I am a blank book junkie.
My bookshelves are filled with blank books of all sizes.
Some are completely filled with my writings but most are not.
This weekend I ran across one of those blank books, one that is completely filled with my writings.
Musings from 2004.
Different thoughts from a different time.
At the very beginning of this re-discovered blank book are my musings about my grandson and my granddaughter.
“There is something to be said for a big-eyed, toothless welcome one receives from an eight month old granddaughter, or when one is the recipient of a delighted hug from a five year old grandson.
I call him Ganny’s man. She is Ganny’s girl. Woman just sounds too womanish for a girl and Ganny’s boy sounds like . . . well, boy is a definite no-no for this offspring of the Jim Crow South.”
He calls me “Ganny,” the growling “r” having been kicked to the curb by his grandmother. His big blue eyes (or, are they grey?) draw me into their depths. He is “all boy” (as my late husband used to say). My girl rearing instincts (three daughters) keep me jittery as he dashes around corners and jumps over hurdles.
‘Mom,’ my eldest reminds me (with just a note of exasperation), ‘He’s a boy! He will be alright.’
How did she make peace with this rough and tumble mass of energetic excitement, she the oldest of three girls?
Oh, yeah, twelve years of teaching a class of Kindergarten boys.
Ganny’s girl is all smiles and chortles. The dimples of her late PaPa run down the sides of her cheeks when she smiles. I make funny faces just to recall their delight.
She crawls across the floor like a wired whirlygig. Everything captures her attention and everything has to be experienced through her mouth. I watch her like a hawk but she still manages to pop something in her mouth, then gives her secret away with her “cat who swallowed the canary” look.
She is so curious, tuned in to everything that goes on around her. Sometimes, it looks as though her head is on a swivel, she turns it so fast to try and take in everything. She is going to be a talker. She talks right now — we just can’t understand what she’s saying.
One day we will and when that happens, I will tell her about PaPa and his dimples that run down the side of her cheeks.”
Blank Book Gold!