53. Hadley Day and Night
It is 4 AM Saturday morning. It’s Tim’s birthday and 183 Wildwood is on lockdown from the outside world beginning mid-afternoon. Hadley will be heading off for an overnight at her dad’s house around 1 PM, and the general plan is this: whatever needs to be done in the OB household needs to be completed before Tim and I do the most important thing on this day — take a nap.
That is a very big part of our plan and it is scheduled to begin at three and end at five. Since we’re planning on staying up past bedtime — correction: since I’m planning on staying up past bedtime which technically is whenever one of the pesky Tramadol pills conks me out, I’m going to need to do some preemptive resting of the bones.
As for Tim, he usually tucks me in at night, heads upstairs, and hits the hay whenever he can turn his mind off. Today’s afternoon nap is part of my birthday present to my old man — the man who LOVES taking an afternoon nap. The man who rarely gets to take one. So, when Hannah leaves with Hadley, Mr. and Mrs. Wonderful will shut the front door, silence our phones, and close our eyes.
I’m doing a little more blogging before that bliss.
I think it is very evident that I adore Hadley. I eagerly await her daily breakfast time, and her return home from school. I love hearing about her adventures in the great world beyond Wildwood Avenue. This past week, there wasn’t much by way of traveling near or far from home. Hadley was on February school vacation — that means I’ve had plenty of time with my favorite human in the whole universe.
It has been wonderful – it’s all been exhausting.
It is paving the way for one hell of a nap.
Before my mid-day slumber can commence, there’s the pesky business of Tim’s birthday. The family festivities are set for this morning because Tim and I are having our date night, tonight! So, in order to fit everything in, Hannah and Hadley will be having breakfast at their place while Tim and I kick back with Mr. Chase and Mr. Sanborn. Then, while he’s getting ready for the day, Hadley will sneak in for ‘Operation Celebration’ and Hannah will hang back at her place until she hears Hadley’s knock on the wall between our two homes.
Let me tell you how ‘Operation Celebration’ came to be. After much discussion with Hadley yesterday about what I could and could not do by way of executing a birthday soiree, Hadley decided she was ready to go it alone.
“Don’t worry, MammyGrams, I’m seven. I can handle this. First, I need to make Gee a card.” So off she went.
A little sidestep: my office is upstairs. It’s set in Jessica’s childhood bedroom and, when I was finished arranging and decorating it, it was everything I’d envisioned for my writing room. The walls are dove gray, the area rug is a patterned Berber in chocolate brown, a bit darker than the scallop-edged swag burlap curtains on the window. The furniture: desk, end table, and glass-enclosed bookcase are black and Colonial in design, and for a subtle pop of color I added a console table in distressed navy and a big-ass recliner in denim. My favorite piece in the room is a small, electric black iron fireplace.
I used to spend hours in my writing room either sitting at my desk, or kicked back on my laptop editing my work or researching. I’m not sure I ever mentioned this, but researching was one of my most favorite parts of the writing process.
Over the course of 17 books, I took my Pulling Threads characters across the globe — a most perfect way to travel for someone who didn’t like going across the street. But, that’s a story for another time — and I think I already covered it in a blog — so let’s get back to the blog I’m writing.
On one wall of my office, I have black frames with my book covers proudly displayed. For artwork, I have a canvas print of my favorite painting, Monet’s Impression Sunrise. It hangs over the console table and is softly lighted from below by a beautiful antique brass lamp. Across the room, I have a canvas print of Café Terrace at Night, by van Gogh. This is a bold, colorful painting — not my usual taste, at all. When it comes to Vincent’s work, I am drawn to his softer pieces — particularly his Pink Peach Tree — a canvas I had hanging in my living room until that knock came upon the door before Christmas, and the Irish One was offering me a painting I casually mentioned liking. That wall space is now occupied by Lána Suaimhneas, the painting done by Jennifer and named by Yours Truly.
At the moment, I’m not sure where Vinny’s piece is. I should track it down and find a place for it — just on the odd chance I run into the artist during my stint in the afterlife. I would rather be able to say it’s hanging on a wall somewhere in my house, than having to admit it’s tucked behind a piece of furniture or worse yet, hanging in my upstairs bathroom.
It could be for all I know. The horrors.
I need to ask Tim about this potential pitfall.
As for Café Terrace at Night, the picture is exactly as I’d described a place in Nice, France, in They Run. (Edited text).
Chapter One
Before he knows.
John Maxwell was more than halfway through his 12-hour flight from Seattle to Paris. The Mach-speeding tin can in which he sat shimmied and shook, then banged his whiskey over the sides of his glass. He lifted his now-empty tumbler and tilted it from side to side at the first airborne waitress he saw, then wiped his whiskey-wet hand across his whiskey-wet jeans.
The waitress smiled and nodded.
He smirked—he thought. He was a bit lit—he thought.
Long-Lean-Lovely sauntered his way. “Mr. Maxwell, cocktail service is suspended until we get through this bit of turbulence.”
“This bit of turbulence is responsible for my being without a cocktail and more to the point it’s why I want another inebriant.”
The very lovely flight attendant smiled.
“Yes, Mr. Maxwell, it’s a bit of a bumpy ride.” She eyed the exceedingly handsome traveler, “You look as though you can handle a bumpy ride.” She smiled and bent low. “As soon as the captain turns off the Fasten Seatbelt sign, I will bring your inebriant and whatever else you’d like, Mr. Maxwell.” She winked, ran the tips of her fingers along his forearm and hand.
John watched the willowy, ginger-blonde, emerald-eyed, “sure thing” sashay away. The first-class passenger reclined and willed himself to sleep.
That was then – this is now.
After three days of solitary walks along the French Riviera and sleeping alone in his hotel bed, Special Agent, John Maxwell, finds himself at a sidewalk café on a cobblestone alleyway wondering what the hell he is doing in France. At the moment, he knows what he’s doing. He is torturing himself with memories. The dispirited man is just about to leave the café, perhaps Nice, when he feels a touch on his shoulder.
“I knew you'd come.”
John turns toward the woman’s voice and locks onto the piercing blue eyes of a ghost. The beautiful woman standing within reach of his embrace might be on vacation with him—if she wasn’t already dead. He tries to quell the tremble in his hand as he tosses francs on the café table. The ghost vanished after speaking a few words—left before the dumbfounded man got his shit together. Had John not felt her hand on his shoulder and the lingering warmth of her touch, he’d think she’d been a hallucination.
Pretty good stuff if I do say so myself.
And, by the way, I’m okay with that kind of hallucination.
Just sayin.
Anyway, back to my sidestep. I spent a lot of time choosing pieces for my very first home office. When Hannah and Hadley moved into their own place, Tim and I claimed our home — every square inch of it — for us — for the first time EVER. He’d already set office space for himself when the pandemic hit and he started working from home, so establishing personalized space was about me —— redecorating the upstairs was about us.
Tim painted the hallway walls dove gray to match my office walls, then painted the bathroom walls a medium-dark blue. The color is Distance, SW 6243, in the Sherwin-Williams line, if you’re interested. The fixtures in both rooms are antique bronze, and the swag window curtain and shower curtain, as well as the throw rugs and decorative towels are linen — in color and fabric. The bathroom has a very spa-like vibe — and I love it.
I loved it.
I haven’t seen my office or any part of my upstairs since December 1st. Several pieces of my furniture are now in my living room because that is my new office space. I am so incredibly fortunate that I can still do what I love to do, and surround myself with my things, but I miss hanging out upstairs.
There is another space upstairs that had a makeover, way back when — and it is all about Hadley. The closet in my office was the perfect size for a small office for a kid, so we took the door off and made it a dedicated office space for our girl.
We put a white rattan desk and matching chair in, put a hanging shoe organizer on one wall, filled it with tools of trade for an elementary school aged student: pencils, erasers, post-it notes, crayons, stapler, tape, and, and, and — then finished it all off with twinkling lights wrapped around and around the crossbar normally used for hanging clothes, and put a big-ass red sticker Hadley on one of the walls. While MammyGrams wrote her stories in her office, Hadley did her remote learning for nearly a year in her very own office. It was a perfect setup for both of us. It was another way for us to be together.
MammyGrams and Hadley.
Mr. Wonderful says we’re a pair that could be a flush.
I agree – completely.
The writing of this blog is a little different from all others. I knew what I was going to write about going in — Hadley’s February vacation and what we did together. She and I planned some things ahead of time and other things just sort of happened along the way. First off, each morning after breakfast she needed to do 15 minutes of online math and language work assigned by her teacher. Then, it was no-holds-barred.
For years — even the years when Hannah and Hadley lived in my home — Hadley would spend every other Saturday having a sleepover with MammyGrams. Think about the logistics of having a sleepover with her grandmother —— the woman with whom she lived. Come sleepover time, she’d grab a pillow and a blanket and a hundred or so stuffed animals from her upstairs bedroom and relocate them to the living room.
She did the schlepping with the excitement of a kid heading off for a bona fide sleepover with friends.
Bless her little heart.
The every-other-week-events meant I’d be camping out on a recliner in my living room and my overnight guest would mull her options a bit then pull up space on the floor, or ask for her cot to be set up, or simply flop on the sofa.
Ever since the Hannah and Hadley homesteading took place next door, sleepovers involved a little more effort. Hadley needed to walk a.l.l. t.h.e. w.a.y. from her house to my house. The schlepping took several trips for the armfuls of stuffies and blankets and pillows and whatever toys and games we were going to play. With each opening and closing of the front door, the excitement built and built. For her, and for me. I loved every minute of our special time.
I am a creative thinker, so every sleepover had a special theme — some were lowkey, i.e. everything needed to be brown — burgers and chocolate milk for dinner and brownies for dessert — others were done up BIG.
If it was a safari adventure sleepover, she’d spend some time looking for hidden Beanie Babies native to the Serengeti: lion, elephant, giraffe, zebra, and then nestle in for a dozen or so episodes of Wild Kratts.
If it was a scavenger hunt sleepover, I’d give it a theme (fairy tale princesses, witches and wizards, or pirates and treasure chests). I’d write all of the clues specific to the theme in rhyme, print them and scroll them, then Tim would hide them throughout the yard. The only rule was this: if she happened to see a scroll but it wasn’t the one she was seeking, she had to leave it be.
Without question, the scavenger hunts were Hadley’s favorite.
She also enjoyed her Barbie sleepovers. She’d arrive in a pair of themed pajamas, pull her hair high, run a little eyeshadow over her lids (and mine), and a little blush across her cheeks (and mine), and a swipe of Bonne Bell Lip Smacker onto her smackers (and mine), then nestle in for a Star Light adventure, or Princess adventure, or one of the gazillion Dreamhouse Adventures. My personal favorite is the one where Barbie, Skipper, Chelsea, and Stacie stay at their grandmother’s house and each sister adopts a puppy: Honey, Rookie, DJ, and Taffy.
OH. MY. GOD.
Moving on now — and yes, I’m a little embarrassed.
Anyway, since my diagnosis, Hadley and I have been having half-sleepovers. They usually begin around 3 PM and they end at 9 PM, or earlier, if need be. The theme for the half-sleepover heading into vaca week was Campout. She came schlepping her sleeping bag (purple with bright pink splashes here and there), a purple thermos, and a pink plastic lantern. She and I played a few hands of Go Fish and sang a few campfire songs. Then she headed to the kitchen to toast marshmallows and shake the hell out of a Jiffy Pop — raise the top — popcorn fun fest with Gee.
The sound of her laughter filled me with joy.
During the rest of the week, we spent time reading passages from Be – and a Nancy Drew: Clue Crew book, and working on her first ever paint-by-number set, and playing a math game with two enormous sponge dice.
Hadley loves to set rules for everything — the dice game was no different. “I’ll toss a die (yes she knows that one dice is called a die) and you’ll toss the other one. We’ll guess a number and whoever comes closest will decide if I do addition, subtraction, or multiplication with the numbers.”
As soon as the numbers settled Hadley went about her math business and Sheryll Bodine checked her math business. I handled the equations with ease. Seems I’m fine with adding, subtracting and multiplying digits 1 through 6. Thank you very much. And if you are judging me — you really shouldn’t judge the infirmed. Thank you very much.
We played countless computer games, even a battle or two of Minesweeper, and we did lots and lots of chit-chatting — all of which I got on tape. I know the intent of the tapes is for Hadley, but I’ve taken to listening to them at night. They make me laugh. They make me cry. I suspect they will have the same effect on my girl.
Now, back to Hadley’s plan for Tim’s birthday. She spent time in her upstairs office making his card, a beautiful creation, BTW. When she got to the top of the stairs to come down she hollered.
“I’m coming down, MammyGrams.”
To which I replied — “Thanks for the warning.”
She laughed that wonderful laugh of hers. When she got to my recliner she showed me three things she took from her office.
“MammyGrams, I’m going to put these into the Memory Box you gave me for Christmas because when I look at them I think of you.”
She held out a Happy Face mouse I got for her first day of remote learning. Then she held out a picture she drew of herself on her last day of remote learning.
“I was happy about going to school.”
I took hold of the picture, “You sure were. Look at that big smile on your face.”
“I was a little scared, you know.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“I’m a little scared about you.”
“I know.”
“But mom said I can Be strong.”
I turned tear-filling eyes away before she showed me the last thing she wanted to put into her Memory Box. It was a pocket calendar I gave her a couple years ago. She flipped through the pages and showed me little pictures she’d drawn and words she’d written — all misspelled and with some alphabet letters written backwards. It was all so wonderful.
“Do you think I could have another one of these?”
“On it.” I grabbed my laptop, opened Amazon, and scrolled through the pages of calendars until she chose what she wanted.
She waved the one in her hand in my direction, “I’m putting this one in the Memory Box.”
“Good idea.”
I suspect Hadley will make a notation in her new calendar commemorating Tim’s birthday celebration. And for the record, Hadley was absolutely correct when she said she could handle the festivities.
She even handled the birthday cake.
As soon as she burst through the front door this morning, she went to the kitchen. I heard the opening of the pantry – then the freezer – then the silverware drawer – then the cupboard where we keep the paper plates. A minute later, she rolled her little table into the living room, put it in front of Gee’s chair, then made a few trips back and forth to the kitchen.
“I’m making Gee a pancake birthday cake.”
I turned on my cell phone and taped the kid as she made a 7-layer frozen pancake and strawberry frosted creation. After spreading each layer with bubblegum pink frosting and stacking them high, she did a full go-around of frosting, then added green, yellow and blue sugar crystals on top. She finished it off with a 6 and 5 candle that I ordered from Amazon weeks ago.
She quickly cleaned up her work area, ran to the staircase, banged hard on the wall — the signal for her mom to come over, continued upstairs to wake Auntie J, told Tim to stay put until she called him down, then raced back downstairs, arriving at the same time as her mother.
She grabbed hold of Hannah’s hand and dragged her to the kitchen. “Wait until you see the cake I made Gee.”
“You made him a cake? Did Auntie J help?”
“Nope. I did it all by myself.”
“Where is it?”
“Hiding in the microwave.”
I heard the micro door snap open and a bawdy laugh from Hannah. “You made that? What is that?”
“A pancake birthday cake.”
“Oh. My. God.” Hannah peeked into the living room. “Did she think to do that?”
“Yeup.”
“Oh. My. God.”
The birthday boy was called down by Hadley. She presented him with the plate and he blew out the candles. Then Hannah took it to the kitchen and laughed her ass off as she tried to cut it.
“Hey, Hadley.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you microwave the pancakes before you frosted them?”
“Nope. The frosting would have melted.”
Hannah laughed again and continued sawing through the 7-layer, frozen pancake birthday cake.
I’m no longer able to plan and execute a party.
Apparently, I no longer need to because Hadley has it covered.
Sort of bittersweet.
That is a word you’ll be seeing a lot in my next blog.