LESSONS: SERIOUS, SILLY, AND SIGNIFICENT

0
492

By JoEllen Collins

JoEllen Collins—a longtime resident of the Wood River Valley—is a teacher, writer, fabric artist, choir member and unabashedly proud grandma known as “Bibi Jo.”

A day well spent is one where I encounter a new lesson or insight and add it to the positive experiences I enjoy. I gained both during my recent stay in San Francisco.

Although I have a wonderful daughter and friends here in Idaho, I try to spend as much time as possible with my other daughter and her family, including my grandchildren. I cherish the moments with them and my extended family in San Francisco and the Bay Area. I am home now, in my other desired place, cuddling my dog and catching up on almost two months of absence. My heart is full. I am compelled to share some lessons from my visit to California.

The most emotionally significant is learning what many grandmas do, that the babies and toddlers, the loves of our lives, are growing up and independent. This does NOT mean they love me less or that I will force them to react to me the way they did when I would spend time playing with them. I used to sit on the floor making Lego and Playmobile cities or stumble outside throwing balls to my 6-year-old: when I finally caught one my grandson threw to me, he said. “Oh, Bibi, you’re a natural!” This klutz, moi, had never been described as such.

Hours with my granddaughter were spent with arts and reading and such roles for me, in nasty makeup, as the evil queen confronting the beautiful and imagined future princess. They both enjoyed the series we created based on a character named ISHTAH, who was a neglected garbage pile in an abandoned dump (pre recycling). From this pile of discarded books, skateboards, love letters and music, Ishtah had magically inherited a soul. His favorite holiday was, of course, Halloween, where the wind might blow him near trick-or-treating kids who thought he was someone in costume.

I must adjust to my changing role, although I am still Bibi, the loving and supportive grandma. Now I sit through Little League practices and games where I shiver in some San Francisco very cold, late afternoons. I can delight in seeing my almost 13-year-old as shortstop preventing a base steal or my 8-year-old as the only girl on her team, ponytail flying, when she steals to second base after being walked to first. What an unexplainable joy!

Among other happy lessons was that the family introduced me to Wordle. Now, along with millions, I get to play this and share my results with them.

Finally, I learned the new, “politically correct” word for the homeless. The “new” term is the unhoused. I don’t know how much this “more correct” reference will help the great numbers of street dwellers. However, I have read of hopeful news about a very difficult challenge, which I will have to save for another column. Something is being done in this wealthy area to begin to improve the conditions and alleviate the suffering of the unhoused.

So, lessons learned.