Day: March 26, 2018

Yesterday, Maria and I went to Brooklyn to spend some time with my daughter Emma and my granddaughter Robin. As I have written, I haven’t spent too much time with Robin, and am wary of of expecting to know her well or be too close. We just live too far away.  I will be honest, family has been a painful and difficult story in my life, and I have learned to be careful and keep expectations low. It is safer for me.

We got up at 4 a.m. to catch an early train to the city and i was a bit foggy when we got there.

My expectations and caution changed rather dramatically almost as soon as I entered Emma’s apartment in downtown Brooklyn. Robin, who I have not seen in months, walked into the room, gave me a long and careful stare, and then got a wicked gleam in here eye, much as I did.

It was a moment, for sure. We both seemed to recognize a part of us in the other, the troublemaker, boat-rocker and mischief-maker, keeper of the unnerving stare. She gave me the -ok-pops-lets’s– make-some-trouble look, and charged. We were off to the races.

It was as if we had known each other for months and months. I felt a great surge of love and feeling, something unexpected was occurred inside of me.It felt like I was  re-arranging myself inside.

I remembered that feeling from the first time I saw Maria – we just knew one another, it felt like that.

For much of my life I was closed up tight, it saved my life, I believe. But recent years have been more and more about opening up – to people, to animals, in my writing, my photography,  to the powerful emotions often buried deep inside of me.

Robin sailed right through all that yesterday.

We took the measure of each other and I think she recognized me right away, her look said “what is this guy all about?” She set off to find out.

She climbed into my lap, looked me in the eye, grabbed my lip,  and we just had a day-long love fest.

I was hoping she might call me “grandpa” or something simple, but no such luck, she has decided to call me “weepaw” instead. It’s her decision.

I read stories and stickers to her (I brought a sack of books), we did stickers together. I am glad I decided to give a beginner digital camera to the refugee kids.  I found a spot for some minor and tender tickling (tickling can go too far, you have to be careful, but it can also be fun), which she loved.

She climbed up and down on me, put stickers on my pants and sweater and nose (I still have a couple of stickers on my close) on me and made ridiculous faces to one another, while Emma beamed.

We sang together, and I read to her, and she gave me a steady stream of presents, including many of the gifts I had brought her, and one or two of the disgusting peas she loves to eat. It was easy and pure, free of guile and caution. I opened up and let myself follow the heart for once not the brain. We just connected. It was exhilarating. it was exhausting. I want to do it again when I can.

At one point, she just lay her head down on my shoulder, and I froze. Another moment, more emotions. All good.

For much of the afternoon, Robin brought me things, sat in my lap, and we just laughed uproariously, with one another and at one another. We barked at each other repeatedly, and made animal noises. She called me “weepaw” about a thousand times. She winked at me in the restaurant, even as she prepared a loud tantrum.

This, I felt, was real.

It was the kind of connection that doesn’t depend on frequent visits or silly gurgling on FaceTime. We just knew and loved one another, even I can’t parse it or second guess it.

My daughter Emma and I have worked hard to get easier with one another, and we have been successful. I think Robin will bring both of us together as well.

Robin opened me up like a can opener, was the thing, and it was a very powerful thing, I felt it inside of my body, in my heart.

It was important. In one sense, I was right – it happens in its own time and way. In another, I was wrong. it isn’t about visits or gifts, it’s something deeper, perhaps even biological. We just saw inside of each other, we knew one another.

I saw Maria smiling also, she was sitting next to us on the sofa, and Robin was drawn to her as well, Maria is wide open to love, and she has been gently encouragement me to try harder to connect with Robin, to visit her more frequently. Emma has been doing the same thing, the smile on her face during the afternoon was just as important to me as Robin’s laugh.

I believe we accept the love we think we deserve. I am opening up to love, I have to thank Maria for that. I can’t do it all the time, or as easily as some. But when I do it, it is real.

I know Emma has worked hard and wants Emma and I to be close, but her difficult father, who has always driven her a bit mad, was being cautious. I don’t like Face Time – I sound like a moron talking that way – and I can’t get there too often. It’s not simple.

I think Robin and I will understand one another now. I love her fully now, not just because she exists, but because I know who she is. She has the spark of life in her, she is dog-and-donkey crazy, she will love the farm. She will seize her life and keep it, I suspect.

I can help her just be being myself, it doesn’t require any more than that. And I see I have a lot of love to offer her, I just am not the kind of person who can give it away without some thought, I’ve always favored conditional love – you have to work at it. I’m not saying that’s good or bad, but it is me.

I believe Robin will understand that I don’t want to be one of those grandfathers who thinks a granddaughter is the best thing that ever happened to him, I don’t want to be taking care of her every week or live next door. She is not the best thing that ever happened to me and I have no desire to live next door (Emma would flee the country)  or devote my life to her. I rarely show other people her photos or bore them with stories about her. I don’t even know many stories about her.

I have worked hard for my life, and I love it, and I don’t wish to give any part of it away.

I would like ver much  to be a positive force in her life, have fun with her, show her the power of the creative life – by example – and hope she can understand that we can choose to live the lives we want, not just the lives people tell us we should safely have.

I have no speeches to give her, or any desire to tell her what to do. I have no interest in sharing parenting advice. She has wonderful parents, who love her dearly. That will get her far.

I am quite mindful of the fact that when she is 10 I will be 80, I doubt I will see her at all, if ever,  much beyond that.

I have a friend whose daughter had children when she was  young. He is in his 50’s, he retired early so he could be with her kids, help raise them, they are, he said, the centerpiece of his life, he helps take care of them almost every day. This week, he is taking them off to DisneyWorld.

He is very happy.

But that is not me, that is not what I want the centerpiece of my life to be.

I have learned that love is a great gift all of its own, and our visit showed me that I can give her that gift, no strings attached, and she can give me the same in return.

So it was well worth it to get up before down. We had a kind of a thrill afternoon, subways failed to show up, we dashed for our train and jumped in just as the doors were closing, we had a riotous time yakking with two women in the seats across from us, mostly we talked about Stormy Daniels and her battle with our President.

As we left the train, a woman’s clothes got caught in the escalator and people were shrieking for help. It turned out well, she was fine. We were happy to get home and go to sleep.

I am very grateful for our visit. I smile every time I think of it.

 

This morning, at our little Post Office, my P.O. Box was filled with envelopes from all over the country.

Just a few days ago, after Gus died, I wrote about grieving, and I wrote that if anyone wished to honor Gus – he was not just our dog, he was a lot of people’s dog – I would be grateful if rather than flowers they would send a small contribution to my Post Office Box, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, every penny would go towards helping the RISSE refugee children and the Mansion residents.

What a way, I thought, to turn this loss to good. So many people loved Gus, I thought it would be appropriate to give them a chance to honor him.

Some people are self-conscious about sending small donations, but I said small donations would be honored, and they are.

The first letters today came in from Tempe, Arizona, Maineville, Ohio,, Bend, Oregon, Perry, Michigan, Santa Fe, New Mexico, Long Valley, N.J., Livingston, N.J., Denver, Colorado, Fresno, California, Great Creek, South Dakota, Lexington, Kentucky, Alexandria, Va., Bradenton, Florida and a dozen other places.

The blog is my mother, I think, she is everywhere.

C.K. put $8 in envelope, a five dollar bill and three one dollars bills, old and rumpled, and she apologized for the small amount (there is no need for that, her honoring of Gus was substantial in my mind.) “He was a valiant little guy,” she wrote.

There were a couple of big donations also, Kathleen sent a check for $500 so that the Mansion residents could take their boat ride on Lake George when the weather warms up. Kimberly from Ohio sent a small and much appreciated gift – a $10 bill – in “memory of your sweet Little Man…Thank you for your patience trying to do the best by him. He was a very lucky boy.”

I am lucky to have readers like you Kimberly, and thanks.

These messages were inspiring to me, and healing too. Every time I read one of these letters and took out those crumpled and precious bills – they are very touching – I felt better, lighter, especially when I thought that Gus’s death will mean some people will get the shoes they need, take a few outings they need.

I think of the many people who still love letters, and sit at their kitchen tables, and wrote those sweet messages and take out a few needed dollars, and get out their stamps, and walk to the post office. Wow.

Last week, one of the RISSE refugee families lost a mother, granddaughter and child in a fire in nearby Renssellaer, New York. I hope to send them some of the donations.

Thanks for much for honoring Gus in this week. It means a great deal to us, turning his death into something that will help a lot of people. The small donations are very powerful and affirming, I can’t thank you enough for them.

For those of you who missed the original post, I wrote last week that we would prefer Gus be  honored with donations for the refugees and Mansion residents, those donations can be sent to me, c/o P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y. 12816.

I see Gus was a gift that keeps on giving, farm beyond me and Maria. Thanks.