After 10 days of quarantine we have hooked up with the grandkids at their lake house in Washington State. Life changed instantly. After days of literary red meat from Shakespeare to Defoe U found myself reading Don’t Let The Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems. We were playing “shark face” and “bear hugs” in a hot tub calibrated to a kid friendly 90 degrees. We had pillow fights and lizard battles while frozen pizzas bubbled in the oven. How suddenly a seventy year old curmudgeon can become seven again ! There are fe things better than a loving regression.
I have been described as a grim person but even the most casual observer of my recent behavior would have too conceded that this old boy still has some silly fun left in him. We showed up at the kid’s house with presents for them but it was their gift to me that resonated. When an eight year old allows you to play with him there is no higher sign of acceptance. I was also forced to remember that early morning fishing is pretty much a panacea…it can cure all your ills.
Perhaps the best cure for pandemic induced low-grade depression is a return to family. Tomorrow I have a home schooling task. It’s my turn to follow my wife in describing the history of my family for the kids. They will get some Irish history, some tall tales and I will get to enjoy my memories. Perfect. Once again I will get the greatest reward.
AS I write this the kids are in the lake on floating toys. A pink flamingo, a green crocodile and a blow up pizza slice are each sporting a kid that is splashing and squealing. Joyful noise. For the moment worries and low grade anxiety take a back seat to being. The pigeon is driving the bus and there is no concern about routes or speeds or estimated times of arrival. Again, perfect
This is a simple thank you to some wonderful children.
Gotta go…the hot tub is almost at 90 degrees.
Olio Folio 