I've been sorting through "stuff" again. It seems to multiply when left alone to long. I found a box with old letters, cards, pictures and stories from my past. While watching the Packers beat the Minnesota Vikings, last night, I shuffled through the box, pulling out a letter, reading it, laughing out loud or wiping away a tear and them tossing it over to Zeus for him to read.
The strange thing is that I can remember when I was younger, when my children were little but I seem to see it all through some sort of veil. It's me but it isn't me. Am I making any sense?
It all seems so terribly long ago.
Two and a half years ago I was exploring where my new "retired" life was going to be taking me.
The studio was being built, I was making plans for people, whether young or older, to join me in the studio to create.
I've been a grandmother for 11 years. My grandchildren visit on a fairly regular basis considering they live in Minnesota and Boston and have very busy, active lives.
When Riley and my daughter moved into my house my role intensified. Now, I was involved in the daily growth and development of a little person. I honestly hadn't expected that to happen.
Zeus and I ate out a lot before, now I cook more because I want Riley exposed to good wholesome home cooked food. I have the time to put a traditional dinner, on the table. Actually, as my daughter said the other night. "It's nice to have dinner ready when we get home it's like having a "wife". I guess everybody would like a "wife". There are days when I certainly wish I had one.
Tonight, I pick up Riley at day care and we go out to dinner. Grandpa will meet us and we will have salads, corn dogs and chocolate milk. Certainly not a GrammyBea prepared meal!
When Riley announces from the bottom of the lower level steps that she is going up to see Grammy and Grandpa I am reminded of one of Woody Allen's movies, where the families lived in an apartment building. Maybe they all lived in one apartment, I can't really remember .
The whole experience seems to flash me back to a period in the 20s or 30s when extended families lived together.
Some day's it's really nice and other's I can do without the extra mess, the putting on of my happy face when I just want to grump around until my coffee kicks in. It makes me sad to hear her cry but I know she and her Mommy are working things out. I know I have to stay, upstairs and let some things run their course. She makes me laugh with some of the things she says and does. And, laughing is probably the healthiest thing a person can do for themselves.
I pull out a picture, out of the box and I can remember when that son was that age. I remember him from the picture. I can't quite wrap my head around what my day to day life was all about back then. Some times it just seems like I'm peeking into somebody else's life, you know?