Friday, October 3, 2014

The Wheels On The Bus

The Wheels On The Bus

As I sit on my deck midst the aging trees, relishing morning coffee, the familiar roar of the big yellow school bus Dopplers past and its yellow splash coordinates with the first autumnal bursts of color in the woods. A familiar nostalgia sours towards my heart as my cells calibrate the 30 some years which have passed since the birth of my youngest son on this October day. I used to call the bus the"Yellow Dragon", a benign monster who daily carried my little boys into a world of experiences, some good some bad, over which I had no control. Today this drama replicates with a new generation of neighborhood little boys riding above the wheels on the yellow bus.

Without my permission, life fast forwards writing a script unconsciously fashioned, some of it good, some unwanted, exclusively mine.

My fifteen month old granddaughter and I have a ritual we indulge in on my babysitting day. After donning little shoes on little feet we make our way to the aging porch of the Victorian house on the hill where she lives with my youngest son, her Daddy, and her mom.We make homage to the resident Daddy Long Legs and Mr. Buddha in the garden and our ritual can begin. We sit and watch for the miracle of her day, the appearance of the yellow school bus.

If there be a God and he fashions gifts for His charges on earth, surely one of those gifts is the honor of grand mothering. Bearing witness to the everyday minutia which is transformed from the commonplace to the miraculous through the eyes of a little child her warm, soft little legs swing from my lap as the world goes by. We label that world with names like squirrel, cardinal and "fly aways". Daily the list grows as does she. The crowning moment of the celebration arrives with the roar of changing gears as the great yellow bus grinds up the hill in front of our cathedral amongst the trees, She squeals and clenches her fists in a divine delight as the bus passes on its way to the school at the top of the hill. As perfect as sacrament, her degree of astonishment upon the arrival of the great yellow dragon never wanes. Her glee washes my heart anew with love each time too.

And the wheels on the bus continue to go round and round, all through the town.