Photo replay: Grandma playdate

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While in the desert visiting my grandsons, I had the pleasure of meeting my bloggy friend and fellow grandma, Connie from Family Home and Life. I assure you, she's just as delightful and down-to-earth in person as she seems to be from on her blog.

 

Bubby and Mac—whom she now knows by their real names—adored her, warming to her in ways not typical of my grandsons when it comes to strangers. Her grandma appeal was undeniable, and they were happy to share stories and hugs with her, without coercion from Gramma.

Thank you to Bubby for his exceptional job in using Gramma's camera to capture a few photos of the two grandmas together. Thank you especially to Connie for taking time from her busy schedule to meet my grandsons and me in real life and for the delicious gift of her famous Mason Jar 3-2-1 Cake. It was a true pleasure.

Today's question:

How often have you had the pleasure of meeting online friends in person?

Black feet, black bears, and getting back to normal

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Last week was a week I will never forget. A week so surreal, a week so not my normal.

My normal is as quiet as I want it to be, with time to do what I want, what I need, with all of that time punctuated with varying degrees of missing my grandsons.

Not last week, though. Last week my grandsons were at my house, and I was their primary caretaker. The house was blissfully loud—interspersed with occasional loud moments not so blissful, too, I must admit. I had little time to do what I needed for myself, but also no time to miss my grandsons, for they were by my side while their mom and dad attended a conference nearby. Time with Bubby and Mac was the very best part of my not-normal week.

My normal is relatively mild in terms of temperatures. Not so last week. Triple-digit heat, record heat, historically high heat literally never before felt in Colorado Springs marked the temperature gauge in unprecedented fashion. Day after day after day. It’s just heat, some might say. Stay in the house and turn on the air. It's no big deal. In a house—in my house—that has no air conditioning, though, it is a big deal. It’s hot. It’s hell. A hell I didn't want to deal with myself, much less impose upon my grandsons.

And then, well, then there was the Waldo Canyon Fire. The horrific part of the week. The heartbreaking part. The surreal part.

Tuesday evening rush hour, driving with my grandsonsSurreal in that on the west side of my city, hillsides, landmarks, homes were burning. People—families—were evacuated from their homes. Smoke and ash filled the sky, reaching as far as the city’s east side, my side.

Surreal in that every local television station went to 24/7 coverage of the disaster, the devastation. While my grandsons played nearby, I tried to watch. When they slept at night, Jim and I did watch, far into the night, especially on the most horrific day, on Tuesday.

Surreal in that I continually, obsessively checked Facebook, Twitter, email for news on friends and family, their safety and their homes. That I regularly received reports and texts from Megan and Preston as they tried—yet often failed—to enjoy their mountaintop conference and festivities while homes and Megan’s hometown burned within clear and heartbreaking view.

Surreal in that our health department warned residents to stay indoors, with windows shut and air-conditioning on, so as to not breathe in the ash and the soot. Having no air conditioning, we opted for taking the boys to various indoor play areas. We did our best each day to have a good time with them while the west side of our city burned. At night we wrestled with choosing between opening windows to let in cooler air to lower the hellish temps in the boys’ upstairs rooms or keeping the windows closed to avoid the soot and ash we were warned to keep out of our homes, our respiratory systems. Especially respiratory systems with itsy bitsy lungs the likes of Baby Mac’s…or even Bubby’s.

Wednesday afternoon, heading to an indoor play placeSurreal in that access to my mom, my sister, attractions we’d planned to visit with the boys was shut down, impassable for the entire week, as fire raged and firefighters needed to protect the highway, use the highway. That shelters, like refugee camps, were set up around the city for evacuees. That the state governor, the United States president visited to view my city’s disaster and devastation firsthand, to offer support.

We watched each day and each night—as often as we could while still attending to and enjoying our grandsons—as not only local news but national broadcasts revealed burned areas that looked like war zones, yet were neighborhoods I had visited, places friends lived. We and the rest of the city anxiously watched news conferences at 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. each day for updates on the status of the fire and evacuees, the successes of the firefighters.

All this while I and every other resident not in the line of the fire worried about, prayed about, cried about those who were.

All this while my grandsons visited and the hellish hot temperatures continued.

Even after the initial shock and awe of the fire and its horrific trail and toll, strange things, things so very not normal, continued. Expected things like subconsciously searching the sky for new plumes of smoke and endlessly tossing about with others the figures related to homes burned, evacuees remaining, fire containment percentages.

Bubby's soot-covered feetUnexpected things, too. Such as realizing that going barefoot around my house—which my grandsons and I usually do—resulted in black soles thanks to the soot and the ash coating my home despite the miles between the fire and us. Black soles that required me to scrub my grandsons’ little piggies at bath time and scrub my own big piggies before bedtime to remove the grime. And the unexpected sound of packs of coyotes howling as they roamed my neighborhood, of having a black bear amble down my street. The coyotes and the bear, along with elk spotted in the center of town and countless other wild and displaced animals searched for a home that, like the 350 homes of local human residents, burned, is gone.

So strange. So sad.

This week I’m still sad about the displaced animals, the displaced people, the burned homes and trails and landmarks. Yet, this week, I feel a little closer to normal. The air and sky are clear of smoke, the ash and soot have been cleaned from my house. My grandsons have gone home, television coverage of the fires has been reduced to a crawl at the bottom of the screen. The pass to my mom has re-opened. The fire moves ever closer to containment.

I do still scan the sky for new smoke and for rain that would lower the still-hot temps and dampen the still-burning fire. And I make sure to watch the evening news and check #WaldoCanyonFire on Twitter throughout the day. I also continue to be on the lookout for lost and frightened animals in my neighborhood. Overall, though, it’s been relatively easy for me to get back to normal.

I’m fortunate, blessed, and thankful. For many others in my city, getting back to normal hasn’t been so easy. My heart, my thoughts, my prayers go out to them—to those who are still reeling, who must build new homes and new lives, who have yet to create a new normal.

Today's question:

The Waldo Canyon Fire evacuees had mere hours, sometimes less, to gather personal belongings from their homes. What would you grab first—other than people and pets—in the event of evacuation?

It's show-and-tell time: Share a little love

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I'm going to try something different today. It requires audience participation, so I hope YOU will participate.

It's Monday. No one feels like working. The weekend is hanging on. Am I right? I thought so. So let's stretch out the weekend just a wee bit more by sharing in the comments below one little thing we each loved about our weekend.

Maybe it's an article or blog post you read—or wrote—that you especially loved. Well, give us all the link so we can love it, too. And be sure to include WHY you love it so we are more determined to click to it. (And those who click on it, especially if it's a blog post, be kind and comment to show you were there.)

Or maybe you watched a movie, read a book, heard a song that you loved. Tell us about it...and feel free to leave a link to the trailer or book site or video. Or just write why it mattered at the particular moment you experienced it.

Maybe over the weekend you had an incredible cup of coffee, ate the best donut, took the coolest photo you've ever taken, enjoyed giving or getting an early Valentine, were on the receiving end of some sweet words from a grandchild or family member—or stranger.

Maybe you simply enjoyed a few peaceful moments to yourself.

Whatever it may be, show it, tell us about it. Just one little love from your weekend. That's what I want to hear. That's what we all want to hear, I venture to say, to keep us from having to consider the week and the work ahead.

I will go first.

As I'm still struggling to get over a super cold bug that attacked once I returned home from the desert, there weren't any huge things I loved about this past weekend. There were little ones, though. One little thing I loved was actually a couple little things rolled into one: I love my new camera. I love that it snowed. I love that because I didn't feel like going outside (thanks to that bug I don't love at all), I could sit at the table in my warm dining room and take photos of the snow and practice a few of my new camera's features.

Here are a couple shots taken during that moment I loved—practicing blurring and focusing on what was right out my door: 

Sometimes, no, A LOT of the time, it's the little things that matter. There's mine, now show me your one little thing you loved. (Be sure to visit shared links, too, as well as come back to see what others have shared after you.)

Let show-and-tell time begin!

Today's question:

What's one little love from your weekend?