by jphilo | Mar 11, 2013 | Reflections on the Past
The man of steel and I are on a roll. Not only are we making progress on the sexiest remodeling project ever, but we also finished recovering the table and chair set last used eons ago during my childhood. Never mind how many eons ago that might be.
The important thing is that the original cracked and moldy red vinyl (circa 1957) has finally been replaced. The table top and chairs are all spiffed up and looking good thanks to:
- My mom’s refusal to let the sibs and me “play rough” with table and chairs or take them outside, which explains why the original white paint is in excellent shape.
- Mom’s decision in the 1980s to replace the vinyl on the table top and seats, but quitting halfway through the job. (She recovered the table top, but shoved the original chair covers and the remaining vinyl in a plastic bag.) So the set never was banged or dinged by her five grandchildren.
- The birth of our grandson, which prompted my decision to haul the set out of our attic, where they’d been mouldering since Mom gave up housekeeping in 2009.
- The man of steel, who helped with the project, doing all the stuff that made Mom abandon the project. (As I would have done had the man of steel not been around. Fitting the vinyl around those itty bitty corners and stapling them in place was a two person job!)
The table and chairs set look so good, they’re already in use as an end table in our living room and easily accessible to the pint-sized crowd. In fact, a two-year-old visitor to our house took them on a test drive. He discovered that the same piece of apple pie his mommy tried to feed him as he sat on her lap is magically tastier when feeding oneself seated at a kid-sized table.
This child-sized table is magic, a discovery I made eons ago as a child–still no need to disclose how many eons ago that might be–a discovery that skipped my children’s generation, and one we want our little grandson make during visits to grandma and grandpa’s house.
Because childhood should be full of magic, and grandparents are tasked with making sure it happens. Which means it’s time for me to stop blogging and start searching for fairy dust. It’s in the attic somewhere…
by jphilo | Oct 12, 2012 | Daily Life
The past week has been so hard on my perky, Pollyanna you’re-as-young-as-you-feel attitude, it left me thinking I’m plenty older than I feel.
The onslaught began last week with the birth of our first grandchild. Of course, that was a joyous occasion, and the man of steel and I are thrilled to be grandparents. But here’s what was the problem. When I tell people I’m a first time grandma, no one says, “Congratulations, but you don’t look old enough to be a grandma.” Rest assured, from now on, when people my age enter grandparenthood, those will be the first words out of my mouth.
Even if I have to lie through my teeth.
The next item to chip away at my inner Pollyanna was a picture in business section of the Sunday’s Des Moines Register. The photo was of Mike Wells, the CEO of Wells Blue Bunny Ice Cream, and it accompanied an article about the growth of the company. I read with interest because Wells Blue Bunny is located in my home town of Le Mars, Iowa. And I felt vaguely superior to the fit, grey-haired, and slightly balding CEO in the photo. Until I read the caption which said he was 53. So he was a measly high school freshman during my senior year at our mutual alma mater.
O-L-D neon lights started flashing in my brain.
The next blow was a Monday story on NPR about when senior drivers should give up their car keys. One expert advised adult children should initiate a conversation about the subject with their parents before those parents are 60 years old. That gives our kids only four years to screw up the courage to tell us we’re getting O-L-D.
No doubt, the person I cut off in traffic the other day agrees with the news story.
The final nail in Pollyanna’s coffin came this morning when the UPS man left a package, and I could not figure out how to open it. It was all rounded corners and tape. After cutting it open with a knife, I realized the box was a fold-over-and-insert-tab marvel of engineering, kind of like the houses we used to punch out of craft books and fold according to the directions to create a little village for paper dolls. Which made me feel even older because no one younger than me can envision those little villages or has any idea of what paper dolls are. Which leads to one final question: What good is it to be older than you feel, if no one notices you’re as young as you feel?
Please leave a comment, but only if it will put the perk back into this Pollyanna!
