The Grandies!

We have been making those monthly visits to the Nursing Home for several months now. And everytime we are there, it never ceases to stay interesting. The general structure of how each visit pans out is...we assemble, familiarise ourselves with the craftwork we are going to be doing with the Grandies, and then move to a table nearby where they are already sitting and watching and start talking to them, while crafting. Sometimes, if they are upto it, they help with things like the colouring and choosing what words go on it, and manytimes they just like to let you take the lead and nod along quietly, with a gentle smile most of the time. After about half an hour, its another half hour of music and this is when things really liven up and hands start clapping. Ours and theirs.

I call them Grandies, but not lightly, in lieu of finding an easy nickname. I use it with a lot of affection. Most of them are grandparents and they light up some several 100 watts whenever they see Winkie and Thambi. The fact that they are small built adds to their charm-factor for them, I suppose. Even Winkie gets treated like a little baby, and he loves the attention.

I know it wasn't how it began. I know the qualms he had facing them every month on that third Sunday. He didn't like going there, and though he didn't use as many words for it, I could tell it made a trifle uncomfortable. Well, I started off that way too. I remember my awkwardness only too well. And my self doubt....as to whether I could be of any value to them. Could I really cheer them up by my presence? Could I make them feel human and loved? And not like just another face among the old people, who lived their life secluded from the families they have raised? Could I get past my own dual vision and see them as an extension of me? Of God?

Every month that I go there, one or more of these questions begins to answer itself. So much has changed since then and now, and still many things remain the same. What has changed is that I have a set of regulars who I love to spend time with. There's Mary Lou for instance. A nurse with 3 daughters, I think, who loves to play the piano and has sung in a choir. She's my favorite, because she's always been easy to talk to, and easy to understand in return. Her voice still remains stable, her faculties are very sharp, and we have gotten to a point where we can joke with each other and high five or hold hands. She always welcomes me with a Hi Darling!

She likes the boys a lot too. And that includes R, who is very comfortable sitting next to her the entire time, chatting her up. I was introduced to her through him. I think her favorite colour is red, because she almost always wears something in red. And her nails are always painted red. She has red lipstick on, and only last week, I noticed that she has a small Minnie Mouse doll in a corner of her wheelchair, and she was all in red too. There are times when she forgets some basic facts about us, which she asks over and over again. But that's okay. Because we forget too. This last week, I really felt a strong connection with her. My heart soared when I saw her and I felt happy being by her side, helping Winkie make her a helping hand heart. Actually, she helped him more by telling him when he was putting too much glue on and spelling out her name for him to write on top of it. He was in good hands in that while.

And then there's James. I have seen him many times before, but never approached him, with more than a smile, since he always had somebody by his side, giving him company. But this last week, that changed. He was actually sitting outside by the front entrance, on his wheelchair, when I walked by. We called out our greetings. He joined us inside pretty soon and was right by Mary Lou's table. Since no one else was with him then, I walked over and asked him if he wanted a heart made for him as well. He said yes, with this very warm smile that came from his twinkling eyes. So while Winkie and Mary Lou got along nicely, I got to know James. It was obvious he loved his wife of 36 years, who had passed away just a few months ago. He was a Detroit guy who claimed he had never seen Chicago downtown. He seemed to be very fond of his grand-daughter, whom he kept talking about. We spoke of music and his family most of the time. When Winkie came over, he said....that's the age where you can really love them. The slight note of bitterness in his voice was obvious, and some experiences must have been scathing. But I generally try to stay away from unpleasant subjects. We are there for 1 short hour, so let it be as happy and cheery as possible, right?

I believe in the power of touch. A gentle placing of the hand on a sleeve or a shoulder really speaks so much. And makes that exchange so human. And it helps me to reduce my ego, the part that whispers to me that I am a do-gooder and just come on par with him in a regular way, in an effort to bridge our understanding. We responded well to each other's natures and shuttling between James' table and Mary Lou's, I was a very happy person that Sunday morning.

The hardest thing about interacting with these sweet old people is just treating them naturally. Instead of thinking of them as people to whom we have come to give service, if we could look at them as just anybody else in our lives, whom we wanted to get to know with friendliness, that makes it so much more real, than the relationship of provider and benefactor. Because the lines of giving and receiving are not clearly drawn. In the act of being there, we receive so much more than can be acknowledged. We receive awareness of our natures, we make a deeper acquaintance with our ego and the way it acts up even in good deeds, trying to convince you that you're a martyr of a sort. On a simpler level, we also receive a lot of affection from them. They call us 'darling' and tell us that seeing our beautiful faces this morning, makes them happy and that life is good. They give so much love and attention to our children and make the sight of small, smooth, supple skin against softly wrinkled, heavily lined hands such a natural one and so beautiful. The hug that is timid as well as gentle, but with an eagerness to please and to pleasure. We get so much from them. What we give is precious little in return. And how sublime are the moments when I stop being me, and they no longer seem like them, and what is just so real just then, is that little camaraderie we have between us. So caught up in our words to each other, the understanding becomes the union of our souls and God becomes.

This keen keen Love...

I miss him so much right now. He just sat on the bus and left for school. And what makes me miss him is all the things that happened before it.

He asked me to wake him up at 6:00 AM. I usually begin the routine at 7:00, giving him an hour to get set to go. But he's tired of rushing around and wanted more time and me off his back. So he said 6:00. I woke him up at 6:10. He came sulking downstairs, with the whiny voice on, saying he was tired. The irritation rose at that tone of voice and I kept it under check. He wanted me to brush his teeth and I did. And that was all the understanding that he needed. After that, he was off. Bathing, changing, grooming, all by his little and not so little self. He walked down at 7:30 looking like a million bucks. Save for the slightly tousled hair. But the best part of it was the smile and the cheer radiating from his face. He was ready for breakfast and the for-no-reason giggles and smiles unconsciously stole into my heart and made me smile too. I didn't realise it then. I feel it now, that he has left.

Sometime when he was dressing and I was upstairs changing the pillow covers, I looked over at him. He had his pants on and was looking into the collar of the shirt I had given him, searching patiently for the tag, so he would know which side should face front, before he pulled it over his neck. That did it for me. I melted and softened and just became this gushing stream of love. He was so patient. So patient. Meticulous. Thorough. Getting all the details right. Just like we'd taught him, in ways that have not been patient at all. He was grace in person at that moment when he was looking into that collar for that patch of cloth. And I was a mother hopelessly in love.

Just as he was pulling the shirt on, I stole up behind him and wrapped my arms gently around him. If I did it any more abruptly than that, it would have alarmed rather than surprised and that would tick him off and me in turn. We both have these quick buttons that should not be pressed. The effects can be brutally startling to those around. But my touch was right, for he was beaming and blushing when his head emerged from the turtleneck collar. We had a moment. Phew.

For some reason, it made me think of yesterday when he did something so darn sweet. We were at the nursing home, learning to make helping hand hearts for the Valentine's theme. When he poked me in the arm, and started signing. First to his eyes. Then to the heart doily on the table, and then to me. I love you. Another shy smile to follow it up. A a big one from that that threatened to leave my face if it got any wider. He's not a man of these big emotions very often, and I was pleasantly surprised. And thrilled for the thrill on his face.

Coming back to the breakfast table, he kept up some chatter. Of that I am sure. What he said, I am not. But it doesn't matter. Because I remember his voice and the chit-chat mood he was in, which means that all is right with the world. Its close to 8:00 and he wonders if he can play now that he has eaten. I redirect him to his coat and shoes instead. Its time to leave and maybe he can surprise Appa by being ready and waiting for him in the car?

What I said lightly to get him going, he took very seriously. In no time, I heard him going out to the garage to sit. 5 minutes later, I was there too with Thambi, belting him in. I walked over to the other side to belt the man, when I saw that he was already securely fastened. Stunned, I look up to see his eagerly smiling face. You put it on yourself???? I ask, still taken aback. A digression here....Winkie has some trouble fastening the seat belt into its latch. He has made many frustrated attempts, only to give it up completely and just have me do it. No amount of motivating would get him to give it a patient try. But today, without the pressure of my hovering, waiting presence, his trials took a calm turn and met with success. Another reason to wake him up at 6 in the morning. :)

He made my day with that simple act of thoughtfulness. And made me gloriously mushy by how small his frame looks as he walked lonesomely across the mounds of snow to the busstop. Pitted against all the other kids, who always seem bigger than him, that is the moment when I keenly feel everything that I feel for him. My love, my frustrations, our recent trials, the sweeter nothings and everything laced and tinged with the affection of parting. The fact that he leaves everyday at this set time in the morning, to lead his own life, apart from mine is so endearingly touching. That the only thing that makes it bearable is if I can spot his face in the window, as the bus rolls by. Even better, if he is looking out at the same time, to meet my eyes and give me a wave. When both these things happen, the ache in my heart ceases and makes the words for them...unstoppable.

Cloudy with a chance of meatballs!

Cloudy with a chance of meatballs
by Judi Barrett
Drawings by Ron Barrett

Ages 6-10

A regular morning breakfast scene. A table. Two kids playing over their breakfast. The mother squeezing some juice. Grandpa flipping fresh pancakes on the stove. And oops! He flips one a little too high and it lands on the boy's head. That could still be a regular, though highly comical scene if you stretch your imagination a bit, but what is totally and utterly fantastic is the story that this episode inspires, long after dinner is cleared away and the night draws high....

...and slowly, slowly along with Grandpa's softly told narrative...

Across an ocean, over lots of huge bumpy mountains, across three hot deserts and a smaller ocean....

...we travel to the tiny town of Chewandswallow!!!

...where, it rains no rain, and snows no snow, and there are no food stores anywhere, because there is no need for it. For all the food that the town needs falls right down from the sky!!

Now imagine the highly engaging possibilities of living in a place where you don't have to cook, and whatever you want to eat comes right from the sky. Whooooosh!!! 3 times a day, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. And whatever the weather served is what the people ate! It rained soup and juice. It snowed mashed potatoes and green peas. And sometimes, the wind blew in storms of hamburgers.

You can expect to sport a big huge smile on your face, as you catch the weather report on TV and it tells you what you can expect for your next meal. And when the people stepped out, they carried knives and forks, and plates and cups, to be prepared for any kind of weather! And where there were no food stores, there were restaurants. Roofless restaurants! Making it easy to grab every bite! :) Of course, this meant the sanitation department of the town had quite a job cleaning up all the leftovers that lined the streets and pavements, and trees. But it was still manageable.

All until one day...when the weather took a turn for the worse!

Pretty soon, spaghetti tied up the whole town and that was such a rocking mess! Another day, all it rained was gorgonzola cheese, and people had to cover their noses with cloth pins, to keep off the smell! And oh...the day of the pea soup fog, when you could not see past anything! And the storm of pancakes, where a big huge pancake covered the whole school and none of the kids could attend! And the ensuing maple syrup flood! Oh the horrors that the Chewandswallow folks had to face!

Soon, it was decided to leave town and quickly. So people glued together giant pieces of stale bread with peanut butter and set sail for a new land. After a week, they reached a small coastal town which they made their home. It took them a while to get used to it....especially the part where they had to pick up their food from the shelves of the stores. Now that was a bit odd! But at least the clouds above their heads were not made of fried eggs! And no one ever got hit by a hamburger again! And nobody ever went back to Chewandswallow to find out what had happened to it. And I don't blame them. Do you? :)

A book for all ages, with vivid pencil illustrations which add a thousand details to the narrative and help you enjoy generous servings of the pea soup and gorgonzola! But be warned and check out this weather update at the peril of being highly entertained , uncontrollably giggle and a very rumbling, grumbling tummy!

[Crossposted at Saffron Tree. For comments, click here.]

A little shake....

I woke up at around 4 AM this morning, or probably a couple of minutes before, roused by my internal clock and the usualness of that hour for me. And I was trying to go back to sleep in that midway state between sleep and wakefulness, when it started. That slight rattling sound, coming mostly from the shelf in our bedroom. It took me around 5 seconds to lose the disorientation and understand what was happening, or even that it was. By that time, R sat up in bed, asking what is that?....We stayed silent and listened to the rattling continue, almost like when a heavy truck zooms by on the road outside and you can feel those vibrations coming through. But this was so much more persistent.

And it was only some 15 seconds in, that I thought of prayer. I took His name and kept repeating it over and over again, not understanding enough to do anything else. And it finally stopped. We had just experienced our first earthquake. But I still didn't understand it then. We went back to bed, trying to catch that last greedy hour of sleep, but I knew it wasn't possible anymore. That quake had just shaken me out of my self-induced stupor. Fresh from the experience of those slight tremors, my mind could easily extrapolate that situation and picture vividly, what could have happened to the people of Haiti that day. I could imagine this happening on a much larger scale and the earth opening up and everything collapsing beneath your feet. For those visually arresting seconds, I was in it, and making quick decisions on whether we should stay put, or run outside, and what would happen to the kids? How would they take this? How could they?

I woke up this morning to actually read affirmation of what we experienced. It was an earthquake. The number was 4.3.

I am firmly back on earth now. As firm as it will stay firm for me. I look at the floors beneath my feet with new respect. I don't take for granted, that inspite of its motion around the sun and the spinning on its own axis, the earth is still calm enough for me to wake up and make my morning coffee just like any other day. I cannot stop thinking of those like me in Haiti, who have had such a heavy, deadly blow. And God, I never want to forget it. I never want to forget to pray for them or to lapse back into the empty comforts of my cushioned life. And whenever whatever has to happen, happens, I do not want to wait 15 seconds before remembering that He is right there next to me, by my side, willing to take my hand and my empty fears, and help me step up to a better way of life.

It has been said that we come into this world with nothing and we will leave taking nothing. But that's not true. You come into this world with something. And you leave this world with something. And these are the imprints of the good and bad deeds of your life. And that is the causative process of why we go through each day and night cycle, waking up and going to sleep. So may we all awaken from our slumber, and put to sleep all the falsehood!

[I have disabled comments for this post. I don't think any words are needed. But what is still needed is prayer. So please close your eyes for a minute and send a prayer for our people there and everywhere, who need our thoughts and our love.]

Feb 12...

..is Maha Shivrathri. And I think this is the first time, I am so conscious of it. Our Sai Center here is planning for a 5 hour evening of bhajans lasting past midnight. I am very pumped for it, as also a little nervous at how the boys will manage the late night in a public setting that requires you to be contained and focussed. We'll cross that bridge later.

But for now, I am just enchanted with the prospect of Maha Shivarathri. The sacredness of that night. The potential to commune with God. The energy infused in devotional singing. The challenges of keeping a fast. Its been a while since I looked forward to something like this. I am eager to learn more about this day and night and talk to Winkie about it. I think he would enjoy the mystical nature of its marking and get into the mood better with some preparation.

Shiva is a source of wonder and mystique for me. Maybe that is part of the reason why making the Manasarovar-Kailash yatra is the biggest desire of my life right now. There is something about this form that is so raw and so palpably divine and reverberating, that my skin tingles when I contemplate on His form.

i am looking forward to the journey of the next 10 days. Stay tuned with me...