OCTOBER 12, 2024 – Today our granddaughter celebrated her ninth birthday. At our son’s request my wife and I “got scarce” for nearly the entire duration of the shindig, which was staged at our house. At first we were a bit miffed at being excluded, but as I observed the birthday girl’s mother and dad decorate the main party room and arrange the smörgåsbord of snacks, treats and beverages, I saw the rationale behind the directive. Life isn’t easy for Illi’s parents, and they wanted, needed a “win” without an “assist”—other than the use of our house.
Beth drove across town for a long walk and lunch with a friend. I went on my daily power walk in Little Switzerland, then returned to an upstairs “cell” pre-supplied with a lunch cooler and coffee pot. Windows provided a view overlooking a portion of the backyard where birthday events were underway. The main attraction was pumpkin-painting at a large low-lying makeshift table that Beth had managed to assemble “anonymously” before the birthday girl and her parents appeared. A full complement of pumpkins, paint sets and brushes also just happened to be on hand.
Before all the guests had departed, Beth was permitted repatriation, and I was granted parole. The party had been a roaring success, and the two remaining families—close friends of Illiana’s parents—were positively outstanding and enjoyable people.
After they left and clean-up was complete, Illiana, her parents and Beth and I gathered in the sitting room while Illiana opened family presents: a new scooter from Beth; a newly minted reprinted paperback copy (protected by contact paper, which I applied last night) of A Child’s History of the World from me and a gigantic Lego set from Great Aunt Jenny and Great Uncle Garrison and cousin Maia. The nine-year-old was on Cloud Nine.
For over an hour straight, Illiana sat at a table Beth set up for her in a corner of the living room. The birthday kid was laser focused and entirely self-directed as she followed diligently the step-by-step instructions. I realized how good this assembly project was for concentration and attention span development. While she worked away, looking so grown-up, I sat on a nearby sofa and attended to some legal work—with Bruckner 7 playing in the background. For that hour two people sitting five feet apart and working at very different things, experienced nirvana.
Our intense focus was broken by the oven timer two rooms away. The buzzer signaled that a squash dinner was nearly ready. Beth was in her office two rooms on the other size of the kitchen. It was left to Illiana to speak up. “Grandpa,” she said, “could you please take care of that?”
“Sure,” I said, thinking how grown-up she sounded.
Someone like Illiana teaches me to live in the present and savor the moment. One day all too soon she’ll be flying independently. It’s the natural course of life, a progression that parents and grandparents want to foster at the same time we want to delay as long as possible. An eight-year-old, however, can’t be an eight-year-old forever, nor can a now nine-year-old stay nine years old for more than a year. But if we cherish life in the moment, every moment, we can find reward and satisfaction that eludes us when we shackle ourselves to nostalgic regret or succumb to anxiety about the future.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
