Modern American Literature, Oceanography and Spanish II for him. I'll be in the math and English classes with him and have also signed up for a Plant Taxonomy course from the Horticulture Department. He's planned when we needed to go and get books. I think that he's looking forward to school beginning more than I am. Somehow, I like things better once I'm in the middle of them--Nathan likes preparing for stuff before it actually begins to happen.

This Time's Just Lots of Pictures

Usually I spend most of my time writing about what I'm thinking and what the people in my life are doing--this time I've just collected a dozen pictures or so focusing on Meg, Lauren and Nate.

The last time Meg was here in Florida we all went to the beach. Megan made a Sand Bunny, Jon ate sand, and I got to wander around and take pictures of everyone. Brent shot this one of me and Meg.

These next few are of Nathan--he discovered how to dig a sand "trap" from solid packed areas of the beach. He digs a hole underneath a bridge of sand and then always trips it by stepping on it himself. He then covers up the colossal hole that's left. It's one of his favorite things to do at the beach--that and finding wonderful shells.

Nathan was walking with me at night and he spotted a good sized toad. It turned out that the fellow was blind in one eye. It was just a dark, dried up spot. At least it didn't look like it hurt at all. Nathan has an amazing ability to find and capture and then release all kinds of reptiles. I love going out to photograph with him because he sees things that I never even notice.

I got camera silly one night when we were just coming out of Publix--a place we usually visit at least once a day. He has an immense amount of patience with me. I really enjoy bring with him.

We regularly have visits from a few pair of sandhill cranes. Nathan loves to mess with their minds--sitting close to them as they eat--letting them pull at his shoe laces. He also is the most vigilant of all of us where it comes to making sure that seed is out every day for the birds to eat. They pretty much take all his antics in stride. Nate will jump up and raise his arms, emitting a loud "WAAAAAAAK! WAAAAAAK!" if one of the males decides to try and impress his girlfriend and make an aggravated advance at Nathan. The cranes enjoy having Nate or me sit close to them as they eat so that they don't have to watch out for danger while they down as much cracked corn and millet as quickly as they can.

I needed a photograph of someone that looked like me posing in a thoughtful mood for my Advanced Photography class. She has the ability to portray an angelic and pensive woman. For all of her daily dedication to a small human who demands all of her energy and creativity--she still maintains an inner energy that keeps her an artist and incredible young woman all to herself.

Jon loves to explore and experience everything around him. On the beach? Eat the sand. In the park at the fountain? Dip the car . . . and maybe try for a swim. Meg keeps a close eye on Jon's adventures.

We were at Florida Power and Light (Brent's work) and found a place where they were putting in a new place for parking. We couldn't go over and interact with the construction machines, but Meg could get Jon up higher to see all of the action. Cool trucks. Cool mom.

As they arrived at the airport on the way back to Maryland, Meg took care of checking the luggage at the curb. I followed Jon around has he checked out the luggage carts, wheelchairs and all of the people walking by. At the conclusions of the transaction, Jon decided that he needed to see exactly what his mom was up to. He will be a good big brother--knowing everything, he will be thoroughly prepared to teach his sibling that jello makes your buns wiggle and meat served with dinner is either "chicken" or "chicken with bones in."

Now for my Lauren. She is safely dwelling in Utah right now. Her husband is in school and she is busy taking care of three baby birds (helped along, of course, by their mother, Onyx) and lots of big Doberman dogs and some smallish cats that do not appreciate the beautiful sweaters that she makes for them (especially Skeet, who is obviously deeply offended by Lauren's disregard for his preferences). She also makes her home in the clouds and mountains close by her.

Lauren and all the rigging that is needed to get from the bottom of Provo Canyon to the top.

Provo Canyon, Utah.

Lauren at the top.

With her handsome Adam.

Hurrah, Lauren!!!

Pictures from my last visit with Meg, Anton and Jon (They live in Maryland) (and I don't) (I live in Florida) (Now you know.)

At the duck pond by the Smithsonian Mall. Megan is signing something as she talks about it to Jonathan. Ask Jon if the car is green or red! He can sign it for you.
Beautiful Megan--she has new glasses now.
Jon has just swallowed an enormous mouthful of flour tortilla. Hence, the determinedly-worried look on his face.
The man walks his own way--notice the car shirt? Grandma scored big when she showed him that one. CAR! CAR! CAR!

Lauren's Tree

I made the mistake of setting my camera to use RAW for some images that needed for my photography class--and then not re-setting it to a realistic file size. As a result, this beautiful example of Lauren's work (Pandagoldfish@etsy.com) took an agonizing amount of time to load. I'm glad that I finally got a good image of it--I have such a hard time getting photos of glass-faced pictures. I usually end up with a reflection of the camera super-imposed on the front--so I can't see what it is that I took a picture of.

I got this from Lauren quite a few months ago and only just finished getting it framed right. Brent saw the artwork in a pile of papers (important! papers, of course) in our bedroom and he asked me if (when I got it framed) he could take it to hang up in his office. I like being able to have the artwork of Meg and Lauren hung on the walls of our home. It reminds me of them and the things that they are doing. The majority of the stuff is from the past few years, though. Right now Lauren is managing a doberman training/breeder kennel. So, even when she isn't waiting for her mangled hand (dog fight she tried to stop by putting her hand in front of one of the dogs) to heal--she has very little time for the intricate cut-work in the piece above. Megan is also busy--too busy really--to use up time doing her sculpting/painting/carving/etc. She has one child--18-month-old Jonathan. She just told me a week or so ago that she is now pregnant with my second grandchild!!! So soon she will have no sleep, an infant, and energy-explosive Jonathan--not really conducive to the completive quiet that she needs for her to do her artwork.

Because I know that both of them will be getting busier rather than busy-less (?), I really treasure the pieces of art that I get from both of them now.

Nathan is done with midterms. He is also doing an index of all the stuff that the Family History Center has. Hundreds of files and tapes and CDs--he got a code scanner to help with the work. Now he will be practicing what grocery clerks do all day--rather than sitting and going through each item by hand and listing what is on it. He's also gotten Brent and me to use our evening time better. I don't know what was said during the Priesthood Conference broadcast two weeks ago, but Nate came home from that and told me that we needed to watch fewer movies and listen to more music--return to nightly scripture reading and family prayer. He is changing so quickly now. I'm not in any of his classes right now and when he doesn't understand something in Algebra, he makes an appointment with the Math Lab. I still get to help him with Spanish--and with deciphering weird handwriting when he does name extraction work on-line. Actually, he gets both Brent and me to help and sometimes we all just throw our hands up and he guesses--putting a "?" after the city or surname or family status.

Brent is gone most of the time now. He was at a legal conference two weeks ago and one of the people in a presentation (Q & A thing) had to bow out and they asked Brent if he could fill in! It was a big thing--I'm so incredibly impressed. FPL said that there wasn't time to get clearance from the company president's office, so he didn't appear on the panel for the discussion-thing--but I think he was pleased that the legal hierarchy would turn to him when they needed someone.

I am glad that he is regarded so highly that those who found they needed someone at the last minute felt that they could depend upon him. My mom used to get upset when a Church meeting would need a musical number because the people who were suppose to do it had failed to prepare anything; and they would call us to fill in at the last minute. "Why don't they ask you to do it in the first place?" Funny question coming from a woman who had taught us, though, that we were given the talent that we had in order to be of use to others. Once when she was to have accompanied a musical number she couldn't "play all the notes" in the score and so she got someone else to do it for her--and then her replacement didn't play all of the notes, either! Grandma Burton told her that she had been given an opportunity to develop her skills as a pianist so that she could help others--it didn't matter if it was note-perfect. The Lord wasn't listening to be sure that the music was performed perfectly--so Mom shouldn't be worried about it either--just to do the best that she could.

Which was pretty much perfect anyway.

Happy Birthday Megan!

Megan Christina Hendry Rytting and her son Jonathan Anson

At the moment I am with Nathan in the library on Palm Beach State College campus. There is a poetry night for his Spanish class--hosted by the Spanish Club. It is extra credit for his Spanish I grade. He was thinking about reciting "The Gecko" but we got here and found out that you needed to have signed up in advance to present a piece. I have really loved hearing him practice the poem aloud as we've driven from place to place this week. For those of you who do not know the poem:

The gecko has adhesive toes.
Straight up the walls the gecko goes.
And then, and this is most appealing,
The gecko walks across the ceiling.

Fool hardy is the one who tries
This topsy-tervy exercise.
To certain death he will be fated,
The gecko can't be imitated.

All of the poems that have been read so far have been written by teachers and there is someone now introducing a novelist who has written poems, is working on her second novel, and teaches at Florida Technical College. It looks like she's going to read from her first book. It takes place in Cuba and has something to do with the fall of the Berlin Wall.

I am making the most of my time here and writing about my oldest daughter's 26th birthday today. I am speaking at the Saturday night session of our Stake Conference (in a few weeks time) and have been asked to speak about living the law of tithing. I am, instead, going to speak about "What Am I?" The Church spends much time with its tag trio of questions: Where did we come from? Why are we here? Where are we going? As I have thought about tithing--and about Megan--I have been drawn to the truth revealed in the answer found when I ask WHAT AM I?

Am I honest? Am I kind? Am I obedient? Am I brave? Am I truthful? Am I to be trusted?

Behind these short queries lurks a dark, unknowable future place where WHAT we are is revealed. It may in the aftermath of a horrible hurricane when I open my home for shelter and offer my time to re-build. It may happen when I count my change and find that the cashier has mistakenly given me $10 too much. It may happen in the middle of the night when my infant cries and cries and cries--and I am still patient and loving and calm. It may happen when I am in the best room in the dorm--and then change my things for my roommate's after the Christmas break so that she can have a turn living in the best room. It may happen when an exhausted friend needs two large dogs walked every afternoon. It may happen when I am prompted to knock on some one's door and I don't know why. It may happen when I don't think that I can pay for rent and for groceries and I haven't paid my tithing yet. It may happen when someone needs to organize a dance and I am volunteered and then I do my very best to put on the very best dance that the Stake has ever known.

Megan is one of those people who is made of very stern, faithful stuff. She has forgiven me when I betrayed a trust. She has nursed family members when they were gruff and rude and unappreciative. She has adopted the extended family of her husband--spending endless hours on delicate artwork for the centerpiece of a reunion and volumes of her scant time to craft drawings and paintings to give away to those she loves. She is a valiant mother--teaching her son joy and confidence in the Lord. She is strong--working with Anton to finish his dissertation and get it ready to publish. She has a spirit that is irrepressible--when math does not make sense--when her offer of friendship is cruely rejected. She is compassionate as she teaches newly baptized members of the Church the New Member Discussions. She is inspired in the many Relief Society lessons she has taught to women of the Church. She is careful of her family's health. She is empathic when (unasked) she takes supper to a young mother whose husband is away on business. She is charity incarnate.

Nathan shared with me one of the highest validations of all that Megan is when he told me that "I want to marry someone exactly like Megan."

Two nights ago Nathan and I were in Barnes&Noble and I walked past a book. "The Girl Who Could Fly." I finished it last night and am sending to you, Megan. It is the story of a girl who does, indeed, fly--with her body, her heart, her spirit, and her whole soul.

Happy Birthday, Megan! Your 26 years on earth have made it heavenly for me. I love you.