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Happy Birthday to Me
I recently had the wonderful experience, as I entered my eighth decade on this earth (for those of you in Rio Linda, this means I just turned 70), of entertaining my sister, my sister-in-law, and my three-year-old niece in my little corner of the world right here in these United States. I haven’t seen my sister since 2009. I’d never met my sister-in-law. Or my niece.
What a blessing family is.
Random observations:
My little niece is a pistol. I don’t know her mother’s side of the family well (hope to fix that in the next couple of years), but I can see her determined nature and sense of humor as representative of much on my own side. She’s very bright, and very verbal (imagine my surprise). Some of her most charming moments surround her not always getting the phonemes quite right, and so–when she substitutes “N” for the difficult-to-pronounce “L” she comes up with a description of her favorite tee-shirt (the one with the appliqued animal figure) as her “snoth” shirt.
“Snoth…” some of us illiterate adults, who haven’t yet caught on, wonder.
“Not ‘snoth,'” the little girl says, and–digging in, becoming more determined, and louder, as kids do, “SNOTH!!”
“Sloth,” of course. She hears the difference. She knows the difference. But her tongue won’t quite put itself in the right place to make the correct sound. She’ll get there. As I did, when I was about five.
We had so many moments like this. Her accent is English and regional. I love it. “Let’s go SHOPP-ping.” “Have some ‘CHOCK-lit’ ice cream” (the “L” works fine in this case). “Oi don’t knauw.” Or, reverting to childhood again, “Would you nike a snice of cake?”
What a sweetie.
We had a blast. Fed the chickens. Took care of the sheep. Cuddled the dogs. Patted the cats (eventually). Went to Sarris’s, upon which her verdict was (repeated over and over again), “This is a-MAZE-ing!!!” Bought her something at McDonald’s which I can only describe as “tschips” which she thought was the most delightful food imaginable.
And on and on. Simple things. Those that make life meaningful.
But one of the most unexpected and disarming moments from the visit, when it came to family, was a gift from my own granddaughter (who’s 16). She very gracefully showed up and participated in the family activities, and somehow one evening at dinner, volunteered the information that she’d been asked–as a school assignment–to identify a “comfort food” that she’d loved in her childhood.
Her answer–her “granny’s pancakes!” Those would be mine. Something I’ve made for her hundreds of times.
I’m actually a step-granny. But that little dodge hasn’t mattered for years and years. It doesn’t have to, and we shouldn’t insist that it must. That she wrote–without telling me–that my pancake breakfasts made her feel special and loved, is a tremendous gift, and a reminder that it’s not the amount of time we spend with those we love, it’s the quality of it. I’ve known that for almost three-quarters of a century, and I’m delighted to pass the thought on.
Family is the greatest gift there is, across and among the generations.
Never give up on it.
Published in General
Step grandchildren are grandchildren.
I enjoyed Yer post, She.
Many happy returns on the occasion She.
Yours,
L & III
Happiest of Happy Birthdays! And I love hearing about your niece and Miss Peachy–what a wonderful blessing they are in your life. Thanks for sharing them with us.
Happy birthday.
Happy Bigstack! birthday.
Happy Birthday, She. Nora and I wish you many more.
Happy Birthday, She!
I’ll add a caveat/addendum to your statement about family: “…whether it’s the one you were born to or one you create along the way.”
Wonderful indeed.
And to think that liberals undermine families at every turn.
Happy Birthday SHE!
My kids love my pancakes. My first granddaughter is 18 months and overdue for grandpas first pancake. My dad made the best. We would have them for a few Saturdays in a row when the new maple syrup was ready. He had 3 big cast iron frying pans going at the same time. Even the first pancake was in demand. He never ate until the six of us were done. I don’t even need to look up the recipe.
4c flour, 2tsp salt, 2tbsp sugar, 2tsp baking powder, 4c milk, good splash of vanilla extract (my addition)
Right before the pan add more milk so they are extremely thin and cover the pan. And real maple syrup is a must.
Thanks for the good wishes, all. They mean a lot, as I stagger on into my dotage.
Very true. And while technology and social media often (deservedly) get such a bad rap, I have to say they’re a godsend when it comes to staying in touch and forming bonds with those near and dear. The first decade of my life, when we were in Nigeria, I don’t remember a single phone call back to the family in the UK. I’m not sure such a thing was possible for the common folk; if it were, we certainly didn’t have access to it. Any urgent communication had to be made, and delivered, by telegram. (The original sort, not the app whose company CEO has just been arrested.) The only alternative was snail mail.
Granny had a phone in the UK as long as I can remember (NORthern 4749) and we got one, probably in the late 1950s at our house (DROitwich 3022). It was the first one in the area, and neighbors would flock to use it, leaving change in the coin box to pay for the privilege.
When we moved to the States in 1963, we were able to phone home, as the first transatlantic phone cable had been laid several years previously. We had to schedule the call, it cost the earth, and we made sure, for the two of them we made each Christmas–one to Mum’s side of the family and one to Dad’s–that we did it at a time that the most people possible were on the other end. I still remember the shock (it was in 1973) of picking up the phone and discovering my uncle on the line, phoning to tell us that Grandpa had died.
That we could share photos of my niece slurping her ice cream cone or frightening herself as the lamb shouted “BAAA” at her from the other side of the fence, in real time, with my brother, her dad, in the UK is just miraculous. As it was, by the time I met my sister-in-law and niece, we’d already shared so much, both in our weekly chats and occasional video calls, and a steady stream of photos and texts going both ways.
I’m fond of referencing great-granny, who was born four years after Lincoln was assassinated and who died when I was fourteen, just a few months before Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. When I look back at my own life, even just to this point, the changes have been–if not quite as dramatic–pretty immense.
This sounds quite similar to my recipe, although I start with 2 cups of flour, so about half as much. Lovely!
I remember, when my granddaughter was about seven, her mother asking, “What do you think granny is going to make for you for breakfast?” Granddaughter: Granny will make me anything I want.” Mom: “What do you want, then?” Granddaughter: “Can I have pancakes?” (She never asked for anything else.)
Thanks!
The award for the most original birthday gift has to go to my sister. She has a friend who’s a talented needle felter. My sister decided I needed a needle-felt version of Chinggis the rooster, so she dragooned my stepdaughter into begging for photos and videos of Chinggis, which Jenny then sent on to my sister. Jenny told me they were for her “friend,” and I remember getting a bit fed up, and wondering why this “friend” seemed so obsessed with photos and videos of Chinggis, but I obliged as best I could. This is the result, about a 1/2 size model:
Here’s the original:
So funny.
Happy Birthday! Wonderful story and a good place to be for a birthday celebration- with your family on your wonderful farm!!
A perfectly lovely post! Congratulations and best wishes!
Happy ( by now belated) birthday!!!🙂