Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Eight


   This week I learned an important lesson: never make plans when an 8-year-old is concerned. Since granddaughter Anna and I both have a June birthday, I had the idea that we'd celebrate with a sleep-over then drive up the coast for a lunch of fried seafood and ice cream.  That sounded like an excellent way to celebrate a joint birthday, right?
   I picked Anna up at the appointed hour, thinking we’d swing into the local ‘50’s diner on the way home for a burger and a milkshake. Anna nixed that suggestion, however, letting me know she wanted vegetables. Vegetables? I’d been eating greens, cucumbers and carrots all week in preparation for this birthday splurge, but Anna insisted she really needed vegetables and within a few minutes we were sitting in the Chinese restaurant, her plate mounded with garlic green beans and sautéed broccoli. I sat next to her, feeling slightly dazed.
   Once we arrived home, Anna promptly rolled her luggage into the guestroom and popped on her nightie while I retrieved the supplies for our traditional manicure.  With one hand painted “peony” and the other painted, “pink pearl”, Anna picked out a movie and hinted around about popcorn and ice cream, explaining the reason she wanted vegetables for dinner was so she’d have room to eat more later. With her favorite tattered afghan draped across her shoulders, she curled in the Canadian rocker munching away. The moment the movie was over, she uncurled, yawned, and announced, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” 
   Early the next morning I heard the patter of bare feet across the hardwood floors. “Grammie”, she teased, “I’ve been waiting for you to play Memory with me.” I stumbled into the living room to find playing cards in rows on the carpet. I made tea and tried to focus, but of course, because of my sleepy state and the fact that Anna had laid out the cards and had been “practicing”, I didn’t win.
   As we ate our breakfast at the kitchen counter, I asked her if she’d like to drive up the coast, but she had her own ideas. She suggested we build a fairy house under the balsam fir in the front yard then have ramen noodles for lunch on the porch. She had it all figured out.  Although I had been looking forward to a day in Boothbay Harbor, I realized Anna had the better plan and it would certainly be more cost-effective than what I’d had in mind.
   For the next couple hours, we happily foraged for materials to build the fairies a proper home, complete with cattail-fuzz beds, rose petal duvets, rock walkways, and a pinecone and moss living-room set.
I had promised Anna a ring for her birthday so when we were ready to cool off in some air-conditioning, the two of us headed downtown where we purchased not one, but eight lovely rings at the five-and-dime. We also found a summer blouse which she put on the second we got home.

As Anna slurped down her noodles and watermelon, we watched the birds frolicking in the yard and marsh. As a matter of fact, most of the sultry afternoon was spent in this manner, with Anna utilizing the binoculars as she marveled over the bright orange shoulders on the resident red-wing black birds, exclaimed over the petite cuteness of the hummingbirds, and delighted in the family of fat brown wrens poking their heads out of their little house. Occasionally, she walked around front, looking for evidence of fairies.
 
Anna and I ended our time together by joining her mother at the strawberry patch. As I kneeled on the ground filling my baskets with the warm ripe berries, I listened to her tell Mommy about our day; about the fairies and the birds and the noodles.
It seems like only yesterday her mother was that age, but it was thirty years ago. I recall what it was like to be 8 years old myself, fifty years ago...to wear dime-store rings on my fingers. To run everywhere bare foot.  To believe in fairies. To have no plans.  To be simply, emphatically eight.
 

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