Saws, Scissors, and Stitches

I was walking back from checking on the drowned squirrel carcass thawing in the flooded wastebasket beside my porch, when I saw the box from my Grandpa Hoover.

(I know–when I said my life might get crazy I guess I failed to account for its current quota of craziness.)

The box from Grandpa H was a brown cardboard box, and it matched the wooden boards of my porch floor.

I picked it up, and walked inside. It was light.

I sat down beside the wooden step stool my other grandpa, Grandpa Kulp, recently made in his shop. He’s made dozens of these, and passed them out to all of his 50-ish grandchildren. The other day I walked out to his shop where a saw was shrieking and he gave me this step stool.

So what was my other grandpa, my Grandpa Hoover, now sending me in this cardboard box? I noticed the $8 postage stamp with some regret. He lives ten miles from me. I should go visit more.

I tore open the box, and lifted out…

… another wooden stool.

On top was a hand-written letter, photocopied  for his 80 grandchildren. I don’t think he would mind my sharing.

Dear Grandchildren,

The last few years I have been spending time in my shop making things out of wood. I have made yoyos, ball bats, animals, Eiffel towers, and numerous other things.

Sometimes I wonder what to do next? The thought crossed my mind to make something for each grandchild. Someone suggested a footstool. So that’s what I came up with. I hope it pleases.

God bless you.

Grandpa David Hoover

Both of my grandfathers are over 80. I was so pleased by the gifts, I googled Grandparents’ Day.  It’s not until fall.  By then my squirrel will be thawed.

(Just kidding, the squirrel has nothing to do with my life questions, other than the questions both of how it got there and how it will get out of there.)

Both of my grandmothers are over 80 as well. One makes paper greeting cards and one sews and makes quilts. Needles, scissors, thread, all fine work. Not too long ago she embroidered pillows for all of us. I can’t fathom the intricacy of these stitches or making 80 of these pillows.

I’m almost 34, contemplating a huge journey that I wouldn’t finish until something like 2030. I’ll be completely gray by then, and close to 50. (I don’t mind if you’re figuring it out. I’ll share directly soon.)

I can’t stop thinking about this, so it was in the back of my mind the other day when I was at my grandma’s house looking at the greeting cards she makes to cheer people up. In her squirrelly handwriting she quotes poetry, fun facts, and “Jesus Loves You!” to cheer people’s day. She has a special interest in sending these to children with Down’s Syndrome, she says, because they like cards.

If you are mean to an elephant, one of her cards says, and you come back years later, it will hit you with its trunk. 

“You should go to the zoo and try it,” she suggests.

“Grandma,” I finally say, after we’ve gone through all the paper cards. “I need some advice.”

Now this may be the first time in my life I’ve asked her for advice. Like I said, I don’t even visit enough, and her personality doesn’t invite advice-seeking.

I explained to her my dream…training, money. I would be old. I told her the numbers.

What she said next may be the single most inspiring reaction I have heard.

“Oh,” she said, “you wouldn’t even be 50 yet?”

Then she went on cheerily.

“That’s when I started working. You would have 20 years.”

All I can say to that is, if I could imitate the physical stamina and work ethic she has, I would have 20 years.

It’s been easy for me to focus on my mother’s death at 52. But how many people have four grandparents in their mid-80’s using wood saws, needles, and scissors?

I could actually use one of my Grandpas right now.  The dead squirrel floating in my wastebasket is now fully thawed, and I bet they would know what to do next!