unless we become as a child...

This morning we were greeted by our two young grandchildren, Louie and Anna, who make getting out of bed a sacred adventure. They delight in welcoming us into the day. We love spending time with them - and their morning enthusiasm is a true joy. Besides, at 8:30 AM, they've already been going strong for two hours, repeatedly asking Momma and Daddy, "Why do Gwad and Dima get up so late?"  so they're ready for a change. Smiling behind our bedroom door as we listen to their queries, eventually we summon the energy to roust ourselves and parade into the living room where instantly we are embraced and then engaged in games, questions and all sorts of merriment well beyond our normal morning abilities. It is a wee taste of heaven.

Later, after ample amounts of coffee and tea, Chef Louie (under the guidance of his gentle and wise father) prepares a written menu that he will cook for our dining pleasure. Before the banquet, however, the Brooklyn family needs to get out and about for a bit. As Louie is putting on his winter gear, I ask, "So what will Monsieur Chef be cooking this day?" Without missing a beat he replies, "I haven't created today's menu yet. That's still to be arranged." Then he notices that the numbers 1-6 on the microwave have writing below the numerals while 7-9 do not. "Why is that, Gwad?" I explain that the first six are marked as the "express" minutes set for quick cooking results. He let's that sink in for a few seconds and then says innocently, "So does that mean the other numbers are locals?" There is a short pause among the adults before it dawns on us that Louie has sorted out our microwave numerology through the lens of his lifelong fascination with the NYC subway system. "Ah.... exactly so," we agree, "1-6 are the express stations and the rest are locals." To which he says without guile, "and that means they cook more slowly, right?"

Later still, we head to the back yard for some parallel play with Lucie in the snow. Now its time to head off to the Plainfield farm house for a winter dinner with the rest of the family. These are holy days indeed.