As Good As It Gets, And, Really, I'm A Mystic. I Would Know
I picked G/Son up this morning and, on our way out, I asked Son if he'd come over and help me take my old hose off the spigot, put a new hose on the same spigot, and pick up a box of day lilies. As we were pulling out, G/Son said to me, "Nonna, you need some help?" I said, "Yes, Nonna's an old woman and sometimes she needs help with hard jobs." G/Son's response, as are most of his responses these days, was: "Why? Why you are an old woman and need help, Nonna?" I said, "Nonna's 53. She needs help sometimes." G/Son said, "I'm not 53; I'm three." I said, "Yes, you're three; next year, you'll be four." G/Son said, "Nonna, I told Mommy and Daddy that I want to be three for my whole life."
I had to pull over for a minute to wipe the tears from my old eyes.
I said, "Well, there's a lot to come before you have your next birthday and turn four. In September, Pop Pop will have his birthday, and then, in October, we'll have Halloween and you get to dress up like Batman and go trick or treating. In November, Daddy has his birthday and Mommy will cook Thanksgiving. Then, we'll have Yule when Santa comes." G/Son said, "Yes, and he will bring me a real toy T Rex with big teeth. Will we write Santa a letter?" I said that we would and then we had a long discussion about how the North Polar Bear always messes up Santa's plans. I said, "And then, in February, Mommy will have a birthday, and only then, after all that, we'll have your birthday and you'll turn four. And I bet four will be a lot of fun."
G/Son thought about all this and he said, "Nonna, it's like a circle." I said, "Yes, it is. It's like a wheel that keeps going around and around." G/Son said, "Will my birthday keep going around?" and I said, "Yes, it will. It will come around for as long as you live and, then, for as long as your loved ones remember it." G/Son said, "My loved ones will always remember my birthday."
Once again, the old lady is on the side of the road w/ the watery eyes.
So mote it be. May they call you at Samhein as far into the future as either of us can see, Dear One. What is remembered does not die.
We went to the park and rode the train through the woods. I said to G/Son, "I love the woods. Thanks for coming on this ride with me," and G/Son said, "Nonna, you don't want to be lonely in the woods, " and I said, "No, no I don't, but I am never alone in the woods." G/Son said, "We can ride in the woods together." We rode a tailless horse on the carousel, we climbed over a dead tree and, then, we rode a different horse on the carousel. We took a picnic lunch to the Nature Center and we discussed whether Batman is stronger than Spiderman or whether Spiderman, at his strongest, might actually be Batman dressed up as Spiderman. We concluded that sometimes, Batman dresses up as Spiderman. And we acknowledged that Shawney, G/Son's best friend, really, really loves Spiderman.
We went to the Nature Center and took a class on honeybees. G/Son explained to the v nice lady who taught the class, and to the other members of the class, six and seven year old girls all, that bees are helpful because they help us make pizza, which must have spinach which is good for your muscles, and tomatoes, and we need bees to pollinate all of those. And, we did a bee dance to show: the flowers are nearby, and we did a bee dance to show: the flowers are a long way away. We looked at a dead bee and we tasted clover honey, wildflower honey, and buckwheat honey. The witch's grandson asked, "Which is better for you when you are sick?" and the v nice lady said, "Any kind of honey will make your throat feel better when you are sick," and G/Son said, "Mommy gives me honey if I am sick. Not the buckwheat kind." We climbed over a lot of rocks and we learned that smoke makes honeybees think that a forest fire is coming so they eat a lot of honey and get sleepy.
G/Son's takeaway: Honey is "bee puke," but we say "regurgitation" instead of "puke."
On the way back to his house, G/Son "read" me the book on bees that the nice nature center lady gave to him. Next weekend, we are going to the firefly teach-in and the firefly picnic at the local nature center. I imagine that this is all pure grace; I can't believe that I've ever done anything, in any incarnation, to deserve this.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."