Town was quiet tonight, with a fragrant and mellow breeze wafting by. One of the sweetest sounds that I love in the whole world is when the frogs and crickets start croaking in the spring. I thought it only happened in the country, but I hear them right here smack-dab in our little city. The stars were twinkling as the dog and I had our secret walk around the darkened yard. Little buds emerging, my three pussy willow bushes finally sprouting tiny, velvety pink babies, after many years of no-shows. The sunny daffodils and jonquils are springing up everywhere. Hope arises.
Last weekend, our daughter arranged a photoshoot for Grandma Judy, with all the daughters and granddaughters on that side of the family. After months of wrangling schedules, weather and outfits, we gathered at a local lake. The sky was misty; we somehow threw ourselves together with our various shades of pink (Great Grandma's favorite color) to get a few dozen females all in one place, at one time. There was mud, Canadian geese, lots of giggling girls, Moms, Grandmas, Great Grandma. Looking at the miracle of progeny and the grace of God, I was so proud of my brood -- our daughter, three daughters-in-love, and five granddaughters were spicy, sweet and adorable, all at the same time. Then there was Grandma, quiet as a mouse (though she's never mousy) and uncomfortable without a chair. Someone found one in the woods and she sat down. Eventually every possible individual and group photo was had, and we disbursed. My tribe made their way to the Japanese steak house, where the girls acted big and the Mamas enjoyed the night out. I was suffering with a throbbing headache and almost opted to head home, but daughter-in-love Jessica had a bottle of ibuprofen and I might have emptied the thing. Within a short while, I began to feel better. I remained quieter and more observant than usual, finding it peaceful to simply enjoy these wonderful folk rather than comment on every. single. thing. It's such a problem, my hating to miss out on any activity. I have a hard time understanding the introverts around me. But maybe there's a lot of good to be had from shutting my mouth, sitting still, letting the room have its say without my constant input. Sweet, peaceful, like the serenity of listening in the dark to those frogs and crickets. What a novel idea...
