It’s been a long first day of life for my newest granddaughter, Avery Ann. It began at 6:36 a.m., with first breaths and cries. And as I lay myself down to sleep, I pray that God blesses Avery Ann with a long life filled with many such days as this first one.
Weighing in at eight pounds and twelve ounces, Avery is not so small for a newborn; but smaller than some of the nurses were thinking, since we heard a few “nine-pound-somethings” bandied across the birthing bed. Really now. Was that necessary? That’s my granddaughter you’re talking about.
I’m wondering if Avery is as tired as I am? Oh, surely she is. Trumped only by my youngest daughter, her mother, who gets today’s top prize for being “all-tuckered-out.” But in spite of it all, now that late night rushing to the hospital and labor are behind them, mother and child are doing well, getting to know one another, both lucky to be receiving expert and loving care from my oldest daughter, who just happens to be an excellent OBY-GN nurse. One of today’s many gifts was bearing witness to the love between my two daughters, as I watched my oldest, Kate comfort the younger, Kara. Not once, mind you. But over and over. Kate is “on duty” these first forty-eight hours — in an unofficial capacity — and even though I know it’s hard work, she makes it all look easy.
Avery spent the day getting to know many members of her very large family. Of course, she was cuddled by both parents, many, many times. But also by two aunts, two uncles and six very proud grandparents. But some of the sweetest love she got today was surely from big sister Reese Caroline, wouldn’t you agree?
I didn’t catch the two young sisters first meet and greet. Instead, I was at home in my kitchen, baking up a double batch of ginger cookies as well as a batch of pumpkin muffins for my girls and whoever dropped by. But I am grateful that I was there to observe their second encounter. Reese is so gentle with Avery. She sits so very still. And she cannot take her eyes from Avery. I wish love could always and everywhere be expressed as sweet as this.
Love is such a holy, mysterious thing. It is borne and born and as much miracle as birth itself. Why it is expressed in all that we are and do for one another…even when our love feels like nothing but awkward first baby steps. By way of example, look no further then this posting by a very tired grandmother, who shouldn’t have even attempted to write these words, but fumbled and tripped across them anyway.
So, happy birthday, Avery Ann. As your family birthday song goes, I hope you live to be a hundred. And then a hundred more…
Here, in Alaska, the playing field is leveled so that even the normally non-observant ones, like me — the ones who have their heads in the clouds rather than feet planted on firm ground — can sail away feeling a little more in tune with nature and God. And maybe, a little more in tune with themselves.
Curious sorts might be wondering whether I’ve done little but stew about Oklahoma’s crazy weather since last dropping a few words onto this blog…given the laments of my last post and the headline of today’s…
Juggling these two outside chores has meant not only that I’ve dropped writing, but that I’ve tethered myself to hourly forecasts as if everyday life depended upon them. Of course, in a real way, it has. For I’ve no shame in admitting that slipping my smart phone in and out of my pocket every few hours to see whether the winds of change say it’s best for me to pick up my paint brush… or shovel… or simply head to the showers till another day.. is as natural as breathing… has become (at best) a fidgety tic…. or, at worst, a mild sort of addiction.
This year, in a Fat Tuesday post, I gave up all my lovely planting plans. But come May, I saw I was too quick to give in. Because in spite of our wetter-than-normal summer– or maybe because of it… (since I always seems to get more done when I feel as if I have limited windows of opportunities of “making hay”) — it’s good to report that the bones of all my ornamental gardens are now installed. And that my two year old front gardens — taking up space in this post — are “toddling” about, needing very little attention.
In between all the work, my husband and I are still making plenty of vacation plans … after Alaska, comes Australia and New Zealand….which seems odd, I suppose… to run away from everyday life when it’s time to step back and savor all that’s been accomplished. But such in life, I suppose. And not just for us, it seems, since our very own weather god, Gary England, at the height of a glorious career, will soon be retiring as chief meteorologist for Channel Nine…our local CBS affiliate.
When things stop being fun, whatever “things” are, those lucky enough to have choice in the matter move on to the the next fun thing. For Gary, it’s an executive job at the television station. For me, for now, it’s being outside painting with latex formulas and flowers instead of painting with words at my computer. And I don’t regret a single minute of being away — for what a glorious time it has been to be out of doors. Why this is the first time, in a long time, that Oklahoma lawns have been lush and green entering August. Or that I can recall tomatoes still setting fruit this late in the season, and evening temperatures hovering below eighty at night. Today’s morning forecast is mid-eighties and sunny — a change from yesterday’s 50 percent chance for showers.
Some times, during all that planting and painting, I’ve wondered whose summer weather we have had the good fortune to experience. I’ve wondered whether, perhaps, the jet stream made a wrong turn and lost its way… giving us some other fine state’s weather in the process. Because if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was living in Oswego, New York rather than Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. However it happened, whatever its source, wherever our fine summer weather has hailed from, I don’t imagine I’ll soon forget it. Nor Gary England, the T.V. weatherman, either.
an everyday life 