Thursday, August 2, 2018 – Transition

Surely, two of the most satisfying experiences in life must be those of being a grandchild or a grandparent.

Donald A. Norberg

I go to the garden early, before the heat of the day makes it uncomfortable to work there. I go alone, because I want to do another careful and concentrated harvest of green beans.

There is much I could be doing in the garden; it’s been a titch neglected in recent weeks and it will be neglected for a few more days too. Today, my goal is simple: pick beans and water.

This second large picking is plentiful. At home, I wash, and snap, and blanch, and tuck serving-sized portions into bags and nestle them together in the freezer. They will taste like summer in the midst of the not-to-be-spoken-of-yet winter; they will feed us well.

The day unfolds—somewhat discombobulated—in anticipation and activity. Gerry and Makiya make a Costco run for supplies for his upcoming backpack trip, and return home with more than they intended, and more than we need.

”Mommy loves these,” Ladybug Girl says to justify the large box of Cinnabon rolls. What can I say about that?

I go to Safeway and buy ordinary things like soy milk and butter and cheese. Somehow, a treat ends up in my basket and Ladybug Girl and Grandpa and I end up sitting on the back deck later munching on Wagon Wheels, the elders noting that they taste the same as they used to but have gotten much smaller.

Later, Laurinda arrives and a subtle shift from Camp G and G to something different takes place. Grandpa is thinking ahead to backpacking, and a hike he and Daughter are planning for the following morning. Daughter is weary from a long drive to get here. Grandaughter is giddy. Grandmother is reflective.

We four sit in the family room with dishes of ice cream and watch a slide show of photos from Camp G and G on the big screen. Makiya chatters and fills her mom in on the backstory of it all. We go downstairs where she performs gymnastics routines for her mom, crediting her grandfather coach for helping her with them.

Later, when it’s time for her to go to bed, I get a lump in my throat as goodnight hugs are given and she heads downstairs with her mommy to tuck her in. It is well and it is as it should be, but I don’t begrudge myself a fleeting moment of melancholy at the transition.

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This month, I’m posting a link every day to a blog from the eclectic collection I read. Today, it’s Margaret Roach’s A Way to Garden ( There’s a ton of information and inspiration here from garden prep, to planting, to harvest and beyond.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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