Wednesdays with Avery Pearl
First of all, thanks to my friends who read my maiden blog and shared some interesting advice for the rest-of-my-life occupation:
- Sing for my supper. I like this one. -- There are few activities on this planet that give me more pleasure than singing!
- Shave for my supper. My alpacas, that is. Good thought, but that revenue just about covers feed. Theirs, not mine.
- Write a book for young professional women re: the things they don’t tell women in business school. Hmmm. Where to begin?
- Keep those ideas coming …
And “Rain in Maine” Poll update: Think about acquiring boat-building materials…
One of the perks of being a fifty-something unemployed woman is that I get to spend more time with my beautiful grand-children. In the middle of my job search week, each Wednesday, I bolt out of bed at 6:30AM, shower and GET OUTTA MY PAJAMAS so I can have a play day with Avery Pearl. (Did I ever approach the hi-tech workday with such joy and anticipation?) She’s at that wonderful age when her brain seems to be reaching out and grabbing new ideas at every waking moment. She vocalizes in the grocery store. She traces oatmeal circles on her high-chair tray. She has mastered the games of peek-a-boo, throw-something-and-Grandma-will-pick-it-up, and patty-cake, patty-cake. I’m not sure who is more delighted with her accomplishments, Grandma or Baby Ave.
During my own stint as a parent, I must admit to not “seeing the forest for the trees”. But the total responsibility and sheer terror I felt as a young mother has been replaced by a profound respect for the amazingly hard work of parenting, and the remarkable skills that my two older children have demonstrated so far. I am privileged to witness in my grand-daughters, from the perspective of an “elder”, the complex, miraculous process of growing into unique individuals.
I have also learned in these past two years that being a grandparent gives one the opportunity to really experience his or her own children again. In Isadora, son Jesse’s loving and precocious two-year-old, I see not only a physical resemblance but a similar heart: generous and sensitive, with a quirky sense of humor. And while she looks very much like her dad, Avery embodies daughter Julia’s spirit of adventure, dogged determination, and (almost) perpetual happy disposition.
So the rain continues to fall, sometimes in torrents, on the Maine Coast. But today, I feel better about everything. I get to “hold my little fat baby in my arms again” – which happens to be a line from a Pete Seeger song that just about sums it all up. Circle-of-life stuff, that is.
Check out “Little Fat Baby” on Pete’s newest album, "At 89" released earlier this year.
http://www.peteseeger.net/little%20fat%20baby.htm
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