Yesterday was a cold day on the Katy Trail. Temperatures stayed below freezing, starting in the teens and hovering in the 20’s, an unusual entrant to February for Texas. And, to top it off, we had snow. Here you see a lonely runner crunching forward in slow approach:
Slogging onward and away up that way, the solitary figure drifts from view, trudging ever into the numb of north.
From his guarded alcove, the edge of cold is sharp enough to harken St. Francis with an offering of seeds and comforts to grounded aviaries and other friends.
School continued despite the inclement weather, although pick-up was something of an ice rink from slick intersection to snow-packed cross-street. My nine-year-old granddaughter was disappointed the teachers hadn’t cancelled classes to allow the building of snow people and the throwing of snow sphericals. There was an incredulity in her innocent comments which invited agreement, especially when she noted wisely: “We really haven’t had snow all winter, only cold. Don’t they understand?”
The honesty of her reverie stopped me to wonder on the ancient conundrum of species homo sapien: “Why can’t we just do what we want to do?” In simple form, I guess that is the succinct restatement of the common situation of all of life: Why school? Why a job? Why this job? Why only this much money? Why rules? Why schedules? Why not a red sports car? Why not a bigger house? Why not a snow day? Why? Why? Why?
The three grandchildren stayed for the night, sleeping and talking past lights out. I could hear their animated voices from their bedroom hideaway. In the morning, the youngest, my three-year-old grandson, over a bowl of colorful cereal, spilled the proverbial milk: “Grandpa, we prayed to God-on-the-wall that there wouldn’t be school today.”
Of course you did. When in need, take your cause to a higher authority. Even at three, just recourse is recognized.
“It didn’t work Grandpa,” the young lad observed with a dribble of milk down the chin and onto the shirt, which I dabbed with a towel and thought in my mind: “Or, did it?”
My mind wandered down the trail as I remembered the common words of many a Sunday sermon, the preacher pounding the podium: “There are no unanswered prayers. There are two answers: Your answer and God’s answer. Your prayer was answered. Now, what are you doing about it?”
What indeed?
But, perhaps my adult wander into wistful reflection was an unneeded detour for the grandson and his two older sisters. The threesome was already packing up with smiles and laughter — which I thought was the best answer I had ever seen or heard to the preacher’s question.
The answer from the heart of children is: “If you can’t do what you wanna’ do, enjoy what you gotta’ do.”
I love kids.
They understood that naturally.
God’s “No” answer did not slow them down one bit.
They were up and ready to go — even though it was not what they woke up wanting to happen.
About two hours later, I entered the school auditorium for my nine-year-old granddaughter’s Biography Day presentation. The young girl was costumed in a blue house dress with white polka dots, a white apron with a red heart on the pocket with the words “I Love Desi,” and a bright red wig. At the end of the short speech, which was clearly and certainly delivered with a naïve smile (reminding me so much of her character), my granddaugher announced with a coy turn of the head, “I am Lucille Ball.”
And, she was.
They both were. Bravo and applause.
“Do what you enjoy and enjoy what you’re doing.”
If there was anyone who lived that, it was in her life and character “I Love Lucy.”
She is and was a sweet girl who got up with a smile and somehow muddled through the day with a happy laugh at “The End.”
I love Lucy. She did a great job. They both did. And, by their actions, those two sweethearts answered one of the most vexing questions in all of human history: “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
A wink, a smile, a red wig, and the heart of child.
It is a good day, whatever we’re doing.
Don’t you think?
I do.
Grandpa Jim