Camping with Emma

Camping with Emma

My grand daughter, Emma, was six years old when her mommy, on a whim, bought a tent at Target.

I told Emma that we could “camp out” some night if she wanted to.

“OK,” she said.

A few days later I pitched the tent in the yard, eight steps off the back porch. Emma said she wanted to bring some of her puzzles, and some of her books, which we did.

Inside the tent, as darkness fell, I read the book, "Dora the Explorer", propping up a flashlight and shining it on the pages, which were fabric, not paper. Cute, I thought, as Emma crawled into the sleeping bag while I read.


Lying on her back, head peeping out of covers, she looked over at me. “I can’t go camping with you tomorrow,” she said, apologetically.

I said, “OK.”

“Cause I have to sleep over at Grammy’s for forty days,” she explained.

"That's OK sweetheart," I said. I made a note not to plan on tomorrow, or anytime soon thereafter, which likely was Emma's point.

I continued reading.

“If we are camping, we need some marshmallows, and wood,” Emma interrupted.

I explained that the stores were closed. Emma responded with tiny whine - soft and sweet.

“The next time, we camp we’ll get some,” I said. She whined again, a little louder, but just as sweet.

Emma fiddled with her other books, as I read on.

She asked me to take the berets out of her hair. I did this and she seemed to be getting sleepy. This is it I thought as I gently unfastened the berets. After all, we were "sleeping in the tent," so was that not the ultimate goal?

Then she said, “You know, papa, camping is not so much fun if you miss your mommy.”

I looked at her, she at me. “Do you want to go in and see mommy?” I said.

"I don't want anyone seeing me talking to mommy."

“Why is that?” I said.

“Because they’ll laugh at me,” she said.

"Don't worry," I said as we crawled out of the tent.

Inside, I told her mommy that Emma wanted to speak with her alone.

After talking to her mommy, I took Emma up to her room. I sat on the bed as she got under the covers. I sang some songs like I used to do with my daughters, Brett and Ashley. “Golden Slumbers” and “Summertime” were my favorite bedtime songs to my children. The songs seemed to make Emma sleepy.

“Papa?” Emma said.

“What?”

“When are you going to go downstairs?”

“Are you sleepy,” I said.

“Uh huh.”

I kissed her goodnight.

The camping trip was officially completed. But that small experience is one of the most beautiful and memorable things I have ever done.

Why Does the Sun Keep On Shining?

Why Does the Sun Keep On Shining?

Monday March 19, 2018

 6:40 AM

Just out of bed. Knelling on floor, I do four back exercises, thinking of lifelong friend, Bill Rezak, who is now in heaven and who showed me the exercises forty years ago. 

Downstairs I make coffee, spooning grinds into re-usable Keurig cup. Proud of that. Re-usable. 

 

With brew in hand, I take up usual position on couch to read NY Times online.

An article from Books section catches my eye: 15 Remarkable Books by Women of the 21st Century. I jot two author names, Rachel Cusk and Jenny Offill,

7:00

Must get going, start the day. 

 

I leave for daughter Ashley's house to pick up two grand kids, Eddie (14) and Johnny (12), to bring them to middle school, along with car-pooling neighbor, Sara. 

Ride to school is quiet. Kids (boys) mostly on phone. Sara, without phone, has her eyes glued out the side window, 

When we pull up to the school and kids step out, I offer a, "Good bye, I love you." 

"Love you too," both say back.

I wait and watch them walk in. 

My heart warms.


7:40

Back home, I start reading the paper again. Soon it's almost 9 O’clock and again feel I should get moving. "Get off the couch," I tell myself - do something.

I go to Starbucks, with the intention of doing some writing. Inside I order, “A Dark please.” I hand over my Starbucks card.
  

I find a table, set up the laptop. Laptop screen says “Working on updates 30 % complete.”  

Hmmmm. Hate those updates. This could be a while, I think. I sip my coffee, look around the room. It's close to a full house, I tell myself, this is not unlike a busy office with everyone on laptops. How the world has changed.

Finally update finishes. In a little less than an hour I write 187 words. Not bad, for me - attention challenged, wanna-be writer.

I take a breath, start writing again. Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by the Starbucks sound system playing a melody that touches me.

I can’t make out all the words. I catch only “Why does the sun keep on shining ...” I stop my writing and begin a search for those lyrics in Google. The song is “The End of the World.” I click on Amazon and find a rendition by Julie London. I download the song. 

 

Needless to say, I'm easily distracted.

I get up for a free coffee re-fill, say hello to Carol, “my barrister,” behind the counter.  Carol asks, “Still driving grand kids all around?”

“My favorite thing to do,“ I say.

“You’re wonderful,” she says handing me the re-fill. "Thanks," I say, smiling at her words. 

10:04

I drive to library, find Cusk and Offill books. I check both out, then read four pages of Cusk when my phone buzzes. I whisper, “Hello,” as I walk out to the lobby. 

It’s daughter Brett calling from CA. She tells me Mike (age 16, home for spring break from prep school) wore his “Andover Hockey” jacket to local (CA) HS Lacrosse game last night. “So cute,” she says.

I get to tell my team jacket story, of being excited to wear my Lehigh University Varsity Football jacket with tan leather sleeves to Middletown-Port Jervis Thanksgiving football game in November 1962. 

Brett tells me she heard the story before.

Really!!?.

I leave library with two books.

10:52

Home again. I try to put the End of the World song on the phone. It's not easy. I give up. Finally I do a Google search for “what is the phone location of transferred songs.” Answer is: This PC / Samsung-SM-J320A / Phone / ATT Mobile Transfer.  

 

ATT Mobile Transfer? Huh?  Who knew?

I decide to move the song later.

11:30

I make breakfast: Trader Joe’s Oven Toasted Old Fashioned Organic Oats, Strawberries (not organic), Trader Joe’s Raw California Walnuts Halves & Pieces, plus 1% Low Fat Milk  

 

I eat the cereal, then finally transfer the Julie London song to phone.

12:20

I drive to daughter Ashley’s home to let dogs out. I grab Offill’s book to read at stop lights. I get through half of page one at the light at the end of my road.
 

A quote:

… all our stories ….
So why do they come back to me now? Now when I’m so weary of it all. 

The words seems meant for me, I think. No? Not sure why.

At daughter's home, the dogs trot down the back steps. I talk to the dogs like so, “OK, let’s go,” I say as they meander toward the grass and start sniffing. “Go.” I repeat, following Ashley’s advice that "Go" is the magic word, unless you want them sniffing for an hour, and never going.

Tired of standing, I decide to watch dogs while sitting inside my car and let them sniff forever. Warm sun on me sends comfort feelings through me. With one eye on the dogs, I try to cycle through songs on the car’s “Bluetooth” thing-a-ma-gig, displayed on the dashboard. I'm looking for the new - “The End of the World” – song that I just copied to my phone.

Can’t find the song on car "Bluetooth."     

I play it on the phone. OK, it's there. That works. I try it again through the car speakers (Bluetooth?). A miracle. It now plays. 

Huh? 

Don't ask. I'm happy.

I coax the dogs back inside, then leave for home. Julie London’s soft voice is singing.

Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me anymore?

The words, the melody, her voice – all of it, touches me. Don’t know exactly why, but a happy feeling comes over me as I move up the street.

It seems that the words, "When you don’t love me anymore," are what triggers happy feelings. Why those words, I wonder ... because the words are, well, ... sad.

I can only think that it is because the words remind me of a time when I was a teenager and I experienced young love and it felt like love was center stage and real, a time when words like “you don’t love me anymore” were relevant, but not the end of the world. At the time, it seemed that, "you don’t love me anymore," happened every day to someone in our crowd. I attribute my warm feeling to having been there once. To have lived when young love happened, when it was common to feel and believe and remember such things.

Like many thoughts, it's just a guess.

I play the song, over and over.