For Gracyn
Disclaimer: It goes without saying that ALL grandmas will argue–vehemently–that their grandchildren are the most brilliant, attractive, talented human beings on the planet. Today, however, with the limited power of my pen, I pay special tribute to my delightful granddaughter, Gracyn.
In the sanctuary of delight, Gracyn is Delightful (with a capital D). If delight were being debuted as one of Crayola’s new crayons, it would be named Gracyn’s Eyes. For beneath these cornflower blue eyes–rimmed with blond eyelashes so long and lush that they curl back against the eyelids above them–lies a mystical cauldron that perpetually churns, stews and brews. Until, having reached the boiling point, a single bubble breaks the surface. Fragile at first, its translucent surface wobbly at take-off, it gains speed and purpose in flight. And then it bursts into words and images and perceptions that are, quite simply, delightful.
Recently Gracyn brought their dog Gus over to visit our dog. As we were walking back she said, “You know, they have different barks, but their breath voices are the same.” “Breath voices?” I asked. Then she panted to demonstrate. “Oh, breath voices,” I said. In the sanctuary of delight, panting just does not cut it. But breath voices? Oh yeah, baby.
A few years ago when we were playing wedding with our mermaid dolls (Gracyn was the bride, of course, and I was the bridesmaid–always the bridesmaid, never the bride), Gracyn announced, “Get ready for the wedding. Bridesmaid, wash your hands. I mean, really, they smell like chocolate feet.” Chocolate feet? Again, Gracyn’s use of language delights even the most literal among us.
A year ago my husband, Paul, and Gracyn had drawn pictures, and he had just finished telling the story that went along with his drawing. To which Gracyn commented, That’s pretty good, Papa, but you need to elaborate more. In the sanctuary of delight, elaboration is always a good idea. Through elaboration, the delightful understand that new details, new images, new insights emerge, often and best, through invented language and fresh perspectives.
A couple of Christmases ago, Gracyn was helping me wrap presents, writing names on the gift tags and taping as we wrapped. I forgot and wrote Quinn’s name on a gift tag. When she saw this, she gasped, “Grandma, look at your N! You just need to take your time and draw this line all the way up.” I nodded in silence, which prompted her to add, “but all your other letters are goodly.” Goodly? I would bet that even Charles Dickens himself would be delighted enough to make Gracyn a character in his next tale.
One evening as Gracyn was about to get on her swingset, she looked down into the grass and gasped, “What’s that!” Upon looking closely (really, really closely), I discovered a small beetle making its way across the yard. I told her that it was only a bug (a very, very, very small bug), and looking relieved, she said, “Oh, just a bug. I thought it might be a shrinkened chicken.” A shrinkened chicken? Those who live in the sanctuary of delight will never see just a bug when they can see something straight out of a roadside freakshow. Ladies and gentlemen, step right up and see the world’s smallest shrinkened chicken, right here in rural Iowa!
Once when her parents, Gracyn and her brother, Griffin, stopped by after grocery shopping, Gracyn asked if she could stay for awhile by herself. When I said yes, she grabbed a book off the shelf, stood in front of her parents and brother and pronounced, “The Big Book of Leaving says that you must leave. Now. The Big Book of Leaving says so, so get going.” Delight often requires the language of resourcefulness. So if you need a Big Book of Leaving, a Big Book of Staying, A Big Book of Living or Loving, or whatever, delight is your go-to sanctuary.
When she was four years old, Gracyn and I were playing dollhouse with the Fisher Price people, Dora and friends, and some Dollar Store”girls”. Of course, I had to be the father (and grandfather–I always get the boy roles!) When one of the girls got blown to the top of Dora’s Magic Castle by a tornado, I got the father ready to rescue her. But not so fast, for Gracyn said, “Pretend like the father is afraid of heights and he can’t go up there.” Plan B: “O.K. should he call the police?” Gracyn: “Pretend like he can’t find a phone.” Plan C: Just wait for Gracyn to script my next move. Delightful is being one narrative step ahead of your grandma, surprising her with unexpected climatic turns, prolonging the climax, and always, always, suspending the denouement (which signals the end of the story and, inevitably, time to go home).
During our conversation while driving to church one day, I asked Gracyn if she had seen some beautiful prom dresses the day before when she attended the Davis County promenade with her mom. Gracyn responded that she liked the jeweled dress the best. But then she said, “Wait, grandma, did you say “promenADE?” It’s “promeNOD” Grandma. You don’t say promenADE. You know that, don’t you?” For those who live in the sanctuary of delight, failing to recognize a French word for all its lyrical beauty is a real faux pas (pronounced with proper French vowels, thank you very much!)
When I bought a new box shredder to shred my zucchini for bread and removed it from the sack, Gracyn exclaimed, “Wow, Grandma! You actually got a cowbell!” Seeing something cool (like a cowbell) in the guise of something truly uncool (like a box shredder) is an attribute of the most delightful. And believing that your grandma was going to play the cowbell–preferably in some cool band with real musicians–now that is DELIGHTFUL!
Weeks before her brother, Griffin, was born, Gracyn said to her mother, “Well, I certainly hope when your baby pops out that he doesn’t hit the ceiling!” But later in a car conversation with me, she said, “Grandma, we will write on a cloud, ‘Griffin is born!‘ Then it will go up to heaven, Jesus will see it, and He’ll know that my baby is born.” From the ridiculous to the sublime–this all matters, and matters deeply–in the sanctuary of delight.
The best thing, bar none, about the sanctuary of delight is the unspoken invitation to enter. So when my granddaughter asked me to jump off of her potty chair, juggling a handful of toys, yelling, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, the Amazing Nanny!” I did it, several times actually, to get it just right.
In the sanctuary of delight, it is always best to have a friend (or several). So when Gracyn announced to her Sunday School class that she and I were “BFF”, I didn’t think it could get much better than this. Only it has. Everyday, Gracyn’s bubbles break the surface of all that is ordinary and routine with ever more delight.
Final disclaimer: And just in case you are not yet a believer, check out my daughter’s vimeo tribute to her delightful daughter and my BFF, Gracyn.
