August 25th.

By G. E. Shuman

                I’m writing this column on Thursday, August 25^th.  You are reading it at some later date, but today is important to the story, so that’s why I mentioned it. It’s also why the title is what it is.  In any case, where and when I am right now, it is August 25^th.  This morning my wife came to me and said, “Hey, it’s four months ‘til Christmas!”  Lorna loves Christmas, whereas I mostly just tolerate it, and she is always excited as Christmas gets closer.  She also happens to work in management at a big shipping company, who’s delivery drivers dread the Christmas rush even more than Santa’s reindeer do.  I shouldn’t tell you the name of the company, but there is a U, a P, and an S in that name.  Anyway, Lorna always delights in telling those driver-guys each month when Christmas is exactly five, four, three, two, or one month away. Today she had to remind me that only four months, exactly, from today, the presents will be unwrapped for another year.  I thanked her for bringing me such joy.

                “No”, I said. ‘It CAN’T be that close! Summer just started!” 

I mean, I know the mornings have been a bit cooler lately, but it really is still August, if just barely.  And, yes, there are a few dry maple leaves on the lawn, but there are still many thousands of green ones up in those big branches. I understand… yes, the kids (and we teachers) are back in school, and a few Halloween displays are beginning to appear in the stores, but really. Summer CAN’T be over already. No, tell me it isn’t so! 

Wait, oh ye of little faith, I have proof that summer shouldn’t be more than maybe a quarter or a third over.  I mean, didn’t I just assemble that new barbecue grill that Emily bought me? I know I did.  It seems like we have only used it a few times.  And, yes, we went on a couple of picnics, and spent a few days at the coast, but we planned time to do so much more this summer.  There must be at least several more weeks left. I just know there must be.

No, No. Wait a minute. I know!  Wasn’t it only recently that I was so excited to see the seed displays in the stores? I could just smell those tiny plants pushing their way up through the potting soil that I would so carefully sow them in, in my little city-house garden. That can’t be over for another year, can it? And, didn’t I just get the parts to do a little tune up on the old lawn mower?  I know that must have been just a few days ago. Wasn’t it? And now my wife is telling me that Christmas, of all things, is only FOUR months away, from TODAY? Unbelievable!             

Fellow summer and sun worshipers, we must unite to fight this calendar thing, because it just isn’t fair at all!  Here’s how we all need to do it. We must get on the phone to our family members, and get them out at least a few more times for swimming, and burgers, hotdogs, chicken, and steaks on the grill.  Have a few more campfires, and tell the kids some ghost stories under the trees, while you roast some more S’mores. Do this stuff, before the leaves have fallen, and the first snow flurries fly in your face, chilling all hopes of grilling.

Today, as I have said, (somehow, thanks to my wife,) Christmas is exactly four months away. When you read this column, it will be exactly somewhat closer than that.  I think that’s why God gave us weekends, even after school starts. Those

are so we can fire up the grill a few more times, and have family over for some last roasted corn and spareribs, before we need to wear mittens to eat them.  (Not a pretty thought.) These weekends are so that we summer lovers don’t have to go ‘cold turkey’ from summer fun and just wait for cold turkey the day after Thanksgiving.

                The frost isn’t on the pun’kins quite yet, but that comes next, and we KNOW what comes after that.  Making a law to abolish the 25^th of every month might not do any good, but it’s worth considering.

The Apple

By G. E. Shuman

                This is probably a strange way to begin this particular column, and a stranger title to give it, but, hopefully, it will all make sense by the end.  Recently our daughter, Cathy, and her youngest child, Ayvah, were out for a walk.  Their walk happened to take them under and past an old crab apple tree along the roadside.  Ayvah, an eight year old who is very famous in our family for her insightful thoughts, saturated, as always, in the natural profundity found only in childhood, asked her mom a question, which was this: “If the tree is the mother of the apple, why doesn’t the apple look like the tree?” (I just love it when one of my grandkids comes up with a brilliant, thoughtful question like that.)  I don’t know exactly how her mom answered the question. My answer to Ayvah would be something to do with the suggestion that an apple does look like the tree, but it looks like how the tree used to be.  (Cathy, if you read this, suggest that answer to that very brainy child of yours.)

                Our family, our home, and our own old family tree, have very recently been blessed by a wonderful addition. Nahla was born, in the timeline in which you could be reading this column, just about two weeks ago. She is, just as all of my grandkids have been, the most beautiful baby in the world. She is so, and takes her place in line and number, as our twelfth grandchild.  Her place in the family is just as big and bold and permanent as the places of those grandkids who are already grown or nearly grown.  She is, simply, wonderful. I cannot always be believed in statements like that, but her grandmother can. So just ask her.

                Here’s something I’ve been thinking about. I know I’m not always the sharpest tool in the shed, but I do believe I understand the basics of how life is carried on in our world. Still, it seems a bit strange to me that Nahla is not only here now, but has been here, living right under our roof, for many months, already. She has been with us for a while, growing and changing, as she is now, but before we ever saw her beautiful face. And, although we could feel her kicking feet within her mom from time to time, and even hear her heart beat occasionally, we did not actually meet her until just those two weeks ago.  But, and thankfully, now we have, and, although I hesitate to even use the ‘a’ word in a column relating to my grandchildren, I will tell you this. I fail to see how the proponents of the abominable act called abortion don’t understand that principle, and I also fail to care how mad they get at me for saying so.

                Anyway, Nahla is safely here, and now we can see her, and truly know her. I held her this morning, and she smiled slightly as she and I looked into each other’s eyes.  I don’t know what she was thinking, other than perhaps wondering who that big old face belonged to, but I do know she was smiling. I saw that smile, and I know, exactly, the unspeakable blessing she is to me, and to us.

                Our new granddaughter is already showing signs that she follows very closely to her mom, in strength, beauty, and determination, and that is saying a lot.  Believe me, her mom is a very beautiful and tough act to follow.  This apple looks a lot like the tree, and I really believe they share some very deep roots of determination and success. There are two thoughts displayed on the walls of Nahla’s nursery. On one side of the room is a wooden plaque, given to Emily by her sister, Cathy. The words on that plaque explain perfectly how we feel about how Nahla fits in our family. The plaque says: “All of God’s grace, in one tiny face.”  Across the room, right above her crib, is the inscription: “Let her sleep, for when she wakes, she will move mountains.”  That, I believe.