Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Our grandsons love to eat fish, which is really saying a lot given a couple of them are very picky eaters.
This week we’ve had two of our grandsons eat with us several times and fish is always one of the top choices for them. For lunch we made salmon, thinking our grandson B. would love it.
He took one look at it and said, “Yuck. I want the one with polka dots on his back.”
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Polka dots? He’s three years old after all, so I just assumed he was trying to explain something totally different than what we were having for lunch. He, however, was having nothing to do with the pink fish on his plate and refused to touch it. Okay, fine, maybe he’s just not in the mood for fish today.
After several minutes of “explaining” to me, B. said, “You know the fish with polka dots on his back that we eat at the lake.”
“Walleye?” I asked him.
“Yes!” he said.
I looked at my husband and asked if walleye have polka dots on their back. He just smiled and said, “I guess so.”
A couple days later we had two grandsons eat supper with us and we prepared walleye this time. We hadn’t said one thing about what type of fish we were having but when we sat the plate in front of B., he said, “Yes! The polka dot one!" and he ate every bite.
I still don’t know if walleye have polka dots or not but according to B. they do and that’s all that matters. I think I need to see the world through a child’s eyes more often. :)
Monday, October 13, 2014
The most sacred symbol in Oklahoma City is a tree: a sprawling, shade-bearing, eighty year old American elm. Tourists drive for miles to see her. People pose for pictures beneath her. Other trees grow larger, fuller, even greener. But not one is equally cherished. The city treasures that tree, not for her appearance but her endurance.
She endured the Oklahoma City bombing.
A monster of a man parked his death-laden truck only yards from her. His malice killed 168 people, wounded 850 others, destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, and buried the tree in rubble. No one expected it to survive. No one, in fact, gave any thought to the dusty branch stripped tree.
But then she began to bud.
Sprouts pressed through damaged bark; green leaves pushed away grey soot. Life resurrected from death. People noticed. The tree modeled the resilience the victims desired. So they gave the elm tree a name: the Survivor Tree.
There are still monsters in our lives that rock our world. They still maim and scare us. We want to imitate that tree – survive the evil, rise above the ruin. But how?