October 18, 2026

You know those black, wooden silhouettes you see in people’s yards sometimes? Not the Sasquatch ones. The old man. I think my Pappy might have been the original model for those. The old farmer. Hat. Pipe. Back against the tree. One knee bent. Looking over the field. And my Grammy would set a spread of food on her little kitchen table when we would visit once or twice a year. Grape jelly. Buns, not sammich bread. Chipped ham. That was PA. Over in Jersey, Grandma set the formal dining table with table clothes and china and individual jello molds on leaves of iceberg lettuce. And in the morning we ate Taylor’s Ham on the covered porch. She spoke pig Latin so we wouldn’t understand the grown-up conversations. The only pig Latin she wanted us to understand was “amscray,” when she scurried us out of the kitchen. Grandpa’s Scottish brogue came from his 19 years of raising in the Auld Country. Thick and rich and deep and throaty. His lilt rocked me back and forth as I watched his lips move with some kind of English I couldn’t understand.

Paul babysat Harry and Hosanna last Monday. I was still on restrictions after my heart procedure a few days earlier, so Papa did all the work. I enjoyed just watching him play with the kids. I’d been chilly so I wore my big shawl all morning. Harry found it on the sofa when I was in the other room, and he said to Papa “this smells like Lolli.” That really hit hard in the feels when Paul mentioned it to me. I make no excuses for loving Chanel No. 5. I know it’s old-lady, but it’s mine. When I’m not at work, that’s what I wear. I’m gonna relabel it Lolli No. 55. That started me wondering what else do I leave behind that might remind Harry and Sanna and Bennett of me?

Right now, Harry has the most of me to remember, but I’m working to give Sanna and Bennett their best shot at catching up. I know I am stories in the rocket ship, and I am neighborhood walks. I take credit for Harry believing in Moth Man and fairies. I say the same things over and over. “These birds aren’t gonna feed themselves,” when it’s time to fill up the feeders. And I take stairs very seriously, and Bennett and Sanna are going to hear “Hold the rail. Eyes forward. Go slow,” just like Harry still hears. And of course everyone’s favorite “who wants to go to Lowe’s?!” I’ll rock a baby fresh from the womb and a 4 year old T-ball player. Makes no difference to me how big you are. Thanks to me, Harry knows Def Leopard, Stray Cats, and he’s learning Me and You and a Dog Named Boo. What hot jam will Sannah and Bennett like to sing in the car? And when they are grown, will they remember that Lolli had a big pic of Papa’s face right next to the mirror above their car seat, so when they look at their own reflection driving down the road, they also see Papa?

Speaking of Papa…Papa is chocolate chip pancakes with the stirring and the flips. He is “I’ll catch you on the flippety flip!” He’s teaching 4 year old Harry to use a calculator. (Don’t ask.) Lolli is stories, but Papa is jingles. “I’m thankful for more bottles and clean butts, butts, butts!” And his song about the yellow line on diapers that turns blue when it’s wet…”I’m looking for the yellow line that’s always fine, but I got the blue line blues!” He started Harry young doing chores, and Sannah and Bennett will follow. Turn off the outside lights, sprinkle your own cinnamon on your toast yourself, put sticks in the big yard waste pile, and close the baby gate. He’s a master at catching spit-up and a motivational speaker during tummy-time. “Come on! Come on! You can do it!!” He has a standing date with Harry for haircuts. That’s their thing. I’m excited to see what his thing will be with Sanna and Bennett.

I went to a party yesterday with Lauren and Gavin, and I held Bennett through a good part of our visit. I hugged him when it was time to leave. I was the only grandparent in NC since Paul’s in Texas, so I told Bennett I was hugging him for all the grands. I really do share the credit of the hugs, but bless! I was the only one who got to feel them yesterday. I consciously soaked it in hoping that maybe Bennett soaks it in without even realizing it. Hoping the hugs become so familiar that he remembers them when the hugs are gone. Maybe hugs linger in memory like the wiff of Lolli No. 55 on an old lady’s shawl.

What are Lollies made of? What are Lollies made of?

Snuggles and hugggles and all the lovables. That’s what Lollies are made of.

What are Papas made of? What are Papas made of?

Wiggles and jiggles and all of the tickles. That’s what Papas are made of.