[Ava is my youngest granddaughter, and today is her twelfth birthday. She lives in New York with her architect parents, is smart, talented, graceful, charming, a joy to know. She is very tall for her age, in fact, taller than myself, which isn't very hard to do.]
Happy Birthday, Ava. I hope you have a wonderful day and a wonderful celebration
Twelve years old. WOW!! I remember when I was twelve, even as I now approach my four-score. We didn’t have birthday parties in those days, except our own immediate family, of which there were enough to have a party anyway. My mother always made a three-layer yellow cake, frosted and decorated, and served with—not ice cream—jello, with whipped cream. We didn’t have a refrigerator/freezer, only an ice-box, so we couldn’t keep ice-cream, and it was too far to run out to the store to buy some. My parents gave me a birthday card that had pansies on it. They gave me a scrapbook and an autograph book. The first thing that went into the scrapbook was the card with pansies. Through my high school years I filled the scrapbook with cards, letters, photos, and mementos, and kept it for 30 years, but unfortunately it was accidentally left behind when we moved to Montana. Do young people today use autograph books? This was a little, fat book that we carried around with us and got our friends to sign—some wrote little rhymes or wishes. I only remember three of the autographs in mine—hmmm, all three from adults. Maybe we do listen to the grownups. My mother wrote: “Good, better, best/Never let it rest/Until your good is better/And your better, best.” My dad wrote: “Now is the time/You are the girl/ Give me a kiss/And make my head whirl.” I think my Dad must have had lots of practice writing that verse before he met my mother. And my science teacher, Mr Yost, wrote: “May your life be long and happy/With just enough rain showers to make the sunshine always welcome.” And now I will close with lyrics from an old song: “Stay as sweet as you are/Don't let a thing/Ever change you./Stay as sweet as you are/Don't let a soul/Rearrange you.”
With love, hugs, and kisses,
Gramma Windy
No comments:
Post a Comment