At the Cheesecake Factory...

The Saturday I arrived to babysit my three granddaughters, the middle one, Lillian, was already sick with a stomach flu. This made things doubly difficult because I had to take Lillian with us when I delivered Molly, the oldest, to her sixth grade graduation party that evening at the most rural farmhouse I had ever been to in North Carolina. That was at 5:30.

At 9, in the dark, I had to return, with Olivia and poor Lillian in tow, to retrieve Molly. In the midst of Lillian’s moans of agony I tried desperately to retrace my earlier course since this place was off the GPS grid. Successful at last, we returned home and Lilly was asleep when her head hit her pillow. The next day she began to recover.

I had to take the girls to school on Monday but I gave Lilly an extra day to make a complete recovery. Tuesday everyone went to school and one of the girl's teachers mentioned that everyone seemed to have what Lilly had. That afternoon their mother, thankfully, arrived back from Dallas with news of their new house in Texas.

Rather than cook again, and not wanting to rush Jessica back into her mother’s routine, I suggested we go out for supper. It was field day at Lilly and Olivia’s school so those two had had a busy and energetic day. The girls wanted to go to The Cheesecake Factory.

On the way there, Olivia complained that her stomach hurt. Perhaps she was dehydrated from a busy field day in the sun. I gave her some water. We were seated in a semi-circular booth and delightedly ordered our food. Lilly sat across from me at one end with her mother next, then Olivia, me and finally Molly.

The food arrived and Olivia, now looking quite green and acting more subdued than usual, leaned over and said something to her mother who immediately reached into that enormous pocketbook she carries and pulled out a plastic shopping bag. Olivia put her head in it and you know the rest of that story!

Lilly noticed and began saying, “Oh, Oh, Oh” louder than I wished she would. This caused Molly to notice and she has a notoriously weak constitution for this sort of thing. She began a sort of low moan.

Finally, exhausted and relieved, Olivia sat back and began to eye her corn dogs with a renewed enthusiasm. I was completely done in. After four days of worry that I was doing the right thing and having the responsibility for these lovely youngsters, all I wanted to do was go home and collapse into bed.

I looked at Jessica and said I was going to the men's room. Without so much as missing a beat she pushed a plastic bag toward me and said, “Here, take this with you.”

I don’t know if you have had the thrill of taking a "bag o throw-up" across the dining room of a fancy restaurant. I had never had such an opportunity and I wasn’t at all sure how it was supposed to be done.

When my brothers and I were the girls ages and we would leave for school in the morning, our Spartan mother would often declare, “With your shield or on it!” as we went through the door. And so, I decided, I would rise up proudly from our booth, walk proudly across the restaurant, carry my precious puke, a proud man, a Spartan man and his plastic bag. And so I did. And I never even looked back.

Hot and Cold

Day four of heat and humidity here on the Cape. It feels like 100 degrees and I sweat just sitting at the computer.

Every evening the 12 year old girls that pose as meteorologists these days on TV predict thunderstorms and cooling relief. And it fails to come.

Many real New Englanders are as peculiar about hot and cold extreme weather as many true Southerners. But in different ways.

My friend Cynthia won’t have anything to do with air conditioning. She has a window fan, an invention that she still marvels at. In her mind, by the time the ac unit is installed, it will be time for a heavy frost and then you have to take the damned thing out again. Her one concession to the heat: no flannel nightgown.

My neighbor George wouldn’t put one in his bedroom. Opening a window at night should be sufficient here on Cape Cod. Yesterday, the neighbors across the street found him in a 90 degree bedroom with his 11 year old golden retriever panting so hard the dog couldn’t move! George relented, “for the good of the dog”, and one of his sainted daughters arrived with an ac unit that Allan and I put in the bedroom window.

I tried doing a little yard work this morning and sweat so much I took an outdoor shower instead.

I remember my mother, red in the face, sweat poring off her nose, as she prepared a roast and potatoes for supper in Florida in 1957 without air conditioning. Hardy or foolhardy?

I have, not one but, two complaints this morning.

The Amherst, NH Souhegan High School yearbook, “Life”, has the pictures of two young men who participated in the horrifying murder of a lady in Mount Vernon, NH and the devastating attack on her young daughter. Apparently immature students and dipsey staff decided to include them. The reasoning, something about them being in school with their classmates for years, escapes me entirely. Must you be a mass murderer to be excluded from the yearbook in Amherst?

The Superintendent, appearing on TV news and providing the students with another important lesson, implies it had nothing to do with her. After all, the students and deeply disturbed faculty debated long and hard. That, no doubt, makes it alright.

Apparently, the Superintendent didn’t have the presence of mind to say “No, as an actual adult I believe people who do what these two did should be ostracized here in Amherst!” One has already accepted a plea deal for 20 to 40 years in prison. The other is looking at life. But thank the good Lord they got their pictures in the yearbook.

Second, if a mistake by an umpire can cost a picture a perfect game on what should have been the last play of the game it is time for instant replay in baseball. Period.

Once again, Grandpa takes it in the ear!

My daughter Jessica, having sold her house and getting set to move, asked if I would come down and babysit for her kids while she went to Dallas to look at houses with her husband. I wasn’t sure I had enough frequent flyer miles to do it again. I am actually still using up miles that Martha had earned when she traveled to D.C. several times a month for her company.

Turns out I did have enough so I scheduled my flights and told Jess. She, in turn, spoke with her children to let them know that I would be coming to watch them while she went to Dallas.

Molly and Lillian said they understood. Olivia, the youngest, said, “Are you sure you want to leave us with him?”

I look like what?

So I went to get my hair cut while I was in Hilton Head. When he was finishing, the young barber said, “I’ll guess you’re a biker.” I was so surprised I replied, “You mean like a motorcycle guy? Why would you think that?” Remember this is happening to the mild mannered, retired LIBRARIAN!

He said, “Well you have such a severe look!” Severe look! What does that even mean. Here I am, one of the gentlest, most reserved, socially backward folks on earth. I am the guy my youngest granddaughter awakens in the morning by yelling “It’s on, Buddy!” just as she lands on my head!

Some barbers are not very good judges of character.

Grandpa's not too bright...

Daughter Jessica and I were leading the troops on a forced march to the beach one pleasant evening last week on Hilton Head Island.

As we started down the sandy path through the scrub pines, Olivia, the youngest, stopped and asked to be picked up. I asked in turn, as a grandfather is required to do, if her legs were broken. She told me she had spotted a dreaded red ant and she needed to be carried so she wouldn’t be bitten.

I told her there were no red ants in that path and, besides, what’s the worst that could happen if she was bitten by one. Well, she said, “I would be dead for the rest of my life, that’s all”. From one red ant bite I asked incredulous. “Yes, of course. Don’t you know anything”? “How do you come to believe that”, I wondered out loud?

“From the Internet”, she answered, “which is much smarter than you are”. Son of a gun, nailed again by a six year old with a bad attitude!

The Odd One

My granddaughters were sitting with their mother at the supper table and Molly, the oldest, was talking about the family of one of her friends when she said she thought that family was a little odd but then all families were probably odd.

Jessica asked Olivia, the youngest, if she thought her family was odd. She said no immediately. Then paused and considered and added, “Well, except for Grandpa Joe”!