face time

The bambini love calling family members via FaceTime on our gadgets that support the application.  It's a bit like The Muppet Show while we are waiting for the call to connect, with much jostling and jockeying for that front and center spot, as well as some last minute reminders hissed by the director (that'd be me) to "modulate your voices" (as Grannie would say) so that the people on the receiving end can hear what we're saying. 

Being able to connect with our loved ones by seeing their faces and hearing their voices in real time is an amazing boon, one of the biggest advantages of our present-day technology.  When we can't be in the same room with our friends and loved ones, we can still see and hear them.  It's not quite the same as being able to reach out and hug them, but we'll take it!

In this world with so many ways of communicating, there is still no substitute for time spent together face to face.  Phone calls keep voices fresh in our minds; and letters, e-mail, texting, and social media are better than nothing, but each of these media have their limitations.  We can only infer the intentions with which people write to us; we can't hear their tone of voice or see their facial expressions.  As the messages get shorter, such as in texting, there is ample room for misunderstandings to arise from such short snippets and exchanges.  While they are useful for a variety of things, they certainly can't be the primary means of communication between two people, and there are many situations for which these modes of communication are simply inappropriate.

Then there is the time factor.  It's difficult to have meaningful conversations when time is limited, conditions are noisy, or gadgets are involved.  When there is only time for exchanging pleasantries, how can any real relationship be cultivated or maintained?

While the tools at our disposal continue to evolve in capability, they cannot intuit the meaning of a human heart and convey that to another.   Only we can do that for ourselves, and the best way to accomplish that is face to face.  Until we can visit in person, we'll make use of the array of technological tools made to keep us in touch, always preferring actual face time to its virtual counterpart.

ringy dingy

Today would've been Aunt Robin's 51st birthday, and I didn't call my Grannie. 

I always try to call my Grannie on Aunt Robin's birthday -- or Papa Jack's -- and most definitely on Grannie's own birthday.  That's just how we do things.  As with there always being lamb cake for Easter, we always call each other on our birthdays, or on what would've been the birthdays of those we love but who are now departed from this life.

Grannie called late last week as we were driving to the last day of Vacation Bible School.  It was pretty early to be hearing from her, so I was initially concerned that something may be amiss.  It wasn't.  She was in good spirits, about to head out to help one of my aunts with some organizing.  Grannie has wizard-like skills in the organizational department -- specifically in the kitchen.   It had been a while since I had called her, in spite of my best intentions to call her at least once a week.   

*Once a week, Bonnie!  Is that so difficult?!  Especially considering how much time you spend driving in the car with that handsfree phone gadget?!*  

Not so long ago I did ring my Grannie-o to catch up on the "doings", as she calls them, only to chat for a minute with her dear friend there visiting all the while thinking it was Grannie.  Another time I called and interrupted her weekly bridge game with her "lady friends".  It was her turn to host.  She called me back later. 

Every time she calls she says something along the lines of, "I wasn't sure if this was a good time to call, so I just decided to try." I'm so glad she takes the chance.  I do that now too, not just with Grannie but with a few other cherished people.  I boldly acknowledge that I've taken the calculated risk of calling a fellow mother with young children at what might be their siesta time, hoping with great fervor that I won't awaken a bambini *thisclose* to drifting off to sleep for a sorely-needed siesta. 

When I've been on the receiving end of a call that I can't prudently answer, I don't answer it.  I hope this doesn't offend the caller, but most people who call me anymore realize that I'm not exactly sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.  It may take me a little (or a long) while to return the call, but knowing with certainty that someone I cherish has taken the time to call me has such a buoying effect on my spirits.  

I am often reticent to pick up the phone and call someone to say hello or indirectly ask for a pick-me-up in the form of a brief conversation for fear that they might be in the middle of something, but when I take the chance and hear his or her voice on the receiving end, I am so much the better for having done so. 

I'm sorry, Gran, that I didn't call you today.  Be expecting a call from me tomorrow...

loveys

Of all the bambini, the younger lass is the most touchy-feely child.  She loves to poke her fingers into the crevasses of my face, twist my hair around her fingers, twiddle, fiddle, smack, and kick when I'm holding her close.  Attempts to divert her are not usually well-received, Many a baby doll, stuffed animal, and silky soft blanket I've tried to employ in an effort to divert her tactile-seeking compulsion.  So far, nothing will do but Mama's hair, Mama's nose, or Mama's neck.  She seems to already know that people are more important than things.

Each of the bambini has his or her way of touching me that seems to give them reassurance or otherwise soothes them. Try as I have several times to introduce "loveys" to my bambini -- things that can help to assuage some serious Mama-needing drama, especially helpful when there have been multiple children in acute need simultaneously (of which times there have been plenty) -- not a one of the babes ever gone for the person-substitute to the degree that there is one unquestionable lovey that must be in sight or attendance at all times lest there be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  They simply never took to them to that extent.

Max the Monkey: the lovey I chose for the elder lad.  I bought two Maxes, just in case one got lost.  The elder lad liked Max, but not as much as I hoped he would.

Each child does have some favorite stuffed animal "friends" and toys that go with on sleepovers to the grandparents' house or reside on the bed of each sleeping (if only they would) child, but they aren't what I think of as "loveys" in the sense that compelled my Grannie to Fed Ex my own childhood lovey back to my parents' house when I'd left it behind in Chicago as a young girl.

Maybe that's because, to borrow and tweak an expression coined by Dr. Laura Schlessinger, *I* am my kids' lovey.  Grannie has long used this term of endearment to address me, my cousins, and other loved ones. I've adopted this habit myself, but I know a woman who calls her mother "Lovey."  It seems either usage is appropriate.

 Here is where I must own that I am not always gracious about responding to Mama-I-Need-You-To-Hold-Me-Right-Now beseechings, which is -- I realize -- a primary reason for introducing a lovey.  Many times I ask for "a moment, please" or flat out say "I can't hold you right now because....  I will hold you as soon as...".  Sometimes the neediness and close physical proximity is almost too much for me.  In these moments I try my level best to model healthy ways of calming myself and expressing my discomfort so that eventually the bambini will be able to do this for themselves.  

The elder lad's eventual and longtime friend, given to him by a friend of his daddy's and mine that the young lad named for his grandparents' family pet.

I am in no hurry to push the bambini into independence.  They'll take take that in their own time.  By my presence and availability to them, I hope to help cultivate within the bambini a burgeoning sense of confidence in themselves that leads to the development of their ability to manage their strong emotions.  Their need for my physical closeness will diminish as time marches on, although I do hope to be a calming presence to them in their time of need whatever their age.

Long after the hair pulling and nostril poking have subsided, I hope the attachment we've forged will flourish, because nothing in this world is more important than the bond of love that holds us together no matter how close together or far apart we are.

get this right

The younger lass rifled through a filing cabinet with some of my piano scores and found a spiral-bound booklet of the repertoire assigned to me my senior year of college. She slapped it up on the music desk and toddled off to do something else.

As I walked past the piano I caught sight of the score she had left open, and I stopped to thumb through the pages. It was the "working copy" where my piano professor and I noted all sorts of things related to the piece and its performance: fingerings, pedaling, dynamics, harmonic analysis, and phrasing, among other things like this note I scribbled:

 

get this right.

as in: quit making this same mistake here.  You know it's coming.  It's tripped you up enough times to merit a note in the score *and* a highlighter, so fix it already.  Don't make it again.

How many times in a day do I make the same mistakes or allow myself to edge too close to that line where I can't help but bungle a situation that presents itself over and over again -- one I've had the opportunity to address and learn from and traverse successfully going forward?  For whatever reason, I still make some of  the same mistakes.  

My dad says I use my music degree every day, even those days when I don't touch a piano.  Maybe this is what he means.  And thank the good Lord for his infinite mercy in forgiving those mistakes, even though I make them time and again.  Isn't that what Easter, which we are at last celebrating, is all about -- forgiveness of sins and everlasting life?

I don't operate under the delusion that I am perfect or will always handle every situation perfectly, but I would like to eliminate some of those oft-made mistakes by considering the factors that contribute to my making them and doing what needs to be done to set up a better outcome.  

Here's what I hope I did get right today:  I hope I made good use of the time God gave me this day to show his love and mercy to those around me.  I hope in those moments when I felt like I might lose my patience or withdraw from interaction in the face of some drama that I was able to recognize them inwardly and overcome them either by expressing those emotions in a healthy and respectful way or by waiting a minute to let them blow over.   I hope to have shown my bambini that Mama does make mistakes sometimes, as we all do, and that when I do I try my best to make amends, tend to the hurt I may have caused, and move on.

We do our best, says my Grannie, and that's all we can do.  Part of that is built on learning from our mistakes -- God willing, before warranting a highlighter's notice.

moving on

Today would've been my Papa Jack's 89th birthday.  This explains why I've been singing the silly songs he made up to my bambini all day long -- the ones about bamboo bungalows built for two (or six) and passengers refraining from flushing toilets while the train is standing in the station (which ends with "I love you"), but I only just made the connection.

It was also on this day several years ago that I went on my first piano audition at a university I was considering in Chicago near my extended family.  I was disappointed in how the audition went, even though Grannie had pointed out it was Papa Jack's birthday *and* it was raining, which he always took as a sign of good luck.  After the dismal audition (it *was* my first one, after all), I failed to see the good in the outcome.  But it was there.

I would go on a few more auditions, one of which resulted in a scholarship to the school that is now my alma mater and, consequently, a degree in piano (which I put to use this evening with the elder lad in an impromptu and very brief piano lesson) along with a blessing-filled college experience for which I will always be grateful.

Somewhere around this time I developed an affinity for the work of American artist Mary Engelbreit.  One of her creations spoke volumes to me then and still does.  A Huckleberry Finn-like character is walking down a road marked "your life", having just bypassed an intersection with a path marked "no longer an option."  I used to have a poster of this framed and hanging on the wall, but since we still have bare walls, I had to look it up online.  Here's a link to the image. 

At the time of that first audition I had my heart set on going to college in Chicago so as to be near my family there.  As it turned out, I would get that opportunity a few years in the form of a summer internship at Lyric Opera of Chicago.

I thought of the "Don't Look Back" image when I learned that a mom from our school community with whom I had just recently begun cultivating a friendship would be moving down the 'pike a ways with her family.  We had only just begun to get to know each other; we share many things in common.  This move is really for the best for her family.  I only wish I had gotten to know her better sooner, though I do hope we will continue our conversations via the many ways of communicating available to us.

Recently we were discussing some points in each of our lives when we struggled with submitting our own wills to that of God.  In a few decisive events, we came to realize that the God-given gifts and talents we wanted to use clearly weren't where God wanted us to be focusing our attention at that time.  By making peace with using other gifts and talents he had given us other than the ones we had developed more and were more comfortable using, we were able to move past the disappointment and find the blessings.

So as she moves on with her family, I wish her every blessing.  I thank her for the gift of friendship she has extended to me, and I look forward to seeing her as opportunities present themselves for us to visit in person.

The road ahead goes in one direction.  We can't go backward -- only forward.  We don't know where the road will lead, but Christ has it all mapped out.

less is more

One of the most oft-given tips I've read by mothers of many for reducing the stress of caring for a young family is to keep things simple -- one way being to keep clutter at bay and to pare down the family belongings.  A couple of years ago I read about 40 Bags in 40 Days, a Lenten decluttering challenge aimed at ridding oneself of excess baggage -- so to speak -- on the outside as an external companion to something similar happening on the inside on the Lenten journey to Easter.   As I've always been one to hang on to *stuff* (much to my Grannie's chagrin), I thought this might be a fitting exercise for me.

Two years later, I'm sort-of giving it a go.  I started before Lent, though, so I'm not sure I'm entirely within the rules.  I don't think that matters, though.  If so, I'm not playing the game.

I'm using the idea of purging 40 bags' worth of *stuff* from this household as a conduit to detaching from things that keep me from attaching more securely to God.  It's also an exercise in stewardship -- the use of God's gifts in his service and to that of others. 

It's clearing the decks taken to the next level.  I might not finish by the time Easter arrives.  As with everything else around here, I'll keep chipping away at it...

no special reason

Many of my happiest childhood memories are of times spent with my family at Grannie's lake house north of Chicago, all of us together for no special reason other than simply to be together.  Some of us would be doing one thing, others another, still others engaged in something else, but we were all together.  We were ever mindful of the house being Grannie's, but it wasn't as though she was the hostess entertaining us all (although she is a very gracious hostess). 

The communal-style living arrangements of the dormitory where I resided my freshman year of college lent themselves to the fostering of friendships with some ladies who I still consider my close friends today, even if I haven't seen them in a long time.  Over the course of that year, the room I shared with a childhood friend became a gathering place for these new friends of ours.  When we were in our room, most of the time the door would be open and friends would wander in and settle down for as little or as long as they could.  I loved it. 

When the occasion presents itself for our family to come visit for the day or a weekend or however long, perhaps for a holiday or even just a few days' getaway, I relish the time and the sense of this place, our home, being a place where people are comfortable just being.   Special events like birthdays, baptisms, and holidays are exciting to plan (if a little stressful at the same time), but those times that surround the special events can be just as memorable.

As our bambini grow older and develop more friendships with their peers, I hope and pray that our home will be a place where they feel welcome to gather -- for any reason, or no reason at all.

in the picture

Photography is a family hobby.  While my beloved has taken the craft to another level after studying its technical and artistic facets, I just snap away on my camera and hope one of the images turns out nicely.  He makes photographs.  I take pictures.

I have a vague understanding of the technicalities of photography, but when I hear such terms as "F-stop," I am inclined to think first of an organ (the musical instrument), rather than how much light my camera is letting in when I take a picture.  Having said that, I have developed a rudimentary understanding of what makes for good photographs such as considering the source and direction of light cast on my subjects while also considering what's in the background of the picture field so as to reduce "noise." 

Sometimes after I post batches of pictures that I've captioned for family and friends to view, reviewers ask me where I am in all the pictures.  I'm behind the camera in most of them, unless I've tried to take a self portrait of me with one, some, or all of the bambini (which happens on occasion if I happen to luck out and have a good hair day, or if I want to show off my cute slingling).

When Grannie was here last month, I was determined to take lots of pictures to document her visit.  We took a few together toward the end of the week, I asked my beloved to take some with me in the picture so we'd have that "multigenerational" thing going.

A few weeks ago we had our family photograph taken for the upcoming parish pictorial directory.  I signed us up to participate not because I wanted to order family photographs (because we can make those -- equally as good or better -- at home for free), but because I wanted the directory that will be coming out soon so I can put names with faces of fellow parishioners.  Having these directories at my disposal when I was new on the scene as the music and liturgy director of another parish was hugely helpful in getting to know people.  In order to get a copy of the directory, we had to have our picture taken.

Coordinating everyone's attire for the photograph wasn't so much of a chore, but getting myself ready to have my photograph taken proved mighty challenging.   Of course I fretted about it way too much.  With little time to primp, I hoped to try to resurrect some of my curling iron skills (not that I ever really had those) to freshen up my limp curls.  This resulted in a tangle of hair and several pointed warnings to not touch the metal part of the curling iron issued to curious lads who rarely see such a gadget in use in our home.

The resulting photograph is decent enough.  It pretty much captures us as we are today, from the skeptical look on the 21-month-old lass's face to my "come as you are" appearance.  I'm sure this will resonate with people who look us up in the directory.  They might not recognize us if I was all coiffed and curled, accustomed as they are to seeing me in a state of quasi-dishevelment. 

Truth be told, I'm usually not too keen on having my picture taken, as I don't really want to have a permanent reminder of looking pale, puffy, tired, and disheveled.  But it occurs to me that this camera-dodging business might have some negative consequences down the road....

Someday when the bambini look through the multitude of photographs we've taken over the years, I want them to have a few with me to go along with the oodles they'll have of themselves and their other family members.  I know they won't be looking for a supermodel (or Super Mommy).  They'll just be looking for their mom.

Grannie-isms

Grannie may have gone home, but her unique expressions are a part of my vernacular:

• When one or several of the bambini are getting a bit unruly, he/she/they are my yokel dokels. 
• We don't have a designated cleaning day here.  We do the housework in dribs and drabs.  
• Often Sometimes we give it a lick and a promise.  

Gran-tastic week

It's always so difficult to say good-bye.  We are not big on long good-byes.  Just a hug, kiss, promise to stay in touch, and "we go," as Grannie says.  Prolonging the farewell only makes it more difficult.

This was our way of doing things on the many airport runs when I'd fly to Chicago on my own to visit Grannie.  She'd usually drop me off at the curb and be on her way.  It wasn't that she was ready to be rid of me or I of her -- it was just that it was time to go. 

The visits always pass too quickly, which is a blessing really, since that means we enjoy them so well we hardly notice the passage of our time together until it has ended.  So it has been this week Grannie has spent with us.  It seems like she just got here, and now she is headed home. 

I miss her already.

Gran-tastic conversations

Our Gran-tastic week is drawing to a close. Grannie will fly home to Chicago tomorrow morning.

We've had so many conversations about everything from present-day challenges to great-great-grandparents. It's been wonderful having her here. She's been a delightful guest and welcome presence in our little family. I'm going to miss her, and not just for her laundry-folding, dinner-salvaging help.

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of this time with Grannie, and for all the many conversations we've had not only during this visit, but throughout a lifetime of visits. For my Grannie and the wisdom she continues to impart, I am ever grateful.

Gran-tastic family tree

Grannie has a charm bracelet with baubles and silhouettes for each of her grandchildren and now great-grandchildren.  Today is her birthday, so we gave her a girl's head silhouette charm for the bracelet with the raven-haired lass's name engraved upon it, as we have done previously with charms bearing the names of our lads and other lass.

As Grannie showed the elder lad the bracelet this evening, she named each of her littlest loved ones and explained their relation to him.  While he has met most of them once or twice, he doesn't know them in the sense that he could name their favorite colors or interests.  Still, they are his family, and that's been one of the biggest reasons I'm so honored Grannie has come to spend this week with us.  As the week has progressed, each of the bambini has come to know Grannie better, and vice versa.

The lad and his siblings are richly blessed to have lots of family close by with whom they are developing relationships.  We don't get to see our Chicago family very much, so any opportunity is one to be seized and savored.  There is much my beloved and bambini can understand about me by knowing the family that has nurtured me throughout my life -- my Grannie in a particular way, since she and I have built such a special relationship over the many years of visits and time we've spent together. 

The roots run deep and wide in our family.  There are many examples of faith-filled, honorable, hard-working people the bambini can look to on *both* sides of their family tree.  By the grace of God, we can see his goodness in the faces of our family members both near and far away, and feel his love in the many ways they care for us.

Gran-tastic geography

puzzle building with Grannie and geography lesson all in one

Gran-tastic guest

My first lessons in hospitality came from my Grannie.  Every time we'd stay with her, we could tell she had gone to great lengths to prepare for our visit and had thought of many ways to make our stay comfortable.

From the spread of food awaiting our arrival, to the way she prepared our sleeping quarters with fresh bedding and space to unpack our things, to the deference she gave to our preferences when it came to our daily routines or comfort level with certain activities, and most of all the time she spent conversing with and listening to us, she made us feel welcome.  We knew she was glad we were there.

I hope Grannie knows how happy I am that she is here.  I didn't roll out the red carpet for her.  In fact, she's been folding laundry, loading and unloading the dishwasher, and making dinner for us -- and she's our guest!  But (she would protest), she's family, and that's what family does.

These past few mornings we've sat at the kitchen table, she holding the raven-haired lass and I refilling yogurt cups, each of us with our cup of coffee, just visiting.  It's been the logical progression from the days when I'd stay with her and come out in the morning to the sound of WGN on the radio, her puttering around fixing breakfast and reading the newspaper.  Now she's helping prepare food for her great-grandchildren, keep our household humming, and letting us love on her in the way we are able to at this moment.

She's both a gracious hostess and a delightful guest.

Gran-tastic faith

Every trip to Chicago has included at least one trip to Mass. Going with my Grannie is always an honor, an outing I savor.

Hailing from a small town where Catholics are a minority, visiting my family in Chicago and going to Mass with them was a major source of encouragement for and reinforcement of my own faith. I was always astounded by the sheer number of people at Mass. Compared with our little parish, Grannie's was humongous. It was my first glimpse at the universal Church.

The number of Masses Grannie's parish would offer over the Christmas holidays in order to accommodate all those wishing to attend boggled my mind. Many Christmas Eves I'd go to (a usually very crowded) Mass with my cousins, the four of us girls (this was before my sister and boy cousins were born) in our crinkly Christmas dresses. We'd come home to a Christmas Eve feast and all manner of merriment.

We've spent many Christmases in Chicago, and they've come to celebrate Easter with us a few times. We've gone there and they've come here for many sacramental occasions including baptisms, first communions, confirmations, and weddings. The celebrations afterward are always festive.

Such happy occasions have been largely due to living the liturgical year, celebrating the sacraments together, and sharing a common faith.

Grannie's faith has long been a source of inspiration to me. As I reflect upon the events of her life, some very joyful and some filled with sorrow, I realize that it is her faith that carries her through them. So it is for me too, God willing.

Gran-tastic help

Grannie's lake house has been the family getaway for a good long time now.  We'd pack as many as 25 people in the four-bedroom cottage for the Fourth of July festivities.  What fun that was.   All the adults pitched in to help in various ways -- cooking, cleaning, taking people out on the boat, playing with kids, attending to household fix-it needs, etc.

While there were no boat rides this weekend and we didn't have 25 people staying under our roof, the same "many hands make light work" principle applied.   Among other things, my beloved manned the grill.  My dad put himself on KP.  Last night my sister made the breakfast casserole for this morning's brunch.  My mom picked up last minute groceries.  Grannie held the raven-haired lass as much as the wee one would allow her to before returning to me for some resetting.  Several of us chased after bambini on tricycles. 

As Grannie is at the lake, we might have been the hosts, but (at least we hope) everyone's at home here.

Gran-tastic fun

From a young age I spent a lot of time in Chicago.  As a family we'd visit a few times a year.  Most summer visits we'd make the trip together, but then my parents would return home and I'd stay a while longer with Grannie. My grandfather had died when I was five, so it was just Grannie and me for sometimes a couple of weeks, usually about three weeks, but a few times as long as five or six weeks.

(When I was in college I spent an entire summer with her while I was an intern in the development department of Lyric Opera of Chicago.)

My aunties always had great ideas for fun things to do when I'd be in for an extended visit.  One of my aunties has three daughters around my age, and she was pretty hip to the fun things to do in the area.  My other two aunties didn't have children when I was growing up; at the time they were glamorous single working gals who commuted by train to downtown Chicago.  Grannie too always went out of her way to make sure I had a good time.  My aunties would take my cousins and to the pool.  I took art and drama classes one summer.    I'd go with my cousins to their friends' houses.  Grannie would take me shopping and to the movies, and we'd always plan at least one trip downtown on the train.  We spent a lot of time at her lake cottage, too.

It was fun just being there among them, even if we weren't off doing something or going someplace. 

With one auntie in town this weekend along with her five-year-old son and Grannie, our activities have largely revolved around making things fun for the kids.  Our cousin (one of many in our family) and my lads are having a rollicking good time being silly together, building with Legos, and playing outside in the beautiful weather.  This afternoon we took them to a local playground with lots of things to climb on, plenty of swings for kids of all ages, and a massive climbing structure with several slides spiraling and bumping riders to the ground.

Seeing the young cousins having fun together reminds me of the fun I had with my cousins growing up.  We might not have been quite as rowdy as these boys have gotten at times, but we made our own mischief all the same.  Such fun times, just being together...

Gran-tastic welcome

The 750 mile drive to Chicago always left us hungry, even if we'd just stopped an hour or two before that for one last tank of gas and a snack. Grannie would be waiting for us, no matter how wee the hour of our arrival.

She would've been to the Jewel that morning and would offer us something to eat from her fully-stocked fridge.  The welcome snack was usually just lunch meats -- and brick cheese. Oh how we love brick cheese. We've been known to bring home whole bricks of it as edible souvenirs, since it's not available in our area. After the initial round of hugs, we'd make some sandwiches and visit (and eat brick cheese).

When Grannie arrived with my aunt and cousin this afternoon, the sandwich fixins were set out (sans brick cheese). After they assembled their sustenance, we sat around the kitchen table and visited.

No artful presentation -- just help yourself.  We're so glad you're here.

Gran-tastic!

We are making ready for some special visitors due to arrive tomorrow.  My grandmother, aunt, and cousin are coming from Chicago for the weekend.  Grannie will stay with us next week as well.  I am so excited to see them and grateful she is coming to visit us for the week.

In a way, it's a role reversal.  I've been traveling to Chicago to stay with Grannie and visit family my entire life.  They've traveled to see us here, too.  Traveling these days is a lot more challenging than it was when it was just me to pack up and get there.  I've talked about that before.  Now Grannie is coming to me (as she has before). 

Over the next week, I hope to post some memories I have of the times I've spent with Grannie and the things I've learned from her.  As fun as it is to reminisce, however, it's more important to maximize the time I have her here under my roof.

sour grapes

I ought to let the younger lad select grapes each time I buy them.  The black seedless ones he chose a few weeks ago were winners, taste-wise, which made up for the challenge they posed to Mama in the laundry room.  The laundry-friendly green ones I chose this past trip are über sour. 

A certain deeply cherished matriarch of my oft-referred-to family-of-origin from the Big City who shall remain nameless has been known to sample the grapes at the grocery store before making her final selection. Doing this would've saved us all from a sack of sour grapes.  Admittedly, the practice is controversial. As to whether I may have employed it for previous grape selections, I remain mum.

There is the related conundrum of banana selection.  What is the protocol when one wants only a certain number of bananas and finds no hands of that number available -- only larger hands?  Since they are sold by the pound, is it alright to break apart the hands of bananas in order to purchase only the number one expects to consume between this shopping trip and the next?

My beloved worked in a grocery store when he was in high school.  He sometimes makes reference to memorizing all the four-digit produce cash register codes (no stickers on each individual piece of fruit back then), unloading and displaying the produce, stocking, and the arduous task of "facing the shelves" -- the practice of tidying up the shelves by making sure all the product labels were facing outward.  Fun times.  He has remained silent on the grape-tasting controversy.

These are the questions that weigh heavily upon me sometimes -- and make for lively dinner conversation with the gathered clan.  What does one do with an entire bowl of sour grapes anyway?