Blazes of Glory

In early September, I told you about my high hopes for gathering with our kids and grandkids to celebrate our 45th wedding anniversary on October 1. I explained how the deck seemed stacked against us from its initial planning stages, with everything from Covid restrictions to venue changes and other wrenches thrown into the mix. I tried hard to hold it all lightly, lest it be swept away.

Then I left you hanging. I sincerely apologize if you’ve bitten your nails down to the knuckles waiting to hear how that all turned out.

I could write an entire series of columns about our shenanigans, but ain’t nobody got time for that. I’ll try to limit my highlights to five special things you could adapt for your own family.

1. Family Olympics. With 11 people, we divided into two teams of five with one “moderator.” Events included naming your team, piggyback, 3-legged, and unicycle races, the eye contact game, cup stacking relay, and a themed pentathlon consisting of five events for which each team selected its champion so that all five members competed in one. Yes, this took a bit of organizing ahead of time but proved well worth it. The results included tons of chortling, cheering, and just the right amount of cheating. Gold or silver-wrapped chocolates were awarded to the teams with the most and second-most accumulated points—a close call with scores of 265 and 255.

2. Love-About Sheets. Brightly colored sheets of paper, one for each family member, covered one wall throughout the weekend. At the top of each were the words, “One thing I love about…” with a person’s name. Even the little kids, with help, wrote what they appreciated about every other person. Afterward, each took their sheet home.

3. Slide Show. I had discovered on my computer a Powerpoint show I’d made for my husband on our 25th anniversary and realized I could resurrect it and simply add photos from the last 20 years. I should have realized that with grads, weddings, babies, and books, we’d have far more to show for the past 20 years than the first 25. The show grew to 20 minutes long and used five of our favorite songs. But when we watched it together, even the youngest stayed to the end. Yep, there were tears.

4. Photo Shoot. My friend and favorite photographer, Gayle Loewen, drove two hours to capture our family in both posed and candid shots. Her excellent results already hang all over our walls and on my social media. What a treasure!

5. Blessings. To honor the value of a more formal and official blessing, we took time to call each person forward to receive spoken words of affirmation, physical touch, and eye contact. Starting with the youngest, each person’s blessing is printed on a tile they can keep. Each envisions a bright future for them and includes a scripture chosen specifically for them. Most of the tears came from Grandpa and me, but when I asked our daughter later if it felt like “too little, too late” from us, her spontaneous answer made my day. “Oh heck, no.”

I could also mention meals, fires, our beautiful surroundings, and awesome weather—as well as the all-too-human, unplanned wrinkles and wobbles that inevitably factor into every convergence of multiple generations. But I’m convinced those three days were the best gift we’ve ever given our family. I titled this column “Blazes of Glory” because I came home feeling like I could die happy. Alas, I’m still here. Email me if you’d like more details on our structured events or our simple but tasty meal plan. 

 

Confessions of a Party Pooper

For four days each year, hubby and I are the same age. In between these two birthdays last week, our perpetually cheerful eldest called to suggest he bring the family for lunch at our house, followed by an afternoon of sledding if weather permitted. A sort of combined birthday celebration and a great way to wear out three rambunctious boys on a winter Saturday.

Oh. Um. Well. Gee.

I had planned to get some writing done, maybe a little housework. But I knew the correct answer. How long will it be before the boys would rather stick pins in their eyes than go sledding—or do anything, really—with Grandma and Grandpa?

“OK. Sounds good.”

I bought frozen lasagna, a bagged salad, pop-in-the-oven garlic bread, and a bakery cake. They might be descending on my house and pre-empting my nap time, but I saw no need to be a martyr about it with a home-cooked meal.

I saved my martyrdom for the sledding hill. Though the temperature was a balmy -7, the brutal wind threatened to suck my face off and hurl it down the hill without me. I snapped a few pictures of the others and climbed back in the truck where I belonged.

“This is dumb,” I thought after a while. “If Grandpa can slide down the hill and live to do it a second and third time, surely I can go down at least once. It’s probably more fun than it looks.”

It wasn’t.

It's steeper than it appears!

Why anyone would willingly bump down a frozen hill, walloping their tailbone while icy shards stab their eyeballs when they could be curled up by a cozy fake fireplace with a cup of tea and a good book is beyond me. I think I saw my dentures pass me on the way down and I don’t even wear dentures.

I survived my one run and quit while ahead. 

From there, we packed everyone off to the river for a wiener roast. This required a fifteen-minute tramp through knee-deep snow pulling sleds laden with lawn chairs and food. Staggering in fruitless attempts to stay upright, I asked the littlest if we were having fun yet.

“I am,” he said. 

I plowed on, knowing it was the only way for this adventure to be over.

The fire took a while to begin blazing and I fantasized about the hot bath I’d take when we got home. I knew I should be taking a cue from the boys, running around like they were. Instead, I huddled close to the fire, coughing in the smoke and mentally writing the epitaph for my gravestone: Worst. Grandmother. Ever.

 

We packed up and began the long trek back, the boys impressing me with their stamina and good spirits in spite of the cold wind, the snotty noses, and the lack of bathroom facilities. Like an old mare returning to her warm stall, I moved much faster on the return trip.

The boys and their parents piled into their vehicle and waved good-bye. Did they see me as nothing but a big spoil sport? Had I crushed their little hearts by revealing the spineless wimp that I am?

It was on my own ride home that it occurred to me. Though I have many clear and fond memories of my grandmother, I cannot say I ever saw her slide down a toboggan hill. Or tramp through deep snow just for the sake of spending time with me. Or eat a hot dog outdoors in February.

Maybe this day wasn’t about whether or not I had a delightful experience. Maybe it wasn’t  about what I would remember, but about what they would. Maybe it was simply about showing up.

I enjoyed that hot bath as if the water came straight from heaven.