More snapshots

of the first days with my granddaughter

I read the following passage in

Lisa Olivera

’s recent post here that has stayed with me.

There is medicine in sometimes letting your plans go and simply tending to what’s here, now, in front of you (or literally on top of you). There is medicine in closing your computer for the sake of giving attention to the life all around you. There is medicine in taking the pressure off of always having to produce something extraordinary; in letting being present for the small moments of your life have more importance than staying on the perfect schedule, or sharing the most insightful thing, or growing in the ranks and eyes of the internet. There is medicine in listening to what the moment is asking of you and choosing to respond, instead of overriding for the sake of productivity or Shoulds. There is medicine in allowing your fully human self to be just that… not a machine but a person, not robotic but fleshy, with a heart and a family and needs and desires and longings that exist outside of who you perceive you’re supposed to be in any given moment. - Lisa Olivera

These wise words settle into my skin like a comforting mist. I pay them heed and make it my only job while visiting Amy, Michael, and Lucia to fully immerse myself in the joy of being with them, in the present moment, and relishing the delight of sweet Lucia on my chest or my lap. I’ve waited many years for her arrival, and I welcome the weight of her presence in my life.

While I have brought my computer on this trip, it sits in the corner of my room unopened. I keep up to a minimal degree on my phone. There is now so much that simply does not merit my attention in these precious days. Not people, mind you, but the current of living in the United States during these dog days, it’s time for a rest.

I breathe in Lucia’s scent and memorize her every curve, study her tiny eyes twitching as she sleeps, wondering what she’s dreaming about beneath those dainty eyelids. I watch the rise of her little chest as she breathes. Tears dance across my cheeks each and every day, bonding with my precious grandchild. I also marvel at my daughter, whom I am so stinkin’ proud of, and her husband, whom I am beyond thankful for.

In my spare time, I read Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. The choice of reading this book for my trip, which had been sitting in my reading pile for an eternity, was undoubtedly the Universe nudging me along. The lessons contained therein could not be more on point for this time in my life. 

Robin dedicates her book to all the Keepers of the Fire, her parents, daughters, and grandchildren yet to join her on earth. In the first few chapters, she speaks so eloquently of Mother Earth, planting and braiding sweetgrass, the Skywoman story, and the council of pecans. Each story leaves an indelible imprint in my mind. Robin also reminisces about her ancestors and the federal government’s Indian Removal policies, Indian agents being paid a bounty for rounding up kids to ship to the government boarding schools, parents forced to sign papers to let their children go “legally,” and the parents who refused to sign being jailed.

Reflecting on the stories in Braiding Sweetgrass, I am reminded that not much has changed or healed in our almost 250 years as a nation. Beauty and awe sit right alongside the atrocities that mankind unleashes upon his fellow man, and life is a journey with no last train running. 

It’s this last thought that begins to repeat in my mind, like the old 45s I played over and over again as a young girl. Maybe life is as simple as that; we must repeat the lesson until we learn from it. And maybe, just maybe, this is the time that we as a people come away not needing the lesson again. 

With the tiny tendrils of a new calmness pulsing through my veins, I soak in the value of small moments with Lucia, Amy, and Michael, along with an extra special gift from Mother Nature, another one I have been waiting a lifetime for.

More on that next time.