Grandchildren

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Grandchildren, Loss, Stories

Easy to Forget

Posted on

It’s easy to forget.

The longing eleven-year-olds have for companionship.

Yearning for company of family members.

Before the adolescent push for friends.

Elias articulated wishes to be with parents, siblings.

Disappointment when they, occupied with work or school.

Or social media or sleep.

So, Bob and I, grandparents, seized every second of each moment.

To spend time with him.

During his short foray here.

On Shavuot while his mother worked.

Enjoying meals together on the deck, in the atrium.

Making protein shakes.

Taking him to exercise classes.

Miniature golf, the supermarket.

Meandering the neighborhood.

Seeking foxes, deer, bunnies.

Hummingbirds, butterflies.

Watering the garden.

Listening endlessly.

To what he’s learned.

Science, economics, botany.

Observations about the world.

Worries about personal maladies.

Most of all, his desires.

To hang out with parents, siblings.

In these days of hustle bustle,

when everyone’s plugged in,

hard to find time and space

to bond with closest kin.

Familial hungering, sad.

Though grandparents fill holes,

the child knows those he really wants,

and itemizes woes.

Lynn Benjamin

June 14, 2024

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness

Exercise Class

Posted on

It’s really fun, said Elias.

Talking about the exercise class at Salus.

The one we got him a special waiver to attend with us.

Now saying he’d like to take two classes tomorrow.

Before returning to New York.

One to strengthen core.

The second, yoga.

Both for stretching.

Moving arms, legs.

Maintaining balance.

For learning.

How to bend with pipes.

Pull elastic bands.

Carry weights.

Do dead bugs.

All novel for an eleven-year-old.

Not used to tuning every muscle.

Novel for us grandparents, too.

Maybe adding a little extra time to well-worn bodies.

Who would ever dream he and we could benefit?

Together?

Same trainer?

Child and parents of his mother?

But, the three of us, we fit

like colorful lego bricks.

All eager to build and master

physical wellness tricks.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 13, 2024

Adult Children, All Poems, Emotions, Family, Grandchildren, Holidays, Mother's Day

Early on Mother’s Day

Posted on

It was early on Mother’s Day.

When Eliana, seven, phoned from the car.

Excitement erupting like a geyser.

Talking so fast, words banged into each other.

We’re making a surprise for Mama, she blurted.

Explaining the word surprise to me, she doesn’t know about it.

We just shopped for bagels, ingredients for Russian pancakes.

I listened, then exclaimed, Wow! Whose idea is it?

She answered it was her older sister’s.

Not in the least bothered by the origin of the scheme.

Glad to be a co-conspirator.

Pointing at her two-year-old sister.

Noshing on a bagel in her car seat.

So, I continued, I guess you’re all away so Mama can sleep in.

Yes, Eliana smiled a Cheshire grin.

Then, eagerly, we’re about home. We have to go. Happy Mother’s Day, Yaya!

I clicked off the Facetime,

full to brimming with pride.

My son preserved a tradition,

his father, his guide.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 14, 2024

 

All Poems, Family, Gardens, Grandchildren, Growth, Natural Beauty, Passover, Plants

Foray to Morris Arboretum

Posted on

Our last foray to Morris Arboretum.

A month ago, on Easter.

Jammed with visitors seeking renewal.

Today, the end of Pesach, we took Elias.

Almost eleven.

To witness the season accelerating.

Lilacs, viburnums, camellias.

All in floral glory.

Aromas to match.

While fields of tulips swept us to Holland.

Azaleas clustered thick as strawberry taffy.

Yellow ragworts, white stars of Bethlehem, fleabanes.

All populated banks, hillsides.

It was Monday.

Few people roamed the paths.

Leaving the park’s majesty to us.

Empty trails, bridges, lawns.

A quiet afternoon.

Just before our grandson’s return to Manhattan.

Munificent, spontaneous matinee.

Natural delights, great, small.

Riots of color, smell.

Bounteous curtain call.

All bidding him farewell.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 1, 2024

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Language

Another Language

Posted on

Do your grandchildren speak another language?

One different from yours?

So different, you simply don’t understand?

Like three of mine.

Starting life in Russian.

Hearing lullabies in Russian.

Stories in Russian.

Conversations in Russian.

That’s when I lean on my body and theirs.

Cues, hints, signs.

Smiles, nodding heads, closing eyes.

Coos, clicks, giggles.

So I become a mirror.

Curling lips upwards, crooning back.

In high-pitched notes mothers use with babies.

Or, I attend when they cry or whine.

Absorbing their distress as mine.

Supplying comfort, solace.

By toddlerhood, we both point, nod, shake heads.

I listen to the strange string of words.

Parse them for meaning.

Label an object or two in English.

Offering my language to them.

Seeking balance.

Between understanding and not.

By school years, they traverse two languages.

Our back and forth, easier.

But, in truth, words are never enough.

The body reveals the message.

Eyes, mouth, hands, stance.

Exquisite give and take.

Grandparent-child dance.

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Family, Farewell, Grandchildren

Farewells are Difficult

Posted on

Farewells are difficult.

Especially wresting apart cousins.

Holding on to each other.

Playing without conflicts.

Craving company.

Sharing food, drink.

Offering care, consideration.

Kindling curiosity.

Too bad reunions, infrequent.

For long distances.

Busy schedules.

Grandparents not knowing.

How many times more they can make the trip.

To convene young families.

Honor kinship bonds.

Available only with travel.

So children know they have a clan.

Belong to a larger family network.

The one their parents hailed from.

Their grandparents.

Too easy to fall into everyday demands.

Let time slip by.

Lose the larger picture.

Farewells are truly difficult.

But, without them, no one’s gathered.

Sad goodbyes, inevitable

or everyone stays scattered.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Family, Grandchildren, Natural Beauty, Trips and Places, Water Mill

The World Roils

Posted on

The world roils and boils.

War, unrest, protests.

Political hypocrisy.

While we find solace in Water Mill.

With four grandchildren.

Three sisters and a cousin.

Bouncing on mats.

Squatting, flipping.

Hiking trails to a beach, a pond.

Listening to sounds of bayside waves.

Rippling onto the shore.

Ducks paddling in water, flapping wings.

To their own voices, animated, spirited.

Inventing game after game.

In a house where screens, restricted.

Pushing them to play.

Like I did as a child.

To invent, create, hear each other speak.

Honor ideas, words.

Eagles, blackbirds, swans.

Dandelions, daisies.

Familial bonds.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2024

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Holidays, Passover, Stories, Trips and Places, Water Mill

Epic Journey

Posted on

It was an epic journey.

From Elkins Park to the Hamptons.

Bob, Elias and I.

Skirting around Manhattan.

From Staten Island across the Verrazano Bridge.

Through Brooklyn, Queens.

Finally, to Long Island.

Pronounced long by the youngest passenger.

Listening to Harry Potter.

Prisoner of Azkaban.

Stopping to refuel our EV.

Grab a salad for Elias.

No bread or pretzels.

For it was midway through Pesach.

But the reward great upon arrival.

Three girl princesses all in a row

waiting with sweet embrace.

Two ballerinas and a toddler,

lithe-bodied, full of grace.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April  30, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Pleasure

When You Think of Something

Posted on

When you think of something pleasurable, what is it?

The squirt of ripe berry juice into your mouth?

Fields of multicolored tulips yawning, smiling?

Sounds of songs luring your body into rhythmic movement?

Aromas of lilacs pervading your nostrils?

Sensations of soft pussy willow catkins on fingertips?

Endless possibilities.

But, today, one filled me with joy.

The FaceTime video of my granddaughter, turning seven.

Wearing a birthday girl crown.

A floral dirndl frock.

And a smile, ear to ear.

How do you feel? I asked her.

She emoted without hesitation.

I feel bigger and older. Even taller. My hair is higher.

Her zest, contagious.

My whole body shivered with her delight.

The glee of gaining a year.

A step closer to her older sister’s age.

Though, in truth, she’d never catch up.

But nothing beats a birthday

when a child turns seven.

It’s a bubbly kind of mood,

lifting you like leaven.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 4, 2024

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Santa Monica 3/24, Stories, Trips and Places, Wisdom

One Last Hike in California

Posted on

It was our last full day in Santa Monica.

Dan proposed a hike at Will Rogers State Park.

So, all of us piled into the Lincoln Aviator.

Set out for the trail.

Samantha carrying Arthur on her back.

Dan, Solly.

Only Ezra, five, and the grandparents ascended unencumbered.

Able to savor wild purple flowers.

Yellow daisies, white Catalina lilacs.

Views of Los Angeles, the beach, the Pacific.

Catalina Island, hazy, in the distance.

We made it to the top.

Where exhausted parents rested.

Children snacked.

Grandparents marveled at scenes below.

And the family all around them.

Endurance, capability, strength.

Joie de vivre.

But we had to leave.

To get home in time for Ezra’s math lesson.

Briskly, we descended.

Passing stables, children learning to ride.

A barn full of early twentieth century farm equipment.

To the house of Will Rogers.

Built on land bought in 1922.

And a small museum in homage to his legacy.

We only had ten minutes.

To fill our heads with a lifetime of accomplishments.

Philosopher cowboy, stage and movie star, radio personality.

Newspaper columnist, world traveler, humorist.

Descendent of Cherokees.

Whose family predated the pilgrims.

Celebrity to our grandparents.

Will Rogers was a citizen

who honored what is right.

Who cared for human dignity,

could inspire and shine light.

The hike in Pacific Palisades

animated each one’s pace.

Who knew we’d run into Will Rogers

in this wondrous meeting place?

Lynn Benjamin

March 31, 2024