Last week it was my good fortune to visit my granddaughter's school. John and I took the train, which ferried us to within two blocks of the front door. The lobby was crowded with the adoring extended family of the kindergarteners, the ones whose eyes are bright and front teeth are missing or soon will be. Olly's other grandma was
there as well, so she had a fan club of three.
We squeezed into the small chairs of the classroom, and played a math game. It was about whose number was bigger, and while the other grandmother noticed that I might have been purposely losing, Olly did not. We met the class turtle, and saw where Olly keeps her bathing suit for swim class.
There was a cheerful picture of her family tree, which includes her cousin Odie. There are fewer details than in the picture she did that had eyelashes, lots of them, and eyebrows. But in her effort to include eight aunts and uncles she only had so much time.
Next we visited her
writing teacher, and were given the chance to add a page to the journal she has been composing all year. I wrote about the fun we have sewing together. Her Granddad mentioned their shared ritual of making popcorn.
The last part of the day was in the art room. The students each made a three colored reductionist print, a word I did not know back when my teeth wiggled. Olly
even knows the name of the artist whose style they were emulating. I do not.
On the train home I thought about my own grandparents. While I never spent time one on one with any of them, I am grateful for the characteristics that seem to have floated downstream.
Which makes me all the more grateful that I can send my love to this precious little girl.