Just the other day, a friend called me “Granny.” I was taken aback. Although the recent birth of my first grandchild makes it technically correct, the new title set me on my heels and gave me to thinkin’ – which proves the point since only a granny uses old saws like those (including “old saws”). It brought to mind images of sitting in a rocking chair on a rickety old truck and washing clothes by the cement pond. Actually…who but a granny remembers the Beverly Hillbillies?
My sudden onset of grannyhood led me to reflect that time doesn’t march on; it labors. Periods of calm are respites between contractions of relationships, family, work, illness, and just plain paying the bills. The most cherished interlude is the birth of a child or – as I can now attest – the birth of a grandchild. There’s nothing like 10 tiny toes to restore your faith.
Did I mention she’s a girl? As a mother of three sons, this is a brave new world for me. Finally I can shop the pink aisle. When Clara came into the world at the end of September we thought we knew everything about her – her gender, her name, her tendency to hiccup. But we didn’t know her size. Clara weighed in at 11 lb. A big surprise for my daughter-in-law, Jessica! That’s as much as a medium-sized bowling ball (or a human head, a comparison more likely to be made by Grandmama Addams than Granny Clampett).
Clara’s birth during a presidential campaign season as crazy as a megalomaniac with a mandate makes me ponder the world she will inherit, and not just on a national level. Clara and her parents live here in the north end. I grew up here too; however, my Kitsap and Clara’s are very different, becoming more different all the time. My friends and I wandered the woods and the beaches, built forts on land that wasn’t ours (it was all ours), and rode our bikes – and horses – into Kingston. How different for Clara, living in a place where forests fall every day to make way for new developments, at a time when children are unsupervised only in front of their computer screens.
In the end, the important thing is that my granddaughter will grow up with love. Clara will have the self-confidence, purpose, and security that come from being a priority. She will wear pretty shoes and hear bedtime stories and wrestle with her dad, my son, Spencer. Clara is lucky. I’m overjoyed to be part of this little girl’s life. As us old folks say – I’m tickled pink. It’s good to be a granny.
— Contact columnist Wendy Tweten or her alter ego Miss Snippy at wendy@wendytweten.com.
