After a visit from two sons, one daughter-in-law, five short people between the ages of three and eight, and one dog with an underbite and a severe separation anxiety, I am in a daze. But it's a good one, and after all, as grandparents know, any visit that does not involve hurling or a trip to the emergency room can be qualified as a grand success.
Highlights were a hike on the golden mountain, a delicious pumpkin soup served in the shell, and fresh roasted pumpkin seeds prepared by daughter-in-law, new works by budding poet/painters Mariah and Sophie, and a conversation with six year old Henry that went like this:
H. What are grandparents?
M. Well, they are your mama and papa's parents and that makes me your Grandma.
H. NO WAY!!! You're not a grandparent. Grandparents are like 200 years old or something...
A Zen-like poem to ponder from the seven year old: