Fare thee well

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Last evening, PawDad and I had a farewell chit-chat on the trampoline with Bubby and Mac.

This morning, we're on our way home.

Farewell to thee, farewell to thee
Thou charming one who dwells in shaded bowers
One fond embrace ere I depart
Until we meet again.
      ~Queen Lydia Kamakaeha Lili’uokalani

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

I recently bid farewell to _________.

Feast or famine: The plight of the long-distance grandma

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My grandsons and I had a week-long visit the end of June, at my place. When they left for home, there were no plans in place for visiting again. No plans to visit before Halloween, nor for Thanksgiving, nor for Christmas. Even my annual week of care giving each January when Megan and Preston head off to one of Preston's conferences was off the books.

That is one long stretch—the longest yet in my four years of grandparenting—of having no contact with Bubby, no contact with Mac. Which broke my heart.

Well, my heart is now repaired. And full. And looking forward to not just one trip to see Bubby and Mac in the next couple months, but three. That's right, three!

You see, after being pretty darn bummed about having no plans in place for visiting and the famine we faced, Jim and I decided to just go for it. We booked tickets to visit the desert the first part of October.

Then, lo and behold, just days later I was offered an awesome opportunity with a popular maker of electronic toys, games, and learning gadgets for kiddos. I'd be given great products to share with my grandsons and their friends. I, of course, jumped at the chance. Thing is, my grandsons and their friends live more than 800 miles away. And the introduction of the products had to be done by the end of August.

So guess what? I booked another trip to see my grandsons. For the end of August. (And I'll share details of the affair soon after.)

And trip No. 3?

Well, as many of you know, Megan has gone back to work, back to teaching. Full time. Which can be a challenge at times. Turns out that works to my benefit. Her most pressing challenge is that near the end of October, Megan has school conferences. Which means Bubby, who attends the school at which Megan teaches, has no school that week. Which also means he'd have to join Mac at the daycare center each and every day of that conference week. Which, as you may have guessed, would cost a heck of a lot of money. More money, in fact, than flying Gramma—that'd be me, a freelancer who can take my work with me wherever I go!—down to the desert to care for the boys during conference week.

Megan asked if I'd be up to it. I answered yes. Preston booked tickets—for my third visit to see my grandsons in a two-month period.

A far different scenerio than what I'd imagined as Bubby and Mac and their parents flew away from the mountains and back to the desert at the end of June.

A feast or famine affair, for sure, when it comes to seeing my beloved boys.

Thing is, any time I'm with my grandsons, it's not only a feast of hugs, kisses, silliness, and fun, it's a feast of photos. I stock up on as many photos as I can, to get me through until the next visit. Photos to look at myself, photos to share with friends and family, photos to share here.

Now, as I anticipate another visit—another week-long photo shoot, as Megan says—in mere weeks, I realize I have literally thousands of photos left from our time together in June that I've not yet shared. So today I'm sharing some of my favorites. Okay, I'm sharing lots of my favorites, served up collage-style.

Enjoy this feast of photos! Leave room for seconds, though, as I'll surely be dishing out more soon, to ensure all leftovers are gone before the next round is ready.

Today's question:

What's the longest you've gone without seeing one of your grandchildren or children?

Black feet, black bears, and getting back to normal

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Last week was a week I will never forget. A week so surreal, a week so not my normal.

My normal is as quiet as I want it to be, with time to do what I want, what I need, with all of that time punctuated with varying degrees of missing my grandsons.

Not last week, though. Last week my grandsons were at my house, and I was their primary caretaker. The house was blissfully loud—interspersed with occasional loud moments not so blissful, too, I must admit. I had little time to do what I needed for myself, but also no time to miss my grandsons, for they were by my side while their mom and dad attended a conference nearby. Time with Bubby and Mac was the very best part of my not-normal week.

My normal is relatively mild in terms of temperatures. Not so last week. Triple-digit heat, record heat, historically high heat literally never before felt in Colorado Springs marked the temperature gauge in unprecedented fashion. Day after day after day. It’s just heat, some might say. Stay in the house and turn on the air. It's no big deal. In a house—in my house—that has no air conditioning, though, it is a big deal. It’s hot. It’s hell. A hell I didn't want to deal with myself, much less impose upon my grandsons.

And then, well, then there was the Waldo Canyon Fire. The horrific part of the week. The heartbreaking part. The surreal part.

Tuesday evening rush hour, driving with my grandsonsSurreal in that on the west side of my city, hillsides, landmarks, homes were burning. People—families—were evacuated from their homes. Smoke and ash filled the sky, reaching as far as the city’s east side, my side.

Surreal in that every local television station went to 24/7 coverage of the disaster, the devastation. While my grandsons played nearby, I tried to watch. When they slept at night, Jim and I did watch, far into the night, especially on the most horrific day, on Tuesday.

Surreal in that I continually, obsessively checked Facebook, Twitter, email for news on friends and family, their safety and their homes. That I regularly received reports and texts from Megan and Preston as they tried—yet often failed—to enjoy their mountaintop conference and festivities while homes and Megan’s hometown burned within clear and heartbreaking view.

Surreal in that our health department warned residents to stay indoors, with windows shut and air-conditioning on, so as to not breathe in the ash and the soot. Having no air conditioning, we opted for taking the boys to various indoor play areas. We did our best each day to have a good time with them while the west side of our city burned. At night we wrestled with choosing between opening windows to let in cooler air to lower the hellish temps in the boys’ upstairs rooms or keeping the windows closed to avoid the soot and ash we were warned to keep out of our homes, our respiratory systems. Especially respiratory systems with itsy bitsy lungs the likes of Baby Mac’s…or even Bubby’s.

Wednesday afternoon, heading to an indoor play placeSurreal in that access to my mom, my sister, attractions we’d planned to visit with the boys was shut down, impassable for the entire week, as fire raged and firefighters needed to protect the highway, use the highway. That shelters, like refugee camps, were set up around the city for evacuees. That the state governor, the United States president visited to view my city’s disaster and devastation firsthand, to offer support.

We watched each day and each night—as often as we could while still attending to and enjoying our grandsons—as not only local news but national broadcasts revealed burned areas that looked like war zones, yet were neighborhoods I had visited, places friends lived. We and the rest of the city anxiously watched news conferences at 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. each day for updates on the status of the fire and evacuees, the successes of the firefighters.

All this while I and every other resident not in the line of the fire worried about, prayed about, cried about those who were.

All this while my grandsons visited and the hellish hot temperatures continued.

Even after the initial shock and awe of the fire and its horrific trail and toll, strange things, things so very not normal, continued. Expected things like subconsciously searching the sky for new plumes of smoke and endlessly tossing about with others the figures related to homes burned, evacuees remaining, fire containment percentages.

Bubby's soot-covered feetUnexpected things, too. Such as realizing that going barefoot around my house—which my grandsons and I usually do—resulted in black soles thanks to the soot and the ash coating my home despite the miles between the fire and us. Black soles that required me to scrub my grandsons’ little piggies at bath time and scrub my own big piggies before bedtime to remove the grime. And the unexpected sound of packs of coyotes howling as they roamed my neighborhood, of having a black bear amble down my street. The coyotes and the bear, along with elk spotted in the center of town and countless other wild and displaced animals searched for a home that, like the 350 homes of local human residents, burned, is gone.

So strange. So sad.

This week I’m still sad about the displaced animals, the displaced people, the burned homes and trails and landmarks. Yet, this week, I feel a little closer to normal. The air and sky are clear of smoke, the ash and soot have been cleaned from my house. My grandsons have gone home, television coverage of the fires has been reduced to a crawl at the bottom of the screen. The pass to my mom has re-opened. The fire moves ever closer to containment.

I do still scan the sky for new smoke and for rain that would lower the still-hot temps and dampen the still-burning fire. And I make sure to watch the evening news and check #WaldoCanyonFire on Twitter throughout the day. I also continue to be on the lookout for lost and frightened animals in my neighborhood. Overall, though, it’s been relatively easy for me to get back to normal.

I’m fortunate, blessed, and thankful. For many others in my city, getting back to normal hasn’t been so easy. My heart, my thoughts, my prayers go out to them—to those who are still reeling, who must build new homes and new lives, who have yet to create a new normal.

Today's question:

The Waldo Canyon Fire evacuees had mere hours, sometimes less, to gather personal belongings from their homes. What would you grab first—other than people and pets—in the event of evacuation?