Life at Grand Central is wonderful

We've been Grand Central lately — meaning life has been full of grands. Three arrived with their mother from Minneapolis. The eighteen-year-old is a big city guy with a certain amount of sophistication. His grandpa's down home phrases are so legendary he's about to immortalize “Let's blow this popsicle stand!'” in a new tattoo. It's not Rushmore — some might think it a dubious honor — but we'll take it.

The ten-year-old, whom we recently visited in Spokane, isn't thinking about tattoos. He's got his corn crop on his mind. Knowing he likes to plant seeds I asked what he had going. I hadn't been over in awhile. His eyes lit up and I followed him out to a corner of the front yard along the curb. He had a nice little patch of flourishing cornstalks. I just hope there's no emergency blaze in the neighborhood as he planted his corn right in front of the fire hydrant. Then again. …

I learned he's made fifty dollars from his lemonade stand. His street isn't a thoroughfare by any stretch. “Fifty dollars!” I exclaimed. “Where'd you have your stand?” He replied matter-of-factly, “At the graveyard.” He loads up his wagon with his supplies, and sets up on a grassy corner outside the fence. I'm sure he adds a bit of cheer to the place and the passers by appreciate that.

We've got a six-year-old grand whose mother has been ill so she's at our house sometimes with her older brother and sister. Her brother refused a glass of milk at the breakfast table. She piped up, “He's black toast intolerance.” That caused a double take. But you know, when you're young yet and have no idea what these big words actually are, she gave it a pretty good attempt.

I heard from our son, who listened in on some back seat conversation between the “black toast” intolerant boy and his ten-year-old sister, that vowels were being discussed. She said, “You have to say your vowels.” He asked, “What are vowels?” This was not a grammar lesson. She answered, “I don't know, but you say them at a wedding.” Wedding “vowels” — the exchange usually involves an “I” who takes a “U.” Maybe she's not that far off.

We took another grand for a belated nineteenth birthday dinner. Learned she and her roommate had their hospitality tested when a friend — sleeping on the apartment couch — overstayed her welcome. Two weeks became two months. So when she had to go out of town they packed up her stuff and the boxes are awaiting her return. They are hoping she takes it well — as they still want to be friends. Sometimes — with some people — subtle doesn't work.

The tat teen did not take the subtle approach when making an observation about me, his grandma. And he was right. He noted that, while I don't personally use profanity, when I am telling a story and it involves someone who does I don't have a problem quoting. Oh yeah, grandchildren are paying attention. More than I know.

I tell them I don't have favorites — but I have favorite things about each one. What I care about is that all 20 know they are tattooed on my heart.