What was wonderful about childhood is that anything in it was a wonder. It was not merely a world full of miracles; it was a miraculous world.
Last night I looked out the window into our back yard that’s buried in pristine snow, as yet unmarried by deer tracks, and saw magic in the moonlight. The snow sparkled and twinkled as if it had been sprinkled with fairy dust; it looked like the snow of my prairie childhood. If it hadn’t been so cold I would have gone outside and danced in it. (Okay, not really; but that’s how it made me feel.)
Today is my granddaughter’s 9th birthday. How well I remember the day nine years ago—the coldest day of the year in Calgary—when the snow crunched under my feet as I hurried, fresh from a flight from Seattle, across the parking lot of the Foothills hospital where my daughter was labouring to bring her into the world. How well I recall my grandaughter’s bright eyes looking up at me for the first time when my heart fell in love immediately and completely.
Happy Birthday, Makiya. It has been one of the greatest joys of my life watching you grow and learn and become the strong, smart, and creative girl you are today. Dancing, singing, writing, reading, creating, composing, performing, and rocking your first months in public school; you are confident, curious, and smart. I am so proud of who you are. Today, though we’re not together, I celebrate YOU!