A Grandpa's Notebook Ideas, Models, Stories and Memoirs to Encourage Intergenerational Outreach and Communication

**This is a COPYRIGHTED Project Gutenberg Etext, Details Below**

A Grandpa's Notebook

Ideas, models, stories and memoirs to encourage intergenerational outreach and communication.

Meyer Moldeven

Copyright © 2000 Meyer Moldeven. All rights reserved. Permission is herewith granted to private individuals, intergenerational programs, senior centers, and public and nonprofit entities to freely reproduce all or portions of this text for noncommercial purposes.

Table Of Contents

Introduction

Part One: We Learn From Each Other

Too-Faraway Grandparents First Letter to a Distant Grandchild Too-Faraway Grandparent How My Stories Began Family History Scroll What's In It for You? Picture Postcards Grandparent's Role Grandpa Too Far Think a Story Story Openers Grandparent-Grandchild Interview Create an Heirloom Catalogue Values and Traditions Living History Folk Tales Turn-the-page Stories Record Your Albums No Answers Recapture the Spark Grandparents in the Virtual Classroom Show-and-Tell Expert Don't Just Ride Off Into the Sunset

Part Two: First Stories

Grandpa Takes a Walk Dooby and Katrinka Have an Idea Circus Adventure The Dinosaur's Nest Dinosaurs? Having a Birthday Party? Leah and Her Family Meeting

Part Three: The Palm Tree Stories

Put Palm Trees in Your Stories Along the Ridge of the Dunes Gone Sailing Dolphins Alongside Snug Harbor Hike Visit with Two Seals Noises in the Night The Little Old Man's Strange Story The Same Tale: And then... Still the Same Story: What a Finish!

Part Four: Reach For The Stars, Grandpa!

A Bagel? In Space? Stobey and Slutter Fly to Super-Rock Playground Swinging from a Star Visitors from Planet Earth Sir Lumpalot and Kick-Pow Into the Stranger's House Bingbang Babbaloo Battles Burpers

Part Five: Lore, Myths And Memoirs

Stories to the World C'mon, Man, It's Only a Safety Pin! Memoir: The Parachute Rigger (World War Two) Memoir: Parachute Logistics (Korean War) Memoir: Logistics Planner (Cold War) Memoir: Suicide Prevention (Viet Nam Era)

Media Reviews of Author's Previous Editions

BOOKLIST; November 15, 1987 (Book Evaluation Journal of the American Library Association)

Moldeven, a 70-year old grandfather turned author and publisher, sets a wonderful example and shares many practical lessons on keeping in touch with grandchildren in these times of mobile families. When it is impossible to see or talk to grandchildren as often as one would like, Moldeven suggests writing them stories. His book offers general tips on getting started along with 25 sample stories. The author emphasizes simplicity and imagination in the creation of plots and illustrations. For grandparents who lack confidence in their writing or picture-making abilities, Moldeven suggests working with photographs or magazine pictures and devising custom-made stories from classic fables or folk tales. This encouraging, easy-to-read guide for grandparents (near and faraway) can also be used as a resource for senior citizen's projects.

The Rocky Mount Evening & Sun Telegram, August 23, 1987 Rocky Mount, North Carolina

This book was written for grandparents, primarily; but parents and kindergarten and primary teachers will find the techniques and stories of value in relating to young children.... This supremely useful work, while designed for the too-far away relative, offers exciting possibilities for intergenerational communication, even if the family is settled in one community, next door, or even in the same house. It has the additional virtue of promoting activities that encourage the grandchild toward reading and writing skills, strengthening ties, and establishing values, easily taught through family history and traditions.'

Introduction

There are more than 60 million grandparents in the United States and their numbers are increasing as a portion of the general population. Enormous changes have taken place in longevity and lifestyles since today's older adults were, themselves, young grandchildren. Experts estimate that there are thirty to fifty thousand living centenarians, up from the 1980 estimate of fifteen thousand. Also, centenarians are not as feeble as they once were; disability rates among older people have been falling since the early 1980s.

Life expectancy at birth in the United States has increased nearly 30 years since the turn of the century, from 47 to about 76. On the other hand, families are more widely dispersed, successful interaction by grandparents with their distant grandchildren, whether for geographic reasons or barriers of circumstance, increasingly calls for innovation and improvisation.

A vast store of practical knowledge as well as a culture's lore languishes in almost every family, especially among its elders, more than ready to be passed along to succeeding generations. An important source for ideas and models for grandparents to meet the needs-and the yearnings-of this era's grandchildren and children generally are in the observations and experiences of older adults. It is not up to our young grandchildren to say what in our life's experiences might be useful or enlightening to them? If it was up to them, how might they draw it out of us? A paradox indeed.

This is not a child's storybook, although some of the stories, vignettes and essays may interest youth from toddlers to young adults and, from other perspectives, parents, grandparents, and teachers. The book's intent is to demonstrate one older lay person's approach to fostering interaction between generations in the context of family, school and culture.

Part One We Learn From Each Other

One of the ground rules in writing my 'grandpa' stories was to keep within the youngsters' range of comprehension and imagination, and about living things, objects, activities and places to which their imaginations could relate. In fantasy stories, when my grandchildren were very young, for instance, I animated toys familiar to them, or modified characters from their favorite books and sent them off on adventures that did not frighten or cause them apprehension for the toy's safety. At the story's conclusion, the toys and characters were back in a familiar and comfortable setting.

Deliberate destructive behavior in stories and anecdotes for the very young, I believe, serves no useful purpose. The young are already exposed to far more negative forces in the general run of storybooks, television shows, Internet games and the real world. Grandpas and grandmas don't need to pile them on. To the contrary, grandparents can influence a young mind toward reason and compassion. The tales they tell can be stabilizing forces in the day-to-day bustle and high excitement of the very young and, by the nature of a grandparent's role, suggest channels for positive values.

First Letter to a Distant Grandchild

Don't let that blank sheet of paper intimidate you. Here's a model that you can rework to suit your situation:

Grandma and Grandpa now live in a house that is very far from the town in which you live. We'll still see each other as often as we can, but sometimes the wait will be just a little bit longer.

One way for us to visit is by telephoning. Another is by our writing letters to you that Mom or Dad will read aloud to you. I'll start my writing to you by telling a little about Grandmas and Grandpas.

Grandmas and Grandpas are older than mothers and fathers. They usually have gray hair or white hair. Sometimes, Grandpas have no hair at all, but that's all right because Grandpas don't need to use a comb and hair brush every morning.

Grandmas and Grandpas like to take grandchildren to the zoo to see the elephants and the deer and the monkeys. They also like to take grandchildren to the park to ride on the merry-go-round, and to the lake to throw bread to the ducks and the geese and the swans.

On the way home from the zoo or the park, Grandmas and Grandpas take grandchildren to the bakery. There, they stand at the counter and smell the fresh bread, and buy cookies and cakes for desserts.

Grandmas and Grandpas like to play games with grandchildren, listen to grandchildren tell what happened in the park and at school, and answer questions. They especially like to read stories to grandchildren from big books with lots of pictures.

Grandmas and Grandpas like to hold grandchildren in their laps and hug them. Grandpas also like to shake hands, or pat grandchildren on their heads. That is a little bit about Grandmas and Grandpas and Grandchildren.

Too-Faraway Grandparent

During a talk I gave to a senior citizens group a woman in the audience remarked, 'I'm a volunteer helper in a class of first graders at (naming a nearby school.) I haven't given it much thought until now, but I've come to realize that some youngsters see their grandparents regularly, others rarely, and still others see their grandparents not at all. For a few, grandparents live too far away, and others don't know where their grandparents live or even if they have grandparents, but saddest of all are the kids who don't know what grandparents are.'

Grandparents and grandchildren are natural allies, but when their homes are too far apart, or other barriers intervene, their alliance weakens. Everybody loses, including the youngsters' parents-the generation in the middle.

How My Stories Began

I live in one city, my grandchildren in another almost a thousand miles distant. During one of my visits I took my, then, three-year-old granddaughter for a stroll. We paused to examine a spider's web spanning a space between two shrubs. A rain shower had passed shortly before and droplets festooned the web's strands and rainbow-sparkled in the morning sunlight. Standing there, both of us bent forward peering into the web, I wove a story that transformed the sparkling strands into a carnival and the spider into an acrobat. Granddaughter's eyes widened with wonder.

We continued on and stopped at a house to observe a cat on the porch playing with a yellow ball. I wove another tale, this time of a cat and a strange ball that bounced too high. Again, my granddaughter's expression showed her pleasure in hearing grandpa's story. For the remainder of my visit, and during subsequent visits, I told her, and when he was old enough, my grandson, of the world around us and how we hoped to, some day, live together on Planet Earth.

Visits, in either direction were infrequent. Adult-oriented telephone calls usually left only brief moments for talking to grandchildren. Long distance calls just didn't generate the right ambiance and enough time for the relaxed talking and easy listening that goes naturally with a grandpa story. Then, too, at the close of an adult telephone conversation the youngsters are usually busy at other things, and sometimes grandpas just don't do well as talkers.

In my situation, I filled the gap with hand-scribed and, later on, typed stories. The letter-stories lengthened our telephone chats to plot the next story, flesh-out characters, the environments of settings and scenes. There are no better aids to a grandpa-grandchild telephone story conference than our faithful friends Who, What, Where, When, Why and How.

One letter-story followed another, often illustrated with pictures from discarded magazines. When I couldn't find the right illustration, I laboriously sketched an all-thumbs grandpa original. It was an enjoyable experience for me, and feedback from the family showed it was enjoyable for my grandchildren as well.

Family History Scroll

The extended family's history scroll is shipped from one relative to another in a mailing tube. Each family adds a paragraph or so about what happened to them since the previous go-round that might be of interest to others. Generally, the messages are hand scribed, but may be typed and snapshots pasted on or attached with plastic adhesive tape.

When a scroll becomes too large for easy handling it may be retired and stored with one of the family members and a note added to the next scroll stating where the preceding scroll is stored.

What's In It for You?

Long-term studies of large communities offer evidence that individuals with strong family and social ties tend to be healthier than who live in isolation.

A conference of doctors and social scientists proposed a theory that altruism, particularly when the helper observes its benefits, can reduce feelings of helplessness and depression and thus enhance health. Also, persons who came in direct contact with those that they aided reported a strong and lasting sense of satisfaction, even exhilaration, an increased sense of self-worth, less depression, and fewer aches and pains.

Relating the theory to the theme of these notes, what a grandparent gets back often depends to the value he or she places on, and the efforts he or she makes toward building positive intergenerational relationships. If family has significance, then interacting with a grandchild, near or faraway, manifests that significance and the returns it generates.

'Returns' imply 'investments.' As grandparents age, their 'investment' is transformed into a 'return.' The 'return' contributes vitality, vibrancy and enrichment to a grandparent's latter years.

Picture Postcards

During a discussion among older adults, one of them said he was having trouble coming up with what to write on a picture postcard that he wanted to mail to his faraway grandchild. He said he'd been a salesman but, in this situation, he was at a loss for words.

I asked him what he had done earlier that day. He mentioned several ordinary activities and added, as an afterthought, that he had strolled along a nearby beach.

'What did you see during your walk?'

'Seals and pelicans on the rocks offshore. Big waves rolling in. One of the seals slid off the rock and into the water. The tide was out, and I explored a tide pool. I saw a....'

He stared at me for a moment, grinned, took his pen from his shirt pocket and made notes on a slip of paper.

Grandparent's Role

Grandparents generally accept and enjoy the many roles into which they have been cast. One of the many is that they are the grandparents of all their grandchildren, not just of one whom they chose to be their favorite. Favoritism invites disaster.

A young mother of two posed the following dilemma to an Internet discussion group devoted to family relations and child behavior. I altered the text slightly, primarily to protect the writer's privacy. She wrote:

'Since the birth of our second child our family has received lots of warm wishes. Yet, often, in offering congratulations, well wishers remarked along the lines 'You must be happy to have a boy now.' This confused our older child, a four-year-old girl.

'Of course, she is a much loved and cherished child and we could not love her any more if she were a boy. And we are very happy to have our new son, but would have loved a second daughter just as much. But the casual remarks about having a son are secondary to my concern about my parents' relationship with our children.

'My parents reside within easy driving distance and we are a close-knit family. Rarely a week passes that we and my parents don't do something together. They are my daughter's primary baby-sitters and are very generous toward her.

'However, I am starting to see that there will be a difference, based solely on gender, in my parents' treatment of both children. When my son was barely a week old, my father said that he was looking forward to taking him fishing. When I remarked that my daughter had a fishing pole and, due to the age difference between her and her brother, would be a more appropriate companion, still no invitation was forthcoming.

'When my father invited my husband fishing the following week, my father grumbled at the suggestion that they take my daughter along.

'My son is now two and a half months old, and my father is looking forward to participating with him in Little League, soccer, etc. Again, both my husband and I chimed in that the same activities are also available for girls. Silence.

'What really disturbs me is that after these rebuffs my daughter sometimes quietly says to me, 'Mama, I am proud we both are girls.' I don't know where she gets this from, but she'll often repeat it several times and in more of a forlorn tone than an enthusiastic one.'

Grandpa Too Far

You telephone your son or daughter who lives in a distant city. He or she now has her own children. You chat with your son or daughter in the usual fashion. Closing, you ask to talk to your grandchild. The youngster comes on line:

'Hi,' Grandchild says.

'Hi, there! Know who this is?'

'Grandpa.'

'Right, Grandpa. How are you, dear?'

'Fine.'

'Good. What are you doing?'

'Playing with my toys.'

'What did you do yesterday?'

'Went to the park.'

'...have a good time there?'

'Yes.'

'That's nice. Well, I'm sure glad we had this little chat. Aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Bye.'

'Bye.'

The following morning at day school the children talk about what happened over the weekend. It's Grandchild's turn.

'Oh, I played with my toys and went to the park and I talked to my grandpa on the telephone.'

'What did you and grandpa talk about?'

Long pause.

'Oh...nothin'.'

Think a Story

If you can think a story, and if you can write a letter or express your thoughts orally or visually, then you can combine them into a message to a grandchild. The more often you do it, the easier it becomes. If the mechanics of writing or drawing is the problem, then audiotape. The point is to interact and communicate with a grandchild so that the youngster knows of your caring, and that caring is normal. Grandchild will readily grasp that Grandma or Grandpa wants to share, and that sharing is fine.

The type of communication most desired by my grandchildren until their fifth or sixth years, and under the circumstances of the distance between us, was the letter-story. The written stories evolved out of our infrequent family get-togethers. Occasionally, an idea for a story called for follow- up negotiations over the telephone to clarify plots, scenes, and characters. My grandchildren liked the stories, and both they and I enjoyed the discussions that preceded the writing. The give-and-take stimulated our imaginations and creativity, and often provided me with opportunities to pass along family history.

Today's youngsters know more about the world than children of previous generations, one of the many benefits of our expanding telecommunication capabilities and greater education and travel opportunities. Youngsters get their view of the world from what they see, hear, and learn from and about their families.

Letter stories, anecdotes and lore give grandchildren a better view of their grandparents, and about what older adults believe. The process, if positive oriented, contributes toward the grandchild's maturity, and offers them encouragement, values, models, and incentives.

There are tens of thousands of homes across the land where treasured possessions, tangible and otherwise, were created or acquired by the occupants or their forebears. You have them in your home as I do in mine. In time, those possessions: properties and artifacts, along with their histories, will move along to your children and grandchildren. In every culture, 'grandpa and grandma stories', along with 'mom and dad stories,' are part of that inheritance.

When youngsters know that Grandpa or Grandma wrote a story expressly for them, that more than qualifies the story for the special collection of treasures to be shared with close friends, presented at school as a show-and-tell, and eventually absorbed into the treasured memorabilia of childhood.

Story Openers

Are you groping for words to open a story? Here are a few starters: - My future might have been prophesied from these events... - Let me tell you about.É - Here, get under the shawl with me and listen to this hair-raising story. It was a wild and woolly.É - During my early years.É - Long ago and far away.É (still an all-time favorite) - Once upon a time.É (another treasure) - I am uncertain about what my memory truly recalls of these events but there I was.É - I was about 8 years old when this happened. One morning.É - My older brother/sister had a tendency to.É and this once caused.É -As children, we often.É -I am reminded of the time.É -There was a particular kind of.É -If only I could have.É -One day I was watching.É -It was in the Fall of 19xx.É -I particularly recall.É -The toys I remember.É -Sometimes, in the dark of night, when the wind howls through the eaves, I think back to the time when.É --'Twas a dark and stormy night.É (another Old Faithful)

Grandchild and grandparent know they enjoy being together, and storytelling is part of the fun; also, grandchildren know that grandmas and grandpas usually have fascinating memories of their childhood and about what happened to the family over the years. Grandchildren want to enter this little bit of grandma and grandpa's world. Perceptive grandparents see the world through a grandchild's imagination. Using the anticipation generated by a familiar opening phrase or sentence to set the stage works well for both storyteller and listener.

Grandparent-grandchild interaction is more than a custom; it is a deep and powerful bond. By its very nature, the alliance is biological and cultural, and molded by trial-and-error through the hazards of millennia. It is an alliance not to be treated casually; it demands nourishment, and storytelling by a family's elders is an essential ingredient.

Grandparent-Grandchild Interview

A fun way to open lines of communications while visiting grandchildren, be they nearby or far away, is the audiotaped interview. Living nearby, the grandchild knows grandma and grandpa, they're part of everyday life. Far away is different, geography causes gaps. The one-on-one interview builds self-esteem and confidence in a youngster. It's an excellent learning experience, and creates a record of lasting memories for the family's archives.

An interview structures a conversation. Men are often as reticent as women are eloquent: women are much more socially oriented than men and communicate easier. However, the interview technique can be a starter to work through Grandpa's reserve. It quickly engages the participants in a dialogue and is as much fun for one as for the other.

Vague questions by adults should be avoided; they're confusing.

Let's set up an interview.

Grandma and Grandpa plan to visit Son or Daughter and the Grandchildren. The visit will include Grandpa or Grandma being interviewed by Grandchild.

In arranging the visit, Grandma or Grandpa discusses with Son or Daughter what they have in mind. A tape recorder or camcorder, in good working order, is available or will be brought along. It's fine with Son/Daughter and they agree to prepare Grandchild, including a set of preliminary questions. It's a fun experience, but don't insist having an audience that will make anyone present self-conscious or uncomfortable.

When all concerned are ready (recorder checked and set up, the date, time, place, names, occasion, and whatever else considered prefatory has been recorded in advance) Grandchild opens with the first question. In this example, Grandpa is being interviewed.

In responding, Grandpa avoids the simple 'yes' or 'no' answer even when such might suffice. Sure, Grandpa could respond with 'Yes' or 'No' to 'Grandpa, is your first name 'Tom'.' But wouldn't it be more fun if Grandpa transformed his reply into family lore with 'Yes, it is, and let me tell you how I got that name. The Sunday after I was born, my Dad hooked ol' Dobbin to the sleigh to take us all to....' and he's away into another bit of Lore Americana.

Unless agreed to in advance, questions and answers are serious. Knowing what a young grandchild likes to talk about is important and can focus the interview.

Youngsters, though, have minds of their own and might well pop an unexpected question. Using 'we' or 'us' and encouraging inputs from Grandchild keeps the interview from becoming one-sided. Grandchildren pile up their experiences and feelings for an anticipated interaction, and an interview will provide opportunities to talk about them and themselves.

Grandpa creates opportunities. For instance, in answering a question, he closes with: 'That's how it worked out for us; now, how about you? Did you ever.É?' and the switch is made.

The interview can go in one direction then the other for as long as both want it to. In the give-and-take Grandchild learns a lot about Grandma and Grandpa, and everyone involved in the game broadens their awareness, and renew and revitalize family traditions and values.

Expect spontaneity and deep probing by youngsters when they are the interviewers. They are interested in the origins of people and things; depending on their ages, of course, be ready for such questions as:

What are stars in the sky? What keeps them up when everything else falls? Why is the sun? The moon? Who made them? Why? Where do eggs come from? Did I come from an egg? Well, then, where did I come from? Is that where you came from? Where is a baby before it's born? Why did (Grandpa/Grandma) die? Where is (he/she) now?

Create an Heirloom Catalogue

Family treasures are passed along from generation to generation. In time, they acquire the venerable aura of heirlooms. The passage of years transforms them into antiques that are honored in the family's lore and traditions.

You have several, you say? Heirlooms? Where? And antiques too?

Squirreled away, at the moment, in your cellar, attic, or garage, or proudly displayed in your den or sewing room, the ancient objects eventual departure for elsewhere is inevitable. They have survived one house cleaning after another and denied candidacy for garage sales and flea markets. Some are treasures from previous generations, or the product of your own hands and, without doubt, they belong to posterity. OK, so this or that artifact doesn't have museum value; it could still be of enduring interest to your family and to the progeny of your progeny's progeny, even unto the xth generation. Who's to say?

The heirloom, or heirloom-to-be, might be a brooch or wedding dress great-grandma wore, or a long ago foot-pedaling or hand-turning sewing machine. It might be a delicate tea set, a venerable book of sheet music your grandpa's great-grandma brought with her from the old country, a 1920s typewriter on its original stand, a set of ancient but still usable wood carving tools, a widget that the inventor (your Grandpa!) was certain would be a technological breakthrough, or, you name it.

And that may be the problem. You might be able to name it but how much do you know about it. If you made it, usually no problem, but if it's from a past generation, it may not be that simple. Generally, our forebears gave little thought, if any, to an intergenerational communication that would accompany one of their possessions into the future. To the original owner, the Thing might have been for everyday use around the house, barn, shop, wherever. Nevertheless, such Things do acquire uniqueness over time, and even if no longer of practical use, they represent an individual's, a family's, or a community's history and perhaps, grandeur.

Cataloging an heirloom rediscovers and records the past and, through the memories of you and others, builds another bridge from the past to the present. Family history and tradition are enhanced by facts that emerge in what you can recall from way back when.

Elements to consider in cataloging an heirloom:

The Thing: What it is, and what it's made of. Look at and feel the watchamacallit if it lets you. Record what you see, feel, smell, hear, taste (watch that last one), and otherwise sense. If possible, sketch or photograph the Thing.

Its History: Where and when it was made; where it's been; anecdotes, legends, evidence of significant events in which it was used or 'was right there in the middle of that mess,' and the family and community personalities who were and are associated with it, and in what way.

Its Use and Care: How the original and successive owners used it; suggested uses for now. (Oldness is not necessarily equated with uselessness. Right? Right!) Conditioning or preservation: oil it, polish it, display it away from direct sunlight, put it to work, coddle it, take it for a walk, just leave it be right where it is, etc.

Many heirlooms eventually find their way into museums, historic societies, and community archives. Even if they do not, preservation and conservation are important. To slow an heirloom's deterioration, store or display them carefully away from harsh artificial lights, sunlight, heat, and dampness; inspect and restore as required, use acid-free wrapping paper, and just keep them out of harms way. Visit museums and historical societies for ideas on how to protect and display your heirlooms.

What you get in return is personal pleasure, and a store of anecdotes, history, lore and traditions for grandkids, nieces, nephews, and nearby and distant family whatever their ages. Photos and sketches, along with verbal descriptions and commentaries are constituents of tradition and values-and the finest kind of intergenerational communications.

Values and Traditions

Many older adults have interests other than family. They work, play golf and other sports, have active social lives and hobbies, and so on. So, indeed, what's in grandparenting for them?

It depends on how much value a grandparent-and a parent places on family ties and the need for and the flow of intergenerational communications. Where family has meaning, interacting with a far away grandchild adds substance to a 'value'. Then, as the grandparent ages, communicating with the distant grandchild retains its strength as a positive force, and enriches the remaining years. It reduces loneliness, and is an antidote for apathy and depression. Entering grandparenting with tolerance, constancy, and sincerity adds pleasures to a person's life. In storytelling, grandparenting invites a call from a distant grandchild to 'Send me another story,' or better yet, 'I've got an idea for a story. Let me tell you about it.'

The grandchild chose the grandparent over television and the many other forms of professionally polished commercial entertainment that thrusts forward for his or her attention. In so choosing, the youngster notifies the grandparents through his/her appeal that they, the grandparents, are wanted and needed. It's Grandchild reaching out and inviting Grandma and Grandpa into his or her world-with affection.

In single-parent families and in families in which both parents work away from home, there might not be as many opportunities to pass along traditions, awareness, and values. Be that as it may, throughout history the family and tribal elders passed their knowledge and codes of conduct on to those who, as part of the natural process, carry the torches into the future. This responsibility to family and community is in the substance of existence.

Living History

For many of us, our lives are keyed to significant events, transitions, locales, or something that has importance to ourselves or to our families. For me, the important events and episodes happened to be on a time-line by location: the places where my family resided over the years. I spent the first twenty-five years of my life in the city where I was born and raised. Afterward, a few years in a distant city, then on to another and still another, each invariably distant and different than before.

After I retired, I took the time to make notes on as many important events that I could recall, and keyed each to a geographic location. I gave each episode a title or sketched a brief outline that would stimulate my memory to the place and help me to talk about it. My list began with city A: my preschool and school years (with several sub-headings because those times had been chaotic); the Great Depression, the first job, etc. City B: why I was there; the job; etc. I continued on to the next and the next.

When I finished my initial list of 'cities' or 'countries' and numbered them I found that I had more than two hundred events, episodes or time periods. I arranged them so that one followed the other as they had occurred or were otherwise linked. That became my outline.

I took the list along when I visited my grandchildren (my daughter had briefed the family beforehand about Grandpa's list.) Evenings, relaxed at the table after dinner, Grandson or Granddaughter would call out, for example, 'Grandpa! Number 67!' I made a big deal out of hauling the list from my back pocket, carefully unfolding it, locating the number and reading the title aloud. Then, on to chin-rubbing, head scratching, ceiling staring, and after enough 'C'mon, grandpa! Get with it!' from all directions I went into my act, narrating in words, tone, gestures, and body language the events of oft-told 'Number 67', or whatever number they had chosen.

They would listen, spellbound and cut in with comments and questions. To them, it was their family history and often, drama, and they really want to know. Invariably, the story was followed with reminiscences by their Mom and Dad who added variations, details, interpretations from their memories, and spin off comparable events in their lives, often long into the wee hours.

Autobiography became living history-the occasion of the telling, itself, is now an event not to be forgotten-and the finest kind of intergenerational communication.

Folk Tales

An old, old man lived in the home of his son. The son had a wife and a young son of his own. At meal times the old man sat at the kitchen table. His eyes were dim and he barely saw; his ears were dull and he barely heard, and his hands trembled. He had difficulty holding his spoon as he tried to feed himself broth from a bowl. Now and then a few drops fell from his spoon on to the tablecloth, or the bowl tipped too far, spilling.

His son and his son's wife were disgusted at the sight of him. Finally, one day, after the old man's trembling hand caused the bowl to fall to the floor and break, they gave him an old wooden bowl, and made him sit with it out of sight behind the stove. At mealtimes, they put food into the wooden bowl and left the old man alone to manage as best he could.

One evening, after dinner, they were all in the sitting room. The old man's son noticed that his own young son had gathered few pieces of wood and stored them in a corner among his playthings.

'What have you there?' The youngster's father pointed to the wood.

The child looked up. 'I am making wooden bowls,' he answered quietly, 'for you and for Mommy to eat out of when I am grown, and you are both very old.' *** I received a letter from a woman of Japanese ancestry who read the preceding story. She wrote that her father, who had passed along to his children much of the lore and tales of old Japan, had another version:

In many villages of old Japan, the townsfolk suffered deeply and often the extremes of hunger and cold. It was vital to the survival of the able- bodied that those who were in their final hours of life be taken to the nearby foothills and left there to die. This sorrowful task belonged to the senior son.

So it was, indeed, that a dutiful senior son, at the appropriate time imposed by illness and tradition, wrapped his dying mother in the family blanket reserved for such sad occasions. He lifted her gently, cradled her in his arms, and made his way to a sheltered place among the nearby foothills' rocks and underbrush.

Lowering his mother to the ground, he kneeled beside her and tenderly made his final good-bye. She listened silently, breathing shallow, eyes closed. Finally, he stood, bowed deeply and, tears in his eyes, turned to leave.

'Wait, my son.' Her voice was barely a whisper. 'Do not forget the blanket. The day will come when it will be needed for another and, in time, for you.'

Turn-the-page Stories

A grandmother told me how she sometimes became part of a story to her very young and distant grandchild. She wrote:

I audiotape the story and mail the book to him along with the cassette,' she wrote, 'but there's more to it than that. In recording, when I get to the end of a page, I talk about the illustrations on that page, and then say 'turn the page'. He loves this part and tells his Mom that he wants to listen to Grandma's 'turn the page' book. When children are too young to read by themselves, they can follow along independently when you tell them-on the tape-when it's time to 'turn the page.'

Record Your Albums

Inquiries I've received from too-faraway grandparents include audio taping stories, family lore and anecdotes, especially family history. Several commented that talking was easier for them than writing.

In my responses I told about the time and circumstances that I had taped a commentary to our family's photo and document album, and how I went about it.

For almost 40 years my wife and I, and before they left for college, our children, moved about the United States and the world, working and living our lives. We had accumulated a fair number of photos and documents over the years; they were important parts of our family history.

During those active years, family archives were low priority. During periods of relative quiet we reminded ourselves to organize our records, add notes on the reverse sides of photos and important documents, and file them away in albums. As with most families, my wife had all the names, dates, places, and the why and how details catalogued and stored in her mind. We thought we had plenty of time. We did not.

Months after the tragedy, when I was able to focus my thoughts again, one of my many tasks was to gather the cartons, shoeboxes and envelopes of photos and documents. I spread them across every available clear space and tried to make sense of the lot. Many, from past generations, were scenes from the early part of the twentieth century and before. I separated the collection into two groups: Group One: preceding our meeting and marriage, and Group Two: our life together and those who became a part of it.

Group One went into albums as Part A: my wife before we met and her side of the family, and Part B: the same for me and mine. I arranged Group Two (our married life) into collections according to the places where we had resided. The result had many sections.

Organizing the material in each section chronologically, I inserted them into the albums and numbered each photo, document and page. I identified each album sequentially on its spine with a gold foil letter from a packet purchased at a supermarket.

Setting up my tape recorder, I opened the first album. Contemplating the first two facing pages, I recorded what I was going to do in a general introduction, then waded into the narration: photographs, documents, and the flooding memories. Nothing fancy, low key, free association.

The first volumes dealt with people of whom I knew little, so my comments were brief and sketchy. When I reached familiar ground, my remarks were detailed: 'Picture 4 on Page 12 was taken in August of '52 when we lived in beautiful downtown XYZ. Our house is on the right; in the foreground is A, B and C, and coming down the walk is the D family: H, I and J. Soon after the photo was taken, by K, we all drove to AA, visited the city of BB, and had lunch at CC. It was that afternoon that the ZZ incident occurred, and about which I've often talked. For those of you who haven't heard the story, here's what happened....'

And so, far into the night and for days and nights afterward. The task is done, and the archives are ready to pass along to the next generation.

Whenever the subject comes up with others, or when I speak to groups, I urge against putting off this task. We all share in the two great mysteries: mortality and uncertainty. Among the treasures we leave behind are our memories, especially those of family and happy times.

No Answers

Occasionally, among the letters I received, was one that reflected deep disappointment and anguish. The writer had tried to contact a grandchild-or a grandparent-who was too faraway geographically or beyond a barrier of circumstance. There were no answers. *** A man in his eighties wrote that he had a couple of dozen grandchildren and great-grandchildren scattered around the world. Not one had written to him or telephoned, either on their own or in response to his letters and gifts. He was a widower, lived alone, and was the only remaining grandparent. He wanted his grandchildren to know that he was still alive. He had much to offer them, he said, about the family's history and traditions.

'Should I just give up?' he asked.

I suggested that he, as the only living grandparent, persevere and to not accept defeat. Whatever the past might have been, his advanced years called for him to be nonjudgmental, empathic, and healing. I suggested that his grandchildren have or will have families of their own and, in time, will also be grandparents. As elders, they will reflect on their lives and, with a perspective vastly different from their youth and middle years, recall that Grandpa, in his advanced years, had tried to reach out to them as a grandparent in deed as well as in name.

In remembering, they would better understand their own roles as grandparents and their needs as elderly. Through their remembering he will become the 'grandpa' he had sought, long before, to be. Persistence, I reminded him-not giving up-was vital to his well being if not to his life. To stop trying would be to accept defeat. The elderly do not take defeats lightly; at some point the added weight accelerates their downward spiral.

What he was doing for his grandchildren, I wrote, might have profound effects long after he was gone. Grandparenting is both here and now and for the long haul, and it influences grandchildren across their entire life span, not merely for the few years that grandparents were right there to offer guidance and hold them close.

Grandchildren rarely realize it when they're kids-very often not even well into in their middle years-but the grandparents in their lives are forever. Most adults finally figure it out in their latter years. In time, grandkids figure it out-in their turn. *** A woman wrote to me about her pre-teenage daughter's repeated but futile attempts to communicate with her grandfather. He was in his eighth decade and resided in a distant state; the youngster was his only grandchild. Intelligent and caring, she had written to him regularly, sent holiday cards and gifts, and baked and mailed cookies. He did not acknowledge.

When Grandpa did telephone-not often-he spoke briefly with the youngster's parents but avoided talking to her. He had not visited for a long time, lived alone, and was a loner with few friends. The mother's letter did not mention a Grandma, and appealed for a 'suggestion.'

I responded that the parent review grandfather's wellness and what his self-image might be in the light of his past. Had he always been as withdrawn as he now appeared to be? How had he related emotionally to his family when his children were young? Had the family been close, or had Dad been distant even then toward his children and their mother? If he had been a close and caring father, when did changes occur that were significantly different, as currently displayed toward his only grandchild?

What might have brought the changes on? Advancing age can be an important factor: changes that occur during a person's eighth decade and beyond can be ravaging, especially if health had seriously deteriorated or a great personal loss experienced. If such was the case, Grandpa might feel strongly not to impose his difficult problems on to Grandchild?

'I don't know if Grandfather can be changed,' I wrote. 'I do believe that Grandfather needs your understanding and your compassion, and the same from your spouse or partner. Equally, but perhaps not aware of it, he needs the understanding and compassion of his Granddaughter. She keeps reaching out to him; I conclude her sense of compassion is strong. Compassion will not be a burden to her; to the contrary, reaching out strengthens her sensitivity and her developing maturity.

In closing, 'I address to Granddaughter the 'suggestion' you asked for: 'Granddaughter, keep trying. Grandpa might not respond, but he hears you. Do not default; do not ever, ever give up.''

Recapture the Spark

The following article, Joint Day Care for Young and Old, appeared on the op-ed page of The Wall Street Journal, issue dated December 31, 1986. It is as relevant today as when it was first published.

The author, Tara McLaughlin, was a former day-care administrator in Washington, D.C. and, at the time of the publication, a research associate with the Urban Ethnic Research Program at Arizona State University, Tempe, Arizona. I was preparing my first edition of grandpa stories and Ms McLaughlin kindly gave me permission to include her article.

I believe the article deserves wide dissemination to care centers for all age groups, schools, senior centers, retirement residential communities, health care institutions, and other places, especially to where young and old gather or reside. *** Joint Day Care for Young and Old (With the author's permission.)

One evening after work, my husband and I picked up our three children from their day-care center, and we all went to get her great-grandmother at hers. As we entered the adult center, we were struck by the immediate outpouring of love from the elderly to our children.

The day-care adults spontaneously asked questions, and our children, delighted with having an audience, embraced and talked with their newfound friends. As any parent will attest, children and grandparents are allies, because the elderly have the perspective to realize that when a five-year old girl says she wants to be a ballerina, it does not necessarily preclude the possibility that she will become a nuclear physicist. The great expectations of exuberant and excited kids need to be encouraged by attentive adults. A child's special plans or ideas don't always keep on hold until after dinner. And, too, our raucous eight-year old son is never more attentive and loving than when he is with his great-grandmother. She, in turn, cherishes the time with him as she would a special gift.

Because over 50% of mothers work and many grandparents cannot remain at home all day without assistance, the time for wouldn't-it-be- nice-if kind of talk has clearly passed. Broader social issues are really the roots here. Why are we segregating these two groups in the first place? Our elderly are feeling they are being shuffled off to homes, and young people are growing up without the benefit of elderly role models. This is a society where most mothers work and most children don't live close to grandparents. Dual day-care is a simple, loving solution to this separation of the generations.

A Musty Room

As a former day-care administrator I have seen 30 children mobbing a teacher and clamoring for attention-praise for a project, a kiss for a hurt or applause for their ability to count all the way to 10. At the other end of the spectrum, one of my most haunting childhood memories is of making a Christmas visit with my Girl Scout troop to a nursing home, eager to 'brighten a day.' Instead I remember walking into a musty room and helping her to write a letter to her family. The quizzical look she gave me as she asked 'What shall I write about?' and my own awkward groping for an answer are a vision I carry with me today.

Day-care children don't have a lack of playtime; they have a lack of one- to-one attention. And the day-care elderly don't have a lack of time on their hands; they have a lack of someone to share and laugh with and glean excitement and energy from. Combined, dual day care, built on these needs, probably would cost no more and would disturb no one, and, in fact, it just might be the perfect solution.

Learning that a particular bird is called a sparrow or that a particular tree is called a pine is very special to children who cannot read and who have an active curiosity about the unknown elements of their world. Older adults can read and tell children about this existing world of ours, and what's more they have the time to share with the children. While the elderly would not have the special training of the early-childhood teachers, they would be a supplement to, not a substitute for, staff. Parents and grandparents, after all, don't need diplomas. Conversely, some day-care adults might have ambulatory problems that call out to children who have an intrinsic energy and desire to help. None is prouder than the child who has helped do something for someone else.

Voluntary Participation

Walk through a model dual day-care center for a moment. Most facilities for children wouldn't need to be modified, and adult centers would need only slight modifications. One room for adults, one for children, and a shared recreation room, eating room and yard. Simple.

Now, how popular could the idea become? Given half a chance, most elderly in day-care centers would enthusiastically welcome the idea. With voluntary participation, concern about temperament compatibility need not be a problem. But how would working mothers respond to this? How could they be convinced?

To promote the idea, working mothers could be offered half-price subsidies as an experiment, providing the initial incentive. The elderly could be bused to the children's day-care centers just as they are now being driven to their own. Schedules could be coordinated so that public school buses are used at times when they are not needed for schoolchildren. Each child would be paired with a designated grandparent.

'Adored Attention'

Preventing staff burnout has long been the problem of both adult and child day-care centers. Dual day care would take some of the pressure off. The two age-segregated groups can come together-kids will grow intellectually, gaining the knowledge of age and experience; the adults will recapture the spark of life from the kids; and both will gain the special gift of 'adored attention.'

Cost-effectiveness needs to be given a true test, perhaps by the government at its day-care centers for welfare recipients. This would free government funds for other people in the community. Of course, dual day care would be especially effective for families with both day- care needs.

As a mother, I see that the minute-to-minute problems, vital to kids, don't keep well and just can't wait until later. As an adult, I am not looking forward to my own future in adult day care, looking blankly at a piece of stationary because I have nothing new to write about.

Grandparents in the Virtual Classroom

The following exchanges illustrate e-mail interaction and communication between elementary school students in one community and older adults residing either nearby or in various locations throughout the country. To ensure privacy of the children involved, I use first names only. Many older adults participated in this program, however, quoting from their letters, except where the remarks are most general, might be inappropriate, and so are not included. The manager of the school project is the teacher.

>From the teacher:

I am a teacher in Southern California (land of many lost families) who is very desirous of establishing an intergenerational link (or many links) for my class.

I think a large part of the problem our children and our society face is a sense of 'rootlessness'. I plan to devote a considerable part of my curriculum for this school year to developing a sense of self, family, community, national identity and global citizenship. I want my students to start knowing who they are, why they are that way and that they can influence the conditions they experience.

I plan to use telecommunications as much as our school's limited resources will allow. I would like to communicate with other classes all over the U.S., especially from areas where ethnicity, cultural values and religion are known to vary from the majority. I would also like to involve as many age groups as I can. I will be interacting with college students, high school and middle school students as well as with all levels of my K-5 school.

>From an older adult:

I would be pleased to work with your students. I have been quite close to (a high school) intergenerational project and believe that this sort of thing could help a lot of kids.

...another adult wrote:

I will be honored to interact with your youngsters. Being an old newspaper reporter I write in short sentences. Being a little not-yet- grown-up myself I understand and speak their language. My grandmother gave me a vivid recounting of her trip from Missouri to Colorado in a wagon train. And her first trip back in a Model T and many other stories. I'll be glad to share. I love young, open, inquisitive minds.

To which the teacher replied:

You are wonderful! Thank you so much for being willing to interact with my students. I think your perspectives and insights will really enrich their understanding of the world and of life. I will do most anything to help my students expand their thinking and I really appreciate your willingness to help me!

One more adult...

I am fascinated with your project; it sounds and feels just right. I am a seventy year old retired physician who is enjoying his retirement. I believe we are all witnesses to our time; we are all making history which succeeding generations will read about in their texts. Real immortality, I believe, is in the passing of ideas from one generation to the next, in holding out our hands to help or to be helped-the gestures are much the same.

Shortly afterward, from the teacher

Ready or not, HERE THEY COME! Thanks for your patience. I hope you enjoy their introductory letters.

>From 'Jessie'

Hi my name is Jessie. I am in the fifth grade. I am a girl. My teacher is Mrs.--- . By the way, she is the best teacher there ever was and she's great at making it fun to learn!

My favorite color is purple. What's yours? Do you have any pets? I have two dogs. I like to read about the past and the future. My cousin wants to be a Doctor. I want to be a Lawyer and yell at people. Allen says I'm good at that!

>From Daniel

I'm ten years old. My name is Daniel. I love to draw and play football. I really love football. What do you like? Do you like to draw? I do. Maybe I can draw you a picture. I have a turtle and a dog and a snake for a pet. Do you have any pets? Write back please....

>From Joey

How do you do? My name is Joey. Please tell me more about yourself and the newspaper business. My favorite sport is basketball. I like to play Nintendo.

>From Aubrey

Hi. My name is Aubrey, and Amanda and I are sharing you. This is so exciting talking to you online. I'd like to know about you and your great grandparents. Oh! and thank you so much for the postcard, too. I know we are going to have so much fun online. Thanks.

The teacher added: That's all for now! The children look forward to hearing from you all.

>From an older adult

Dear Jessie,

Thank you for writing your very nice little note to me. I think it was very well done and makes me want to write more. Mrs. ----- sounds like a neat teacher; I'm sure she is proud of you. My favorite colors are violet and purple-my wife likes those colors, too. We have a dog and a cockatoo that is getting old. All he does is scratch. He is hard of hearing, which makes for interesting times.

I'm glad you like to read. The past gives you some idea about how other people did things, and gives you a clue of what to do in the future. The present is where we are now. We all make our own futures, which quickly, too quickly, become our pasts.

Actually, (as a lawyer) yelling will lose you more cases than you will win. Lawyers have to be able to argue, that is, discuss the pros and cons of a case. It takes reasoning ability and a calmness of spirit and a love for justice. I'm sure you are good at a lot of things. You sound full of vim and vigor and enthusiasm. That's great!

Please write to me what you are doing, about what you like to study and whatever else you would like. I will try to be more prompt in answering you. These last few days were hectic for me.

Dear Jessica,

It's nice to meet you this way. I'm glad to hear that Mrs. ---- is your teacher. She sounds great. I'm in good health, thank you for asking. I have three grown boys, but no grandchildren yet. We have an old dog that thinks he is our boss. We really like cats better, but our dog is too old and set in his ways to tolerate any cats.

My youngest son and his girl friend have four cats between them. I like being a retired physician. I don't have to attend emergencies and I can get all the rest I want. When I go to the hospital it is to get medicines.

I like your goals, they are very nice. If you change your mind as you get to look at different professions, that's OK. Whatever you decide, go for the best. A neo-natal nurse is a very good kind of person to be. I think I will be proud of you.

Thank you for writing to me. I will look forward to your reply.

AnotherÉ.

Hello Daniel.

It was a pleasant time I had reading your letter to me. Thank you very much. Football and drawing are favorites of yours. I like football also. In fact, I did play football in high school and college. I was a fullback, but never got to handle the ball. In those days the fullback was like a guard or a tackle. All he did was block for guys who carried the ball.

As for drawing, I'm not very good. In fact I'm terrible. Freehand drawing, that is. What I do instead of drawing is use my computer to do graphics and illustrations.

As you work with computers during your school career I'll bet you'll love some of the creative things you can do with computer drawing programs. My favorite drawing software is called 'Arts & Letters'. It has a lot of pre-drawn illustrations. These are called 'clip art'. I can, for instance, call up an illustration of an airplane. Then I can do all sorts of interesting things to change how the airplane looks. It's a lot of fun.

As for collecting things, I like funky menus. The funkier the better. Last month I was in a place in Wyoming where the menu was printed inside an old newspaper. The newspaper had stories that actually were in newspapers from the late 1890s, when trappers and explorers were just pushing into Wyoming territory. I got so interested in reading all those stories the waitperson had to come by twice to get me to order. The menu was in the middle of the foldout old paper. So if you ever run across a funky menu, send it my way. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.

Thanks, and let's keep exchanging information. I enjoy hearing all about you, your school and your friends. And what you like and don't like. Turtles? Snakes? My goodness! I'll pass on both of those. I live in an apartment and no pets are allowed. But for several years, until he died, I had a cat, properly named BearCat. Bear hated to ride in the car. It was an annual battle of wills between Bear and me to get him his shots at the vet. I miss Bear. *** >From the teacher, addressed to all who wrote to her students

Dear friends,

My students have so enjoyed the exchanges we have had so far. I hope you will continue to write to us!

My students are afraid you will forget about them and asked me to remind you that we are here and we love your messages. If we owe you letters, please forgive us; we will remedy that as quickly as we can! If you 'owe' us letters, please write.

I leave you with this somewhat apt quote from LIVE AND LEARN AND PASS IT ON (a lovely little book given to me by a former student):

'I've learned that young people need old people's love, respect, and knowledge of life, and that old people need the love, respect and strength of young people.' (The writer was 85 years old.)

An elderly person wrote and asked, 'How do we get to write to children?'

To which the teacher replied:

Writing to the children is easy! Just jump right in and do it! They are really 'into' this now and will snap up your request. I would like to start having them each (29 of them) choose a particular friend here so I still need a larger pool of adult writers.

What others have done is simply write and post a brief letter telling about themselves, some idea where they live, their interests, anecdotal family history that children might relate to, work background, etc.

Thanks for your interest. We hope to hear from you soon!

Show-and-Tell Expert

An elder, whether he or she is a biological grandparent or not, can be an excellent show-and-tell for a youngster. If you haven't tried it, give it thought, the experience is one of the best antidotes for the 'blahs.' The experiences range from the hilarious to the poignant, and deserve being shared.

During a visit to my distant grandchildren they invited me to accompany them to school to tell a few stories. On the appointed day, waiting in line with my granddaughter to enter her classroom, she glanced around to see if I was still there. Seeing me, she waggled her thumb at me over her shoulder and loudly proclaimed for all to hear, 'That's my Grandpa. He's my show-and-tell today!'

Acknowledging students' stares and giggles with dignified bows to left and right, I trailed along into the classroom, was graciously received, told stories, responded to questions about how the stories came to be, and asked questions in return. I then repeated my performance in my grandson's class. Both sessions went well.

During the storytelling and the discussions that followed, the youngsters were fascinated: they were sharing their thoughts with someone who really wrote stories and, equally important, they were talking with an elder and a grandpa (grandpa-surrogate?) who had come to visit with them from beyond their everyday routines. I was reminded once more that grandparents were nearby for relatively few children, the reasons include circumstances as well as geography. For most, grandparents were distant, deceased, or unknown. *** Some time previously, a friend invited me to accompany him to a children's day care center in his city. He, along with several other elders, visited the center occasionally to interact with the youngsters. Conforming to the center's schedule, we arrived about half an hour before lunch. The children, about 25 three-to-four year olds, were still in the play yard. With permission from the play yard supervisor, we circulated from one group to another and participated in their activities where we could safely do so.

After a while, the attendant assembled the children to return indoors, and we followed. Inside, the youngsters and elders took seats in a circle, the elders spacing themselves about equidistant from each other. To my surprise, it was story time, and we elders were to be the storytellers.

The first storyteller told of a voyage she had taken as a child with her parents, and the second described a winter sleigh ride along a country lane. My friend, a retired aeronautical engineer, spoke of airplanes and spaceships and stars in the skies. Throughout, the youngsters concentrated on the speaker, asked questions, voiced opinions, and, in many ways expressed their wonder and interest. The adults were getting as much from the telling as the children.

I had been engrossed in observing the reaction of the children to the stories being told and I was unprepared for my part. Suddenly, it was my turn. What could I say that would have meaning to these young children? Searching my memory, I recalled that, when my children were young, I had often baked bread for our family. My story would be about baking braided bread, and I would pantomime the process and have all present join in.

The children, and the adults as well, quickly entered the spirit of the story. When, with elaborate motions, I drew forth baking pans and supplies from an imaginary cupboard and placed them on a phantom work table, they did. When I cracked pretend-eggs into an enormous bowl that wasn't really there, they did. Together, we vigorously mixed the invisible ingredients, dumped, floured, and kneaded the phantom mess, centered it on the ghostly table, and raised our arms grandly above our heads and touched fingertips high up to match the height to which our magic dough had risen. Solemnly, we pounded the non-existent lump flat, cut it into unseen chunks, and rolled each chunk into an invisible branch. Watching closely as I solemnly went about it, each child braided their three symbolic branches into their personal loaf, placed it in the shadow oven, and drew it out a moment later, sniffing the fragrance of freshly baked bread.

Faces reflecting their deep concentration, the children were involved. Elders and youngsters had shared an experience, and it had been good. Having worked up our appetites, we were also ready for lunch. *** I've told this story on several other occasions. Preparing for one telling, I rolled three packages of play dough of contrasting colors into eighteen- inch sticks, wrapped each in the clear plastic used for food storage, and secured the plastic with adhesive tape. At the proper moment in the telling, and in elaborate pantomime, I withdrew each colored length, one at a time, from a mysterious-looking case beside me. Youngsters crowded forward, eyes wide and riveted. I held each colored wrap aloft for all to see, and continued with the game. The contrasting colors made the braiding process clearly visible and more understandable. *** I was invited by the Resource Teacher of a local elementary school to participate in their Authors and Illustrators Invitational. Each appearance would be a one man or woman show: a visiting writer or artist and an audience of children. Arrangements fell into place and each of the five sessions I conducted found me in the school library, seated in an ancient wooden grandpa-style rocking chair, with twenty-five to thirty second- to fourth-graders spread out before me in a half circle with their listeners on and tuned in.

To each group I told a story or two, and encouraged questions about how my stories came to be. Planet Jupiter was the setting for one story (told here in another chapter), and I mentioned that the plot and characters had been created by working out details with my grandchildren. Discussing collaboration in writing a story got us into long distance interaction between grandkids and grandparents. With another, middle school group, I dragged out one of my book-length manuscripts and explained the why and how of manuscript preparation and independent publishing and what might happen if (the big IF) the manuscript was accepted by a trade publisher. Questions, lots of questions, no two sessions alike. *** During a visit to my distant grandchildren, then nine-year old Joshua invited me to read a story to his class of about fifteen students during the lunch period. I would have about half an hour, following which the class would break for the schoolyard. Most of the youngsters knew me, as I'd read or told stories to them during previous visits. I was greeted with 'Hi' smiles and hand waves.

The tables had been arranged in a U with me at the open end. Except for the few who hadn't seen me before, they knew I had difficulty hearing. As a reminder I pointed to my two hearing aids and asked the students to speak up when offering opinions or asking questions. This immediately brought comments from several that their grandmothers or grandfathers also wore hearing aids and they knew what was expected of them. To a few, my hearing device was something new. I removed the aid from my ear, opened the battery clip, and walked along the inside of the U to point out up close its major parts and their purpose, then demonstrated how the aid was installed and removed. I activated the acoustic feedback whistle by cupping the device in my palm and rendering a 'shave-and-a- haircut' whistle and this brought several laughs as well as questions. I was off to a good start.

Rather than read or tell a story, I moved on to talk about the United States programs for exploring space, plans for a permanent space station and, in time, a base on the Moon and unmanned and manned flights to Mars. We speculated about the origin of the planets in the light of their relative sizes and orbits along the solar plane. I sketched a rough diagram on the blackboard. The students reeled off the planets' names, and recalled what they knew about this or that planetary satellite. One youngster wanted to be certain that the class was aware that Pluto's orbit was unusual in that it cut across the solar plane inside Neptune's orbit and back out into interstellar space. They knew a lot about the solar system and were proud and pleased to share their knowledge. It was a 'high tech' discussion.

The last item on my agenda was to read several single-page stories, each closing with a dilemma confronting the lead character. The author's answers to the puzzles were included in the text, but before disclosing it I invited the class to suggest their own. They didn't hesitate, and supported their ideas with logic.

As in our previous sessions which, for some students, were as far back as preschool, they felt that they were exchanging views with an elderly adult who had arrived from outside, who wrote stories as well as being a storyteller, and someone who was grandpa to a fellow student. The half- hour passed much too soon.

Talks and readings I've attended over the years gave ample evidence of their value to speakers and listeners. Whether a show-and-tell visitor to a class presents a story, a memoir, an artifact, a skill, or an art form, almost all have something worth sharing with children. The problem is often in bringing the two distant age groups into each other's presence so that the dynamics of their interaction and mutuality can take place. Preparations, as well as the main event, add zest to the experience. A show-and-tell takes many forms, however they occur, one constant prevails: each youngster, while you and I are with him or her, is 'the grandchild.'

Introducing yourself to a distant grandchild as a teller of stories or of family, cultural, or other anecdotes, or as someone who cares about him or her, calls for some initial groundwork. For instance, does your grandchild know you or only of you?

With increased life expectancy and life experience, grandparents of this era have more to offer youngsters than ever before. As life expectancy increases, our children and grandchildren, in their turn, will have more to offer their succeeding generations.

Grandchildren need easy access to grandparents. Casting the elderly into physically remote and psychologically passive roles works against the interests of grandchildren and their parents, as well as their grandparents.

For grandparent-grandchild interaction to flourish, if it is to exist at all, grandparents, themselves, need to take initiatives to reach out. This could call for unusual assertiveness to open lines of communication where there are none, and at keeping them open for a two-way flow.

Don't Just Ride Off into the Sunset

Recalling that far more assertive and influential time in their lives, the elderly insist on their right to age gracefully, usefully, and so far as they possibly can, their way. Rather than merely riding off into the sunset, older adults choose to brighten the horizons of their minds and lives through continued involvement in family, schools, work place, and community. Most elderly reject the diminution of their abilities and interests, although as they age into the seventh and eighth decades they may be compelled to restrict their direct involvement somewhat. Their capabilities, reduced by time and the tides, are nevertheless firmly based on direct on-the-job experience in managing households, family affairs, and professional and technical careers. With such knowledge and experience the elderly will remain a vital resource.

(From Surviving The Future, by Arnold Toynbee, Oxford University Press, 1971) Man is a social being, and therefore, among all the objects for his love that there are in the universe and beyond it, he ought, I suppose, love his fellow human beings first and foremost. But he should also love all non-human living creatures, animals, and plants as well because they are all akin to man; they too are branches of the great tree of life. This tree has a common root; we do not know where the root comes from, but we do know that we all spring from it. Man should also love inanimate nature, because this, too, is part of the universe which is man's habitat.

(Our grandchildren) are not responsible for the existing state of the world. The reality is that the middle-aged generation (the parents of the rising generation) brought them into the world and is educating or miseducating them, or just ignoring their educational needs. If the middle-years or older generations are indignant at the rising generation, who is really at fault? Who shirked their responsibilities to their children and grandchildren? And with whom lies the initiative to resolve these inadequacies? In effect, it is up to the older generation to take the initiative to bring about reconciliation between itself and the generations that are to follow them.

Part Two First Stories

Stories for three to five year old children are best told within their range of comprehension and imagination; stories that tell of things, activities and places to which the age group can readily relate. In fantasies, for example, I might animate familiar toys or modify characters from the youngster's favorite books and send them off on adventures that do not raise apprehension for the toy's or child's safety. Invariably, the stories close with the characters back in a secure and familiar setting.

Beyond the immediate pleasure of a grandma or grandpa story itself, the shared grandparent-grandchild experience transforms over time into recollections of enjoyable times in one's early childhood. The process helps to lay a foundation for a positive relationship between the generations and opens doors to future confidences and dialogues as the grandchild matures.

Stories from distant grandparents have a special aura. Young children remember the warm glow of family readings where Mom and Dad add their own versions of the story. ***

Grandpa Takes a Walk

Here's a simple letter-story that I mailed to my grandchild. Change it to one of your routine activities that you would like to share with Grandchild when next he or she visits. Add a bit of whimsy. When your story is read aloud to him or her at home, before the visit, it adds to the youngster's anticipation.

It is morning. I look out my window. The sun is shining. It's a good time to take a walk. I put on my sweater, leave the house and close the door behind me. Off I go on my walk, up one street and down another.

I come to a park. All about me are trees and shrubs and open fields. I start across the grass. A kite is high in the sky. The kite has red and white stripes, and looks like a bird with a wide tail.

'Who is flying this enormous kite?' I wonder.

I look about to see who is holding the string that stretches from the kite to the ground. What a surprise! It's a black and white spotted kitten. The kitten scampers back and forth with the kite's string gripped in its mouth.

After watching the kitten for a while, I go along on my walk. I reach the other side of the park and see a row of houses. One house has a window shade raised and a flowerpot on the windowsill. The pot has a plant with a single yellow flower growing straight up.

A boy and a girl are on the lawn in front of the house. The boy is pushing a wheelbarrow with a yellow shovel in it. The girl is holding a pink parasol, folded closed.

'What will you put in your wheelbarrow?' I ask the boy.

He lowers the wheelbarrow and points to a pile of sand in the driveway.

'I'm helping my Dad move that pile of sand to the back yard,' he says. 'We're filling our sandbox.'

I turn to the girl.

'What will you do with your parasol?'

'When the sun is high,' she says, 'I will open my parasol. It will shade me.'

I nod, wave good-bye to the boy and girl, and continue walking. I come to a hill and climb to the top. In the sky is a small white cloud. In the distance is a rainbow.

I start for home. I pass the house with the boy and girl. The boy is pushing the wheelbarrow. It is filled with sand. He pushes it toward a walk leading to the back yard. His sister has her parasol open. It is shading her. She waves at me. I wave back.

The yellow flower on the windowsill makes the house look cheerful.

I come to the park. The black and white spotted kitten is still flying the kite. I stop to watch. It is a strange sight.

I keep walking. In a little while I am back home. I had a nice walk.

When you visit us, you and I will take a walk along those streets and across that same park. On the far side of the park we will look for the house with the flowerpot in the window, and for the boy and his wheelbarrow and the girl holding her parasol. We will climb the hill and look for a rainbow in the sky. If we are lucky, we might be surprised by a black and white spotted kitten-flying a kite.

Dooby and Katrinka Have an Idea

A popular story theme portrays friendly animals at play in a familiar setting. The story may be enhanced by the animals cooperating to overcome a problem to which the youngster can relate.

Dooby, the dog, has red fur, a droopy tail, and sad eyes. His friend, Katrinka, the cat, has striped gray and black fur, and a tail that usually sticks straight back with a little kink at the tip.

Sometimes, Katrinka makes her tail stiff and points it straight up like a telephone pole. That doesn't happen very often. Katrinka always has a cheerful smile.

Dooby wears a dog collar. Katrinka wears a ribbon around her neck. A tiny bell is attached to the ribbon. They live in a green house beside a road that disappears over a hill on one side and into a grove of trees on the other.

Dooby and Katrinka are great friends, and they love to play together. They chase a ball in the back yard, roll in the grass, or chase each other around tree trunks. Almost every day they sit side by side and watch the sun set. Dooby and Katrinka like to take walks and explore.

As we look in on Dooby and Katrinka this morning, we see Dooby dashing past Katrinka. Dooby barks as he runs, 'Katrinka, let's race along the road and have an adventure.'

That is all Katrinka needs to get her to tumble out of her comfortable bed, stretch along the carpet, and dash out of the house after Dooby.

Dooby is well on his way down the road. Katrinka runs fast and catches up. They race each other toward the hill, and then up one side and down the other.

They pass a shopping center and an office building, and are soon at a park with tall trees and wide playing fields. In they go.

Along one side of the park is a lake with rowboats, geese, ducks and swans. Dooby and Katrinka pay no attention to the rowboats, geese, ducks or swans.

They have something else in mind: the children's playground. There it is, up ahead. Along one side of the playground are a climbing maze, swings, and a seesaw. On the other is an large sandbox where children can play and build sandcastles. The sand can also be shaped into hills with roads winding along their sides, and long twisty rivers that run from one end of the sandbox to the other.

Dooby and Katrinka jump into the sandbox and chase each other from one end to the ether. They stop now and then to turn over pebbles and acorns with their noses or paws. They dig holes into which they push and bury the pebbles and the acorns.

Suddenly Katrinka stops playing and looks around.

'That's strange,' she says. 'Whenever we come to this park it's full of children. I usually see them with their mothers and fathers in rowboats on the lake, or along the shore feeding the ducks, geese and swans. I also see lots of children here on the swings and seesaws, or playing here in the sandbox. I don't see them now.'

Dooby stops digging, walks to the edge of the sandbox and looks around.

'You're right,' he says, and his tail droops.

A drop of water strikes Dooby on his nose. It goes splat. Dooby squints down his nose at the water trickling from its tip. His eyes widen with surprise. Another drop strikes him, this time on the top of his head. Still another, on his ear.

Three drops of water spatter Katrinka; two on her back and one on her tail. They both look up. The sky is full of gray, racing clouds. It's starting to rain.

'That's why there are no children here,' says Dooby. 'Their mothers are keeping them indoors because of this rain.'

Dooby and Katrinka continue their romping in the sandbox, but the sand is getting wet and harder to dig. They leave the sandbox and slip under a picnic table to get away from the rain. They shake the wet from their coats.

'Being caught in the park during a rain is a sort of adventure, I suppose,' says Katrinka, 'but I like to be where it's dry.'

They watch the rain falling. The raindrops are now larger and heavier.

'I'd like to start for home,' says Katrinka, 'but I don't want to get my fur coat any wetter.'

'I don't mind getting wet,' says Dooby.

He thinks about how to keep Katrinka dry on the way home.

'I know,' he says. 'Here's what we'll do.'

Dooby explains his idea to Katrinka. She chuckles. Dooby also chuckles. They look at each other and their chuckles change to laughter. They laugh and they laugh.

Dooby stands up. Katrinka, who is much smaller than Dooby, comes alongside and then slips in underneath him so that Dolby's body acts as an umbrella.

They walk all the way home, heads high, looking very proud and pleased with themselves.

It's still raining when they get home, but Katrinka didn't get more than a few drops of rain on her fur coat. She moves out of the way as Dooby shakes himself real hard, spraying water droplets in all directions.

Dooby and Katrinka have a late breakfast and head for their corners to take naps.

Circus Adventure

A favorite setting for a children's story is the circus, and following an alligator that sneaks about the grounds searching for an adventure offers the listener a sense of involvement.

The circus is in town. All the boys and girls and their mothers and fathers are excited by the posters and the circus parades along Main Street.

Abercrombie, the alligator, wants to visit the circus. The morning the circus opens, Abercrombie rises from his nest in the riverbank mud, climbs on to his bicycle, and sets off for town. He has lots of friends at the circus, and they like to have him visit with them.

Abercrombie also has a secret plan, but we won't talk about that yet. First we'll introduce a few of Abercrombie's friends.

One of Abercrombie's close friends at the circus is JoJo, the juggler. JoJo juggles three plates or, sometimes, three bottles.

Then there is Jingo, the jester, who struts along the circus Midway, looking important. He's OK, though.

Abercrombie also has friends among the clowns who do somersaults and fancy rolls, and play violins as they do their tricks. He knows the elephants that ride around the ring on huge, funny looking bicycles and the jugglers and clowns and elephants that enjoy making children laugh.

Finally, there is Bumble, the Bee. Bumble is the Circus Ringmaster. He buzzes from one place to another in the circus rink, telling people what to do and when to do it. He's bossy, but he's OK, too.

Let's return to Abercrombie. He has been planning his secret adventure for a long time.

We see him close to the circus tent with colored flags flying from the top. He sniffs the air and smells the popcorn, and he hears the booming of the drums and the blaring of the trumpets. Crowds of children and their parents are heading for the circus tents. Some of them stop to watch JoJo, the juggler and they laugh at JoJo jumping up and down, and twirling plates and bottles, catching them on their way up or down. It's lots of fun to watch.

Abercrombie walks up to JoJo and whispers in his ear. Then Abercrombie leaves JoJo; he's in a hurry to begin his adventure-his secret adventure.

Flattening down to the ground on his stumpy legs and arms, Abercrombie slithers into the big tent. All the boys and girls and their mothers and fathers and grandmas and grandpas fill the seats around the circular rink. They are concentrating on the clowns rolling and tumbling and standing on the heads and shoulders of other clowns. They are also watching the elephants ride their huge bicycles.

No one notices Abercrombie, and that is the way Abercrombie wants it. He doesn't want to be noticed until he is ready.

Carefully, Abercrombie works his way around a circus wagon, looking back over his shoulder to be sure he is not seen. Quickly, he climbs over a large red and white striped box, slips around a corner and, fast as an alligator can, he wiggles up, over the side and into an orange-colored barrel.

He waits inside the barrel. He peeks out through a bunghole in its side. He does not see or hear anyone close by, so he knows he has not been noticed. He grins, chuckles, and gleefully rubs his palms.

Abercrombie takes another peek through the peephole. The way is clear. Taking a deep breath, he tightens his muscles, and leaps out of the barrel.

Rearing up on to his hind legs, his heavy tail straight out behind him Abercrombie dashes into and across the circus rink. His stumpy arms wave furiously, and his head is high and wags from side to side for balance. His legs pump and pound so fast they look blurry, like bicycle spokes when the wheels turn fast.

Bumble, the Bee, Ringmaster of the circus, sees Abercrombie racing across the ring and the direction in which he is heading.

'Stop, stop,' he shouts.

Abercrombie pays no attention. He reaches a ladder attached to a red and white pole on the side of the center ring. The top of the pole is close to the tent's peak, and that's really high. A ladder is fastened to the pole all the way to the top.

Abercrombie wraps his stumpy arms around the pole and begins to climb the ladder. He climbs and he climbs. Finally, he is at the very top and stands on a tiny platform. Abercrombie leans out and twists his head to look at the crowd far below.

The crowd is silent. They stare up, watching Abercrombie high up on the tiny perch. Bumble, the Ringmaster, stands at the bottom of the pole and shakes his fist up at him.

Abercrombie's secret ambition is that ever since he first attending a circus he wanted to swing from a trapeze-a circus trapeze. The tiny platform to which he climbed has a trapeze fastened to its railing. The trapeze is now a few inches from where Abercrombie is standing.

No one can stop him now.

Abercrombie unties the trapeze, grasps the bar with both hands and takes a deep breath. He looks down at the crowd once more and gripping the trapeze tight, leaps from the platform. Away he G O E S!

Oh, what an adventure! What AN ADVENTURE! Back and forth, back and forth from one side of the huge tent to the other.

First, Abercrombie holds on with both hands, then he holds on with one hand and waves to the crowd below with the other. He twists and he turns, then holds to the bar with only his teeth and waggles both arms and stumpy hind legs. To cap that, he does somersaults and back flips, and then twists himself so that he catches the bar with his hands, his feet, and his teeth. Once, even with his tail!

The boys and the girls and the mothers and the fathers and the grandmas and the grandpas watch Abercrombie from far below. They shout and laugh and clap their hands. They're having a wonderful time, too.

Well, as you can imagine, after a while Abercrombie gets tired. It's time to rest. He takes a few more swings, does a somersault and a back flip, and catches the rail on the tiny platform where he started. He ties the trapeze back to the railing, and climbs down.

When he steps away from the ladder at the bottom, the crowd welcomes him with smiles, shouts, and clapping hands. Even Bumble, the Ringmaster, is happy to see him and they shake hands.

Abercrombie waves to the crowd and makes his way to where he left his bicycle. He heads for home.

Arriving home, he enjoys his supper and, as he is very tired, he puts on his red pajamas and slips into his nest on the riverbank.

As he closes his eyes he says, 'I sure had a fine adventure today.'

Dinosaur's Nest

The introduction to this next story is about an experience I had ten or so years ago at the Portland Museum of Science and Industry. My daughter was a volunteer at the museum at the time and, often, when I visited she invited me along to help at the museum too, which, of course, I did.

A popular exhibit at museums everywhere is one that displays models of the large reptiles that roamed the Earth millions of years ago. During one of my visits to my grandchildren in Portland, Oregon, the local museum had such an exhibit. There were so many different reptiles in the exhibit that, for my convenience in stories I hoped to write, I assigned each a popular and easily pronounced-and remembered-name. The names appear in this story: there was Albert the Apatosaurus, Pete the Pentaceratops, Palmer the Parasaurolophus, Sally the Stegosaurus, and Alice the Ankylosaurus. The exhibit also included a Petrushka the Pterodactyl and a Tallyrand the Tyranosaurus.

The museum's Albert the Apatosaurus had a baby daughter, Alexandra, and she slept in a doughnut-shaped nest after the museum closed for the night. As you can imagine, a doughnut-shaped nest, for even a toddler apatosaurus, is not the size of the bakery doughnuts with which you and I are familiar. Alexandra's doughnut-shaped nest was about ten feet across. The model had eighteen-inch diameter inflated tubes that enclosed a soft brown plastic floor.

When children touring the museum saw Alexandra's nest they rushed to climb the tube, jump down inside, and land hard on the soft plastic floor. With hundreds of jumping children each day, four or five at a time, the soft plastic soon scuffed and frequently needed repair. Alexandra didn't care to see her nest abused like that, and I felt sympathy for her. Fortunately, I was able to help; my job was to be the museum's official Fixer of the Apatosaurus Nest's Floor. My tools and supplies were a large roll of aluminum-colored adhesive tape, a tape measure and shears. Twice each day I inspected and repaired Alexandra's nest.

'Stand back for one moment, please.' I would say as I approached and identified myself to the jumpers. 'It is time to inspect the dinosaur's nest.'

The youngsters gathered round as I removed my shoes, stepped across the inflated tube into the nest, lowered to my knees, bent, and carefully inspected the nest's floor. With elaborate gestures I inspected all surfaces and seams, measured the damaged areas with my ruler, cut the proper length strip from my large roll of duct tape, and pressed it into place.

Children and mothers and fathers and grandparents came from nearby exhibits to observe the Apatosaurus Nest Floor Fixer at work. When the repairs were done I rose, stepped back over the side and out of the nest and waved to the jumpers, saying, 'OK, have at it!' And they did.

My grandchildren were proud to see grandpa at work repairing a baby Apatosaurus's nest so that it would remain a safe and comfortable place to sleep after the museum closed for the day.

Several times, as I made my way back from the nest to the shop in the basement below the museum I happened to glance up at Alexandra's dad, Albert. I think I saw him wink at me, as if to say, 'Thanks for fixing Alexandra's nest.' ***

Dinosaurs? Having a Birthday Party?

Albert, the Apatosaurus, lives with his mother and father in a huge forest at the edge of a swampy lake. Every morning, soon after the sun is up, Albert awakens, crawls out of his nest, and shakes himself to get the sleepy out of his eyes. Awake and stretched, Albert waddles down to the lake to munch the sweet grasses that grow along its shore. He has reached an age that he doesn't need to be constantly watched over by an older Apatosaurus.

This morning, when Albert awakens, he looks around to see if his friends, Pete, the Pentaceratops, Palmer, the Parasaurolophus, Sally, the Stegosaurus and Alice, the Ankylosaurus are also awake. They are, so Albert visits with them for a while. They chase each other around the trees of the forest, and then head for the lake to seek their breakfast.

At the lake, they nibble at the tall grasses that grow along the shore, or in the shallow water. Now and then, the leaves of a bush or a tree look appetizing and become part of breakfast.

Finished, Albert waves good-bye to his friends and heads off deeper into the forest. Albert likes to explore. He is also looking for another Apatosaurus like himself. He wants very much to find one about his age.

It's a cool and pleasant morning. Albert comes to a meadow, crosses to the trees on the other side and continues on. Finally, he arrives at a lake that is almost as long and as wide as the lake where he had breakfast.

The lake's shore is quiet and Albert looks about for a snack. He waddles into the water and lowers his long neck. He yanks up a mouthful of grasses and water plants and chews.

Suddenly, he hears a splashing sound behind him. Turning his head he sees another, smaller Apatosaurus. Albert quickly finishes chewing, swallows, and smiles.

'I'm Albert,' he says. 'What's your name?'

'Alexandra,' replies the smaller Apatosaurus. 'Where are you from, Albert?'

'I live near the lake on the other side of the forest.' Albert waves his long tail in the direction of his home. 'I was out exploring and came here to see if any neighbors moved in recently. I haven't seen you before. Are you new here?'

'Yes, I am,' Alexandra replies. 'My Mommy and Daddy and I just moved here and we think we'll stay. It's quiet in this forest, and the lake's shoreline has plenty of the food we like. I hope that we'll remain here for a long time.'

Albert tells Alexandra about Peter, Palmer, Alice and Sally. 'Oh, I want very much to meet them.' Alexandra is excited at the thought of making new friends.

'I'm sure they want to meet you, too.' Albert wiggles his tail as he speaks. 'Do Apatosaurus children play coconut ball where you came from?'

'Sure do,' Alexandra says.

Albert stretches his long neck and plucks a large coconut from the top of a nearby palm tree. He flips the coconut over his shoulder and as is falls he bats it toward Alexandra with his tail.

Alexandra, who has studied ballet, is well balanced. She catches the ball easily in her mouth. Tossing it high with a graceful twist of her body she bats it with her tail in a high arc back to Albert. He dashes toward the coconut and, with a tail flip, returns it for another round.

Albert and Alexandra play with the coconut ball for a while. They stop for lunch along the shore, and then rest and chat.

When the day moves into afternoon, Albert says good-bye to Alexandra and promises to return soon. They are friends.

'My birthday is coming soon and my mother and father are giving me a party,' Alexandra says as Albert turns to leave. 'Will you come to my party and will you bring along Pete, Palmer, Alice and Sally?'

'Of course I'll come,' Albert says as he waves at her over his shoulder, 'and I'll tell my friends about you. I'm sure they'll want to come to your party.'

Albert heads for his home near the lake on the other side of the forest.

Alexandra rushes home. She tells her parents about Albert, and they're pleased that Alexandra has found a friend.

Alexandra has her supper and plays with her toys. Then, feeling tired, she climbs into the nest her father had just lined with fresh twigs and leaves, and is soon asleep.

When Albert arrives home he tells his friends about Alexandra. They are excited to hear that another dinosaur family has moved into their neighborhood, and that a birthday party was coming soon.

Of course they accept Alexandra's invitation.

On the day of the party Albert, Pete, Palmer, Sally and Alice race each other to Alexandra's home on the far side of the forest.

Colored streamers, bunting, balloons and 'Happy Birthday' signs stretch between trees. Cookies and candies for Alexandra's friends are in dishes on tables and gifts are stacked everywhere.

Children from different reptile families play games among the trees, sing songs, and swing on an enormous rubber tire hanging from a tree branch. Near the tables, other reptile children laugh and eat cookies, candies and ice cream, and drink sodas or milk.

Albert invites Alexandra to meet his friends. Alexandra's father snaps their picture with his camera. The camera is the kind that makes instant pictures, so he passes them to the guests as soon as they are dry.

'These are very interesting pictures,' says Albert. 'Please take some more and let us have them to show to our parents?'

'Of course,' says Alexandra's Daddy. He takes many snapshots of Albert and the others and gives a few to each to take home.

After the children have played for a while Alexandra's mother slaps her long tail on the ground to get their attention.

'Let's all gather around at the table,' she calls to the children.

As everyone moves toward the table Alexandra's father carries out a huge, three-layered chocolate cake with whipped cream all over the top and sides. The cake has four candles on it for Alexandra's fourth birthday.

When the cake is on the table Alexandra stretches her neck forward slightly, takes a deep breath, and with a single whoosh blows out all four candles.

Everyone shouts 'Happy Birthday, Alexandra!' and they waddle-dance around the table. Alexandra is very happy. Her daddy plays on his fiddle.

It's time for Alexandra to open the many gifts that her friends and parents piled on the table.

Alexandra unwraps a special Apatosaurus doll that goes 'beep' when she squeezes it, a dinosaur doll's nest lined with tiny leaves and twigs, and a blackboard on a tripod with different colored chalk sticks. There are many other gifts, too. Alexandra holds her gifts up so that everyone can see them. Then, with a big smile, she hugs her mother and father and thanks her guests for their gifts and for coming to her party.

All too soon, the party is over. Time to start for home. The children wave good-bye to Alexandra as they leave. Sally and Alice hug Alexandra.

'We must see each other again,' says Alexandra.

'Yes, real soon,' says Sally.

Sally and Alice nod.

Albert is sorry the party is over. He waits until the very end, when all the others have left.

'Thank you for inviting us,' he says to Alexandra. 'I'll come again soon and we'll play coconut ball. Would you like that?'

'Oh, yes,' she replies. 'I'd like that very much.'

With a wave of his tail Albert turns toward home. He catches up to Pete and Palmer, who are waiting for him. They all run ahead and, with Sally and Alice, reach their side of the forest by late afternoon. They wave good-bye to each other as they separate to go to their family nests.

When Albert reaches his nest he tells his mother and father about the good time he had at Alexandra's Birthday Party. He shows them the pictures Alexandra's Daddy gave him.

Then Albert moves to his part of the nest, curls his tail around to cover his toes, and falls asleep.

The sun sinks behind a low hill and night settles on the forest.

Leah and the Family Meeting

In their early years, many children create a relationship to an imaginary friends with whom they play. Without getting into child psychology, these friends are often partners in adventures as well as conversations. Think back to when your children, now parents, were very young and romped in the back yard with their personal frontiersman, pardner or 'friend' who was steadfast and always alongside. They climbed trees together, sat side by side in the swing, or shifted the furniture about in the dollhouse.

Inevitably, the time arrived to replace a companion of imagination with the reality of growing up. The 'friends' or 'pardners' become memories, but do not fade away entirely?

This story reflects reminiscence by an older person and, in that respect, it serves as a model through which to welcome back pleasant memories from childhood. The memories may be expanded and transformed into a story to share with grandchildren. The grandchildren, in their turn, might take it along with them into adulthood and share it with their progeny.

***

All the woodchucks in Woodchuckaton crawled deep into their burrows. The chipmunks crept under piles of chips. Even the beavers, over on the other side of town in Beaverton, stayed home.

It was raining. It had been raining all day, and here it was now, late afternoon. It was time for the rain to move along somewhere else.

Leah rested her elbows on the sill of the big picture window and cupped her face in her hands. Shifting about on the big red cushion, she stared out through the misty pane. Sheets of water billowed along the street, one following close behind the other like a parade.

Leah heard her mother humming in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. The evening meal was special. Daddy left home for work early each day, before anyone else was awake. The evening meal was when they all came together for the first time each day as a family.

Mother hummed or sang often as she went about the house. Leah loved to listen, and, staring out the window, she sang the words. Their voices blended and finished the song together.

The sounds of pots and pans and mixers also meant that Daddy would be arriving soon. When Daddy showed up, David would wake from his afternoon nap, and then Daddy, David, and she would play, roll about on the rug, and talk until it was time for her to help Mother set the table.

Meanwhile, Leah was restless. She felt her left foot falling asleep so she left the window and jumped up and down to get rid of the tingling pins and needles. The tingling gone, she ran to the patio screen door in the dining room and peered into the back yard. She knew it would be raining there too, but at least the scenery was different.

There was another reason.

Twisting so that she could see into the far right corner of the yard, Leah imagined the little house under the oak tree where Sarah had her stall. Sarah was her personal flying unicorn. Leah waved and, in her mind, Sarah answered by tossing her mane and scraping at the ground with a front hoof. It was time for another pretend adventure.

Sarah poked her white horn through the doorway of her little house and shook her head from side to side. When Sarah-a flying unicorn- waggled her long white horn like that, it carried only one message: Sarah wanted to fly. Leah sat on the floor, next to the doorway, and missed being with Sarah.

Leah glanced up at the sky again. The rain had changed to a fine misty drizzle and the clouds to light gray with patches of blue peeping through. A shaft of sunlight cut through the clouds and the patches of blue widened.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. Off in the distance a rainbow formed an arch across the sky. Leah dashed to the kitchen. 'Mommy, mommy,' she said excitedly, tugging at her mother's apron. 'The rain is over. Sarah wants to play and so do I. May I go out to play with her?'

Mother knew, of course, that when Leah and her pretend friend, Sarah, played together, Sarah would often nuzzle Leah. That would be Sarah's invitation to Leah to climb up on to her back and twist her hands into Sarah's white mane. Once that happened, Mother was certain, Sarah would spread her feathered wings and, in Leah's imagination, they would leap to the skies.

Smiling to herself, Mother looked out through the kitchen window at the sky. The clouds were breaking up, but the grass was still wet, the ground soggy, and the trees dripped.

'Daddy will be home soon, Leah,' she said, 'and he'll be looking for big hugs from David and you. Then we'll need to prepare the table for dinner. I'll need your help. You know you have a job to do, don't you?'

'Oh, yes.' Leah's curls bounced as she nodded. 'But I won't be long. Sarah and I have been cooped up all day. The rain has stopped. I want to skip and jump.'

'... and fly.' Mother's eyes twinkled as she stooped, laughed, and smoothed Leah's ruffled hair.

'Well, maybe.' Leah grinned as she hugged her mother.

'I suppose you and Sarah do need some fresh air,' Mother sighed as she rose and looked out the window again. 'Wear your rain boots and red raincoat, and don't go beyond Daniel's back yard, next door. When Daddy comes home he'll call you in.'

'Ok.'

Leah rushed to the hall closet and rummaged about among the shoes and boxes on the floor. In the far corner, a round red boot toe stuck out from under a large paper bag. That was one found. Pulling it out, Leah searched nearby for the other. There it was, behind the umbrella. Waving them high, she jump-skipped to the big cushion beneath the picture window, sat, and pulled them on. Mother came in with the red raincoat and helped Leah into it.

Ready.

Dashing to the back yard doorway, Leah jumped the short step to the patio.

'Sarah, Sarah,' she shouted, 'come on. Let's go.'

That was all Sarah needed. She came frisking and prancing out of her little house, raising first one hoof and then the other as she came close. She nuzzled Leah's shoulder, and then unfolded and stretched her wings so they would be out of the way for climbing aboard. That was the invitation Leah was waiting for.

Taking a tight hold on Sarah's mane, Leah swung her leg across the unicorn's back and she was on. Twisting both her hands into the long silky hair Leah pulled herself forward until she was well out of the way of Sarah's wings.

'All set,' Leah shouted. 'Away we go!'

Sarah trotted to the far end of the yard until she was close to the fence. She faced about and began to run, faster and faster. Suddenly her wings spread wide and with a leap they were in the air.

Up. Up. They spiraled around the old oak tree, rising higher with each loop. From far out, they dipped into a long glide and swooped down under the tree's branches, around and around the swing that grandpa had made for David and her, and up and around again. They flew along the top of the back fence, lifted, and cut across the roof of their house from one end to the other. Twisting about, Sarah hovered above the front yard.

Along the horizon, Leah saw the city of Portland hidden in rain curtains and mists.

Leaning forward, Leah spoke into Sarah's ear. 'Let's fly over to Daniel's back yard and see if he and Herbie the Lion are at home.'

Sarah snorted her understanding. She could talk, but did that only when it was absolutely necessary. She had a soft gentle snort and would rather speak her thoughts that way. It was a lot simpler, and Leah understood.

Curving around toward Daniel's yard, Sarah cleared the top of the fence, swooped, and held steady just above Herbie the Lion's house.

'Herbie,' Leah called out. 'It's Sarah and Leah. We're just flying by today and stopped to say 'hi' to Daniel and you. Come on out.'

Herbie the Lion stuck his shaggy head out of his house, blinked, and opened his jaws in an enormous drowsy yawn. Looking up, he grinned and said, 'Hi, there. Where are you off to?'

'Oh,' replied Leah, 'we're keeping close to home today. Rain, y'know. Also, Daddy will be home soon and I want to be with David to welcome him and roll on the rug and talk. I'll also be helping my mother get ready for dinner.'

'Quite right. Quite right,' Herbie said, shaking his head wisely, 'that is as it should be.'

'Where's Daniel?' Leah asked.

'Daniel and his mother are at the library,' Herbie answered. 'Daniel's books were due to be returned today.'

'I see. Well, Herbie, we must be off. Please tell Daniel we stopped by to say 'hi' and that we'll see him another time.'

'Will do.' Herbie the Lion yawned again and pulled his shaggy head back in.

Sarah's wings fluttered and they rose higher and higher. A moment later they were looking down on Daniel and Leah's homes and all the other houses on their street. Leah saw the glowing signs of the shopping center a few blocks away. The mists and rain curtains still hid the tall buildings of Portland in the distance.

Looking toward the end of their street Leah saw Daddy's car turn the corner.

'Daddy's home. Daddy's home,' Leah shouted. 'Time to head back, Sarah.'

Sarah snorted and dipped into her landing approach. Circling, she lost altitude each time around. Finally, coming in over the fence, Sarah arranged her wings for landing and bent her legs slightly to soften contact with the ground. Leah tightened her grip.

Close to the soft earth near the patio, Sarah's wings beat the air. She hovered for an instant, then lowered until all four hooves touched down. A four-point landing. The flight was over.

Leah slipped off Sarah's smooth back, wrapped her arms around her neck and gave her a tight hug. Sarah's hoof scraped the ground and she gave another of her soft, gentle snorts.

Daddy stuck his head out through the patio doorway.

'Hi, there,' he laughed, 'what's happening.'

'Out and about, Dad, been flying, don'tcha know?' Leah answered. 'Sarah and I just got in from a short flight around the yard and over to Daniel's place.'

'I see,' Daddy said. 'Well, I'm pleased you made it back in time for our before-dinner get-together. David is up. Come on in and we'll roll on the rug and talk for a minute before you help set the table.'

Daddy smiled down at her.

'Leah,' he said. 'Your mother, you and I are also going to have a talk this evening. A meeting; very important. Coming in?'

'Yup, Daddy, just about ready.'

She turned back to Sarah and gently pretend-stroked the unicorn's nose. Turning away, she crossed the patio and stopped at the short step to the dining room. Daddy opened the screen door and bent down. Leah wrapped her arms around his neck. Daddy rose, lifting Leah as he did, and caught her rain boots as they slipped from her feet. He stood them up outside, beside the doorway, to dry. Hugging each other, Daddy and Leah turned back into the house.

Leah hesitated, and glanced back. In her imagination, she saw Sarah fold her wings gracefully along her sides, lower her head and nibble at the soft, green grass. It was also time for Sarah's dinner. *** With dinner behind them, Leah joined Mother in clearing the table. Nesting one plate into another and picking up a few utensils she carried them to the kitchen counter near the dishwasher.

Daddy rose from his chair, went into the kitchen, and dampened a cloth. On his way back to the dining room he winked at Leah as they passed. Leah turned to watch.

Daddy tiptoed behind David's high chair. David, finished with his eating, busily rolled leftover peas round and round his food dish. Without warning, Daddy quickly reached around and with the damp cloth wiped breadcrumbs, mashed peas and potatoes, and smears of chocolate pudding from David's face and from behind his ears.

David howled and twisted away, but Daddy was ready for him. A moment later, his face and hands cleared of food-well, as much as could be expected with only a damp cloth-Daddy hoisted David from his chair and lowered him to the floor.

Looking back over his shoulder as he scampered on hands and knees into the living room, David tangled with a fire engine. He rolled over on his back, looked up at Daddy, and laughed. The laugh stopped Daddy from rushing forward; the tangle had not been hurtful.

Daddy stooped and pushed the fire engine toward David, then joined him on the floor. They put their heads together, and as their hands touched and explored the fire engine they explained to each other how the different parts worked.

Leah, drawn from her work by the sounds of David's tumble, peered into the living room. Seeing all was well, she smiled, and carried another armful of dishes and tableware to the kitchen counter.

'Looks like our men are busy,' she said.

Mother nodded as she spooned leftovers into containers for the refrigerator.

'It's always good to relax after dinner,' she said. 'When we're done here, we'll join them. Then, in a little while, I'll bathe David and put him down. You will take your bath, and then you, Daddy and I will have our meeting.'

'Daddy did say something about a meeting when I came in from the yard,' Leah said. 'What's up?'

'Let's just wait and see,' Mother smiled mysteriously as they loaded the dishwasher. *** Finished with her work, Leah skipped along the hallway that connected her room to the living room. Little brother was down for the night. Leah, bathed, hair washed, blow-dried and brushed, was squeaky clean in her red nightgown.

She squeezed a space for herself on the couch between Mother and Daddy and they eased aside to make room. Daddy put his newspaper aside and Mother placed a card in her book to mark her place.

Glancing up at one, then the other, Leah put on her serious business face.

'Meeting time?'

'Meeting time,' Daddy said.

'What's the problem?' Leah folded her arms across her chest, straightened her legs, and fixed her eyes on the opposite wall to help her concentration.

Family meetings were important. The meetings were still only for the three of them. When David was old enough to share in the family responsibilities, he would join the meetings.

'It's not really a problem,' Daddy said, 'but we're going to have a change in the way we live.'

'A change?' Leah frowned. 'Everything is going fine. I'm satisfied with the way we're living now. Why change?'

Leah turned to stare at Daddy, then shifted about to look at Mother, who smiled at her. Daddy put his arms around Leah and pulled her close. Mother reached over and straightened a wisp of her hair.

'Leah,' Daddy said, 'you may be a child, but you're no longer a baby. You're growing up. Before long, you'll be a young woman. Young women and young men need to learn about the world in which they live. Mothers and fathers, and grandmas and grandpas teach children much about the world and about what is right and what is wrong. That's fine, but knowledge about the world around you also can be given to you from somewhere else. Do you know of another place where a youngster learns about the world?'

'School?' Leah's voice rose.

'School.' Daddy nodded slowly.

'School.' Mother's soft voice repeated.

'I'm going to go to school?' Leah wriggled from Daddy's embrace, slid off the couch, and hop-skipped to the middle of the living room. Whirling to face her grinning parents, Leah bounced with excitement.

Daddy motioned Leah back to her place on the couch.

'Our meeting is not finished,' he said. 'We have more to talk about.'

Leah immediately stopped her bouncing. Meetings, she knew, were not to be interrupted by rude behavior. Climbing back onto the couch, she leaned back, folded her legs under her, and folded her arms again. Only now her eyes were sparkling with excitement. Pressing her lips together tightly, she forced the no-nonsense business look back to her face.

'OK,' she said, I'm listening.'

'We'll tell you what to expect, Leah,' Mother said, 'and, afterward, you may ask questions.'

Leah nodded.

'Not far from where we live here in Woodchuckaton,' Mother began, 'is the city of Portland.'

'Right,' Leah cut in. 'We've been to the city lots of times on shopping trips and for sightseeing and for visiting parks and....'

'Leah,' Mother put her hand on Leah's arm. 'Concentrate on what we say. OK?'

Leah looked sideways at her mother and her eyes twinkled. 'You mean no more interruptions. Right?'

'Right.'

'OK, I'm switched to my listener.'

'In Portland, and in all the cities and towns around it, are schools where children go to learn about the world. You're going to be a student in one of those schools. You will attend every day except weekends and holidays. Is that clear to you?'

'Yep.'

'At the school are worktables, books with lots of pictures, playgrounds, games, and many things to do that are fun. Children who are the same age as you will be there too. A grown-up will be in the room with you and the other children to teach and help you to understand all the new things you will do and see.'

Leah was having a problem being a listener.

'I think Leah either wants to say something or ask a question.' Daddy grinned. 'Shall we give her the floor for a moment?'

'Very well,' Mother said.

The questions tumbled out of Leah. 'When will I start? What will I learn about? What's the teacher's name? Will I get new clothes for school? What about....?'

'Wait a minute. Wait a minute.' Daddy laughed. 'Let's take them one at a time. We can answer a few of your questions, and the teacher of your class will answer others.'

Mother turned Leah to face her.

'You start school in three days,' she said. 'They know you are coming, just as they know of the others who will be with you. What you learn will depend on your teachers and on you.'

Suddenly Leah's face drooped.

'What about Sarah?' Her face clouded, and her voice changed to a whisper.

Mother and Daddy glanced at each other. Daddy picked Leah up, placed her on his lap so that they faced each other. Their eyes met.

'Tell me, Leah,' Daddy said as he drew her close and gave her a full all- round hug, 'When we have a change in our lives in which you will be at school every day, where do you think Sarah will be while you are gone?'

'Sarah will always be my friend,' Leah's voice was a whisper as she leaned her head on her Daddy's chest. 'She'll be with me always, wherever I go. Maybe we won't go flying as often as we did before, but I'll always feel her close to me.' Leah raised her head, grinned, and added with a laugh, 'and that will always make me feel good.'

Leah and her Mother and Daddy sat on the couch, talking about the changes that would come with school. There would be a new time to get up in the morning, dressing to go out, packing a school lunch and having a comb and brush kit, and things like that.

Leah listened, and voiced opinions which Mommy and Daddy considered very carefully. The meeting was a sharing.

After a while, Daddy and Leah went to the dining room table and Mother brought cookies and milk. They sat around the table, munched the cookies, sipped the milk, and talked some more.

Leah yawned.

Daddy rose, came around the table where Leah sat, and picked her up. Mother kissed Leah's cheek as her head rested on Daddy's arm.

Daddy carried Leah down the long hallway, passed David's room, and opened the door into her softly lit bedroom. Daddy lowered drowsy Leah to her bed, tucked her in, and kissed her good night.

Part Three The Palm Tree Stories

Realizing that Grandpa does well with stories, Grandchild wants to share in the process. One way for Grandpa to get the youngster involved is to have him or her suggest settings and names for characters.

Often, negotiations for story and character development, in themselves, become family stories and anecdotes; e.g., how a story came to be, and why and how it developed in this or that fashion. Injecting such background as introduction to a series gives a sense of involvement to the immediate and extended family, and to future generations that might come across a copy in an old trunk or tucked away in an obscure corner.

As the grandpa-grandchild discussions move along, and characters, settings and scenes take on substance, Grandpa or Grandma, whichever is the storyteller, may be transformed into a character in the story. I found a way to handle this, and remain inconspicuous, is to assume the role in the story as listener or recorder of adventures narrated by the leading characters.

In this series, Grandpa and Grandchild set the stage for the storytelling. That being done, Grandpa steps back and takes on the role of listener, rarely injecting himself into the narration. Throughout, Grandchild is aware that Grandpa in close by.

Put Palm Trees in Your Stories

'Grandpa, where are you, Grandpa.'

The call reached me from down the long hallway. The sounds of scuffling slippers grew louder and, a moment later, Granddaughter's curly head peeked around the edge of the kitchen doorway.

'What are you doing, Grandpa?' she asked.

'Coffee,' I replied, peering in her direction over the rim of my glasses. 'Mornin' coffee.'

'Oh,' she said, standing in the doorway.

Her eyes focused on the scene beyond the kitchen window. The broad fronds of palm trees close by outside waved about furiously in the brisk November wind. There are no palm trees in the city where Granddaughter lives, and having arrived late the previous evening she had not seen the ones near our home.

Granddaughter stared. Dashing past me to the window, she placed her hands on the sill, and jumped to see out.

'When you visit us next year,' I said, 'you will be taller, and see over the sill without jumping.'

'I want to see now,' she demanded, reaching up. 'Pick me up, Grandpa.'

With Granddaughter seated on my forearm and her arms wrapped around my neck, we stared through the window. The palm nearest the window bent before a gust and straightened. The fronds of two palms across the driveway thrashed atop long, graceful trunks that leaned, straightened, and yielded again to the boisterous wind.

'Grandpa,' Granddaughter said, turning to look at me, 'tell me a story that has palm trees in it.'

Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she reached up to stroke my liberal expanse of bare dome. She knew I couldn't resist that gesture.

'We've got a busy morning ahead of us, young lady,' I said. 'Here's what I'll do. I'll write a letter to you with a story in it about palm trees. Then Mother or Dad will read it to you and Grandson. OK?'

Granddaughter stared at the three palm trees and their gyrating tops.

'I want more than one story,' she smiled as her hand patted and stroked.

'Hm,' I grandpa-growled, 'you're a hard bargainer, my dear.'

'Gampa, Gampa,' an impatient shout burst down the hallway.

Pajama-clad Grandson tore into the dining room like a tornado and climbed chairs. Too small to notice what was happening outside, he pounded a seat with tiny fists. His mind was on something far more important.

'French Toast, French Toast,' he demanded. 'I want French Toast. Now!'

Granddaughter twisted from my arms, further talk about stories replaced by this much higher priority.

'Me, too!' she shouted, joining the pounding.

Pots and pans rattled, dishes and bowls clattered, refrigerator doors slammed, and utensils baton-waved in all directions. Grandpa had launched into his traditional and celebrated French Toast Extravaganza that began early each Thanksgiving Day morning. *** Thanksgiving is past. The grandchildren are back home in a distant city. Grandpa has a promise to keep.

Creating a Setting

"Where will the story take place?

'Where there are palm trees, of course.'

'What kind of palm trees? For example, there are coconut palms, and there are date palms, and there are also banana palms.'

'Grandpa,' impatiently, 'I want them all!'

That's one decision.

'Should I put the palm trees on a steeple on top of a tall skyscraper?'

'Just a minute now, Grandpa, who ever heard of palm trees growing on a steeple on top of a skyscraper? That would be silly. Forget it.'

'How about in the middle of a freeway?'

'C'mon, Grandpa, be serious. A palm tree wouldn't last long in the middle of a freeway. Cars would bump into it all day long. Nope, freeways are out, too.'

'By the sea? By the sea? By the beautiful sea?

'Hm, that's a possibility.' Long pause. 'OK, let's go with it.'

'Check. Keep in touch. Over and out.'

'Grandpa?'

'Yes?'

'You and Grandma. Love ya.'

A picture began to form. Three palm trees close to each other on a beach. They have thick trunks and huge fronds. One palm tree is a coconut palm, another is a date palm, and the third is a banana palm.

Little waves tumble over each other to the shore, and some distance behind them are rolling waves and a white, churning surf. Beyond the surf is the endless sea. A summer breeze is blowing, raising whitecaps. Two small islands are far out where the sea meets the sky. Add soft, fleecy clouds. The sky, even with the clouds, is empty. Skies and birds go well together. There! Three gulls, flying in from the left, low, skimming the waves.

What's missing? Aha, children! A boy and a girl, about your age. What are their names? That's your job, Granddaughter. Ask Mother which letters to draw on a sheet of paper to spell them out. Put the paper into an envelope, and ask Mother to address the envelope to Grandpa. Don't forget the postage stamp.

The names arrived in this morning's mail. 'Suzanne' and 'Roger' fit our characters well. I see you've named their adventures 'The Palm Tree Stories.' Fine, that's when we'll call them.

Along the Ridge of the Dunes

One adventure is to explore the beach to search for seashells; another is to build sandcastles. Still another is to watch the sea gulls and pelicans dive and fish for food.

Suzanne and Roger enjoy watching the pelicans. They often watch the large, clumsy-looking birds fly low above the water until they see a fish beneath the surface. The pelican slips into a dive, folds its wings to cut the water cleanly to reduce the shock of hitting, disappears in the spray and rises with the fish in its beak pouch. The bird flies off with the fish to eat it, or to feed it to the baby pelicans. That's a little adventure for Suzanne and Roger.

There are also big adventures. Those happen when Suzanne and Roger and their mom and dad go sailing. Sailing often takes them far out to where the islands meet the sea. There they hike and explore the hills, and at night, sleep in a tent ashore or in bunks on the sailboat. Those are real adventures and we'll be talking about them soon. *** I was thinking of Suzanne and Roger this morning and wondered what they were doing. I pictured them on the beach in the bright sunlight, walking toward where sand dunes had been built up by the wind and waves.

The dunes slope down to the beach, and tall reeds grow on the sides and along its ridges. When the wind blows, the reeds lean far over and rustle.

Birds build nests among the reeds. Sometimes, small animals rush up or down the dunes and through the reeds on their way from here to there, or from there to here. The dunes are among Suzanne's and Roger's favorite places for exploring.

I walked to the beach. Suzanne and Roger were waiting at Three Palms. They had a story for me. Suzanne told the story just as if it was happening right then.

Suzanne's story:

When we get to the beach, we climb to the ridge of a dune. The wind is a gentle breeze and the reeds make a soft, sushing sound.

I see a movement in the reeds.

'Roger, Roger,' I shout. 'Come quick. We have company.'

Roger dashes over. I'm on my knees, separating the reeds with my hands to see better. Roger helps and we see a baby jackrabbit.

We stare at the jackrabbit and don't move. We don't want to frighten the baby jackrabbit and, of course, the baby jackrabbit doesn't want to frighten us.

A rustling sound comes from behind a clump of reeds off to the side, and out jumps a fully grown jackrabbit. It's as big as a cat, but has long, flapping ears and a cotton-ball tail, which cats don't have.

The grown jackrabbit rushes to the baby and, with its mouth, grips the back of the baby's neck and lifts it up. This must be the baby's mother, because that is the way most parent animals carry their young. It doesn't hurt the baby, and the mother does feel better knowing exactly where her baby is.

The adult jackrabbit looks up at us. All this time we are very still. I don't think the jackrabbit is frightened of us, but I suppose she has other things to do and can't just stand around visiting.

After looking us over for a moment or two, the jackrabbit wriggles her ears, turns away, twitches her cotton-ball tail and jackrabbit-jumps into the reeds. She and her baby are on their way from one place to the another. I guess only the jackrabbit really knows where and why.

'I hope they find their way to where they want to go,' Roger says, 'and I hope the baby stays close to it's mother. A baby can get lost among these reeds.'

'The mother jackrabbit knew where to find the baby,' I said. 'She must be pretty smart. Don't you think so?'

'Yes,' Roger agreed, 'she's smart, all right.'

We walked back to the palms and, from there, home.

Gone Sailing

I strolled down to Three Palms and looked about. Suzanne and Roger weren't there.

Maybe they're at the sand dunes looking for the floppy-eared baby jackrabbit and its mother. I walked to the dunes to look for them. They weren't there, either.

Climbing to the top of a sand dune, I looked around. Two big, white clouds drifted across the deep blue sky, pushed by the wind. The wind rustled the high reeds along the ridge, and they sounded like whispers. A black and white gull flew low above the water, swooped, rose with a fish in its beak, and flapped up and away.

I looked out toward the horizon and saw a sailboat dipping across the waves. It was outward bound toward the islands. It looked like the sailboat that belonged to Suzanne's and Roger's parents. Suzanne and Roger must have decided to go sailing that day, and took their Mom and Dad along for company.

I looked for them each morning for the rest of the week, but they hadn't returned. I supposed they were having a long vacation.

Finally, this morning, when I arrived at Three Palms, Suzanne and Roger were there, waiting for me.

'Hello, Suzanne. Hello, Roger,' I said. 'It's good to see you back. I missed you.'

'Oh, we' re glad to be back at Three Palms,' said Suzanne.

'We sure are,' Roger added. 'We had a real fine time sailing and visiting on the island. We hiked in the hills and did other things.'

'Did you have any adventures?' I asked.

'Yes, we did,' said Suzanne. 'Would you like to hear about them?'

'I sure would.'

'We had many adventures,' Suzanne said, 'We couldn't possibly tell them all today. How about my telling one today, and then Roger telling one tomorrow, and then me again the next day, and so on?'

'Sounds reasonable,' I replied.

We sat on the sand under the date palm. I leaned back against the tree. A date fell and bounced off the top of my head.

'I'm glad we didn't sit under the coconut palm,' I said, rubbing my head where the date had struck. We all laughed.

'OK, Suzanne.' I shifted about to get myself comfortable. 'Let's hear about the first adventure.'

'I'm going to tell our adventures just like they're happening right now,' Suzanne said.

'That's fine with me,' I said.

These are the stories told to me by Suzanne and Roger. I'm writing them down using the same words as Suzanne and Roger as we sat on the beach at Three Palms.

Dolphins Alongside

It's a beautiful morning to go sailing, Suzanne began the telling. It' s Dad's vacation and we're going to Snug Harbor.

We load Snow White-that's the name of our sailboat, you know-with suitcases and boxes of food. We take our special toys and lots of other things for a long stay. When we are all ready, we cast off.

When we're far enough away from the slip, Dad hoists the sail. The breeze fills the sail and we head out to sea.

Roger and I sit with Dad at the helm to steer and Mother goes below to make sandwiches. We all wear life jackets. That just makes good sense, like wearing seat belts when you're riding in a car.

The sea is gentle and we're moving right along. Roger is looking out to sea as Dad and I talk.

Suddenly Roger shouts and points.

'Look. Dad. Suzanne. Look.'

'Where?' I ask. 'What do you see?'

'There, there,' Roger shouts, and points again. 'Do you see them?'

'See what?' I'm excited, but I don't know what to look for. 'Tell me what you're pointing at, Roger.'

'Dolphins. They're jumping out of the water and diving back in again. There. He points off the bow.

I look again, real hard, and I see what Roger is pointing at. A school of dolphins, leaping.

'Dolphins are mammals', Dad says, 'and different from fish. They're also very intelligent and friendly. Wave at them. Maybe they'll come closer and leap near the Snow White.'

So Roger and I wave at the dolphins and call out to them. 'Come on over,' we shout.

They must hear us because they change direction and jump and dive in our direction. When they're close they turn and swim alongside. Mother comes up and holds on to us as we lean against the rail and wave and call out to them.

The dolphins stay with us most of the way to the island. About a mile offshore they turn away. We're sorry to see them leave. I guess it's time for them to head for home.

'That was our first adventure of the trip. Would you like to hear about another one?'

'Sure would,' I said.

'OK,' said Roger. 'Let's meet here tomorrow, and I'll tell about our sailing into the harbor.'

Snug Harbor

Today was Roger's turn, sailing into Snug Harbor.

Roger spread a map of the island to help follow the stories.

After the dolphins leave, we go forward to Snow White's bow. We watch the shoreline slip by as we near the harbor entrance.

We're sailing east around Singalong Point. The sea is choppy as the breeze picks up.

We go aft to the stern. We're helping Dad and Mother do all the things that are important when a sailboat enters a harbor.

Dad gives Suzanne and me important jobs: the port and starboard watch. Suzanne has the port side and I have starboard. In sailing talk the 'port' side is on the left when you're facing the bow or forward, and 'starboard,' is on the right, also when you're facing forward.

We're in the channel that leads into the harbor, and we'll soon need a place to drop the boat's anchor. 'Dropping anchor' are more sailing words. They mean about the same as setting a car's brakes when the car stops in the driveway and the motor turned off.

Suzanne is watching to port, looking for drifting debris and logs, and to make sure the boat doesn't cut too close to the island. I'm taking care of starboard, watching for the same things, and for traffic heading our way from the open sea.

Mother is standing by to lower the sail when Dad gets Snow White to the mooring. Mooring, used this way is like a parking space. Dad is steering the boat and trying to watch everything.

I see a speck on the horizon. It gets larger fast, coming in our direction.

'Dad,' I shout, 'motor boat. Big.'

'Where away?' Dad shouts back.

'Off the starboard bow,' I yell back and point. Dad and Mother look. Suzanne looks, too, but for only half a second, then she goes right back to her job, which is very important.

'Looks like she's really coming fast,' Mother warns.

'You're right,' Dad says, raising his binoculars to examine the motor boat.

'It' s a tour boat from the other islands,' Dad says, 'She'll tie up at Snug Harbor pier. With all those extra people on board this place may get crowded. We'd better get in as quickly as we can and find a good place to pitch our tents.'

Dad tells Mother to keep the sail spread and the lines taut to take as much wind as possible. Soon we're passing the Snug Harbor pier and wave to a man who is fishing. He waves back.

After our boat passes the pier we're in the sheltered part of the harbor. Mother lowers the sail, and we drop anchor near the shore next to the flagpole. The tourist boat pulls in close behind us and ties up to the pier.

We load our camping supplies into our dinghy and row to the beach. As soon as Suzanne and I step ashore we dash along the trail to the campsites and pick a good site for our tents.

Mother and Dad follow us with the gear. Working together, we pitch the tents, and get our food stored so it will be out of the way of animals. Soon, we're settled for the first night of our vacation.

'Well,' I said when Roger finished. 'That sounds like an exciting start. What happened afterward?'

'Let's meet here tomorrow,' Suzanne said, 'and we'll talk about it.'

Hike

Think back to the last story. Roger finished telling about Snow White's arrival at Snug Harbor and the race to the campsite. They did locate a real cozy campsite and settled in for the night. Now it's Suzanne's turn to tell what happened afterward. Today's story will be in Suzanne's words.

We pitch our tent in an open space just across the trail from where a girl is flying a kite. It's late afternoon by the time we're settled, so Dad makes a campfire and Mother cooks our dinner over the flames. We sit around the campfire and balance our plates on our laps.

After we finish we help Mother and Dad clean our campsite, and get rid of leftovers. The sky is still light, so we take a hike.

Dad leads the way single file along the trail, then Roger, me, and Mother at the end. In that way Roger can watch Dad, just in case he needs help, and I take care of Mother. Well, Dad and Mother do sort of look after us, too. Anyhow, off we go.

Dad heads toward Mount Nokomis, a low hill a short distance from the campsite. We push through tall grass and around bushes and rocks. Soon we're climbing the slope of Mount Nokomis.

I hear a rustling sound behind a bush.

'What' s that noise?' I turn to Mother and whisper.

'I really don't know,' Mother says. We look to where the rustling is coming from but can't see anything unusual. Meanwhile, Dad and Roger stop and Mother and I catch up to them. We stand close, the four of us, and look into the bushes.

There it is again. The rustling sound is like leaves and branches gently shaking. We can tell from which clump of bushes the sounds are coming. Dad steps between us and the bushes. Roger and I stand right behind Dad to protect him. Mother is very close.

The rustling is louder. From out behind a bush steps a doe. We relax. Whew!

The doe isn't very big and it's friendly but shy. It looks us over and wiggles it's ears in our direction to hear any noises we might make. She also lifts her head to smell the air. Deer have very sensitive noses for smelling danger, and that's what the doe is doing. She's trying to decide if we're also friendly. We stand quietly so as not to alarm her. After a while the doe moves a little way toward us and smells the air again. I guess it's satisfied because it comes close.

Slowly I reach out and touch the doe's fur. She doesn't seem to mind. The fur feels firm and smooth.

After a short while the doe moves away. It really is getting late, you know, and the setting sun changes the day into evening. The doe needs to find a place to spend the night. Wiggling her ears and flipping her tail, she moves off and disappears into the bushes.

We start back to the campsite and make our way along the trail down the side of Mount Nokomis. Soon we're back at camp.

Dad lights a lantern and gets the campfire going. We put sweaters on, sit on logs next to the fire and sing camping songs. The girl with the guitar joins us, and so do other campers and everyone joins in the singing. The moon and stars shine in the sky and it's very peaceful.

Suzanne and Roger rose, waved to me, and headed for home.

'Don't forget to be here tomorrow,' Roger shouted. 'We had another interesting experience the next day.'

'I'll be here.' I waved back.

Visit with Two Seals

True to their word, Suzanne and Roger arrived at Three Palms the following day. We sat under the banana palm, and Roger told the next story.

This is the day for the hike to Point Nemo, on the other side of the island. It will be an all day trip, so we start early.

Mother packs our knapsacks with sandwiches, cookies, and cans of juice while Dad inspects our hiking gear, like for extra socks, sweaters, towels and things like that. We're ready and off we go. Dad takes the point, then, in line, Suzanne, me, and Mother.

Instead of the trail that winds up and around the top of the island, we head straight across, passing other campsites. We say hello to people camping along the trail.

We stop to listen to a woman strumming a guitar. She is singing 'On top of Ol' Smokey....' We gather round and join in the singing. We wave good-bye and move along.

We see a man with a camera; he is taking photographs of flowers. We stop to watch. We leave him and return to the trail where it opens into a field. We follow the trail across a hill to Point Nemo, and from there to the Point Nemo Lighthouse.

At the lighthouse it's time for lunch. Dad spreads a big checkered cloth on the ground and Mother takes the sandwiches and drinks from our knapsacks. We have lunch, rest, and sing songs. It's time to explore.

Climbing down to the beach near the lighthouse we run to the water's edge. Suzanne and I take our shoes off and race each other through waves that tumble over themselves on their way in. After a while we stop running so that our breath can catch up with us. Standing at the water's edge we shield our eyes with our hands, and look toward Seal Rock.

Brown shapes swim in the sea. They wriggle out of the water on to the narrow strip of sand below the rocks. They're seals. More seals wriggle out of the water. They're brown and of all sizes.

They bark. Have you heard a seal bark? It sounds like they have something stuck in their throats. They really don't, you know. That's just their way of talking to each other.

'Look, Roger, look,' Suzanne calls and points.

A seal is heading toward the beach nearby. Reaching shallow water, the seal raises its head, looks around and sees us. I think it knows we're friendly because it comes up on to the beach. The seal is followed closely by a much smaller seal. It's a mother seal and her cub.

Suzanne and I want to get closer to the two seals, but we know that if we move we might frighten them away. We watch and don't move.

The cub goes to its mother and they play in the sand. Then the mother seal cuddles and nurses the cub. In a little while they head back to the water's edge. The two seals look back at us. I must have imagined it, but for a moment I think I see the cub wave its flipper toward us. Anyhow, I think they know we're their friends.

The seals slip into the water and swim off in the direction of Seal Rock. Soon they disappear among the whitecaps. They've gone home.

Suzanne and I walk back to Mother and Dad sitting on the beach. They were watching, too. Dad talks to us about seals and other animals of the land, the sky, and the sea, and how they and we all fit together on Planet Earth.

We start back to camp. By this time the sun is starting down. It's late afternoon. There is still light when we arrive at our campsite. Dad lights the campfire and Mother makes supper. After we've eaten, and clear away the leftovers, we sit around the fire. Dad tells more stories about sailing and long hikes. Then we sing songs. *** We stood, stretched, and walked toward the dunes.

'Any more stories?' I asked.

'Oh, yes,' Suzanne replied. 'The best is yet to come. Telling our adventures is such fun we're going to make it last for a few more days.'

'Tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow.'

Noises in the Night

The next morning we're back under the palms. Suzanne takes up the story.

This is about what happened late the same night we hiked to Point Nemo. As with the other nights, we get into our pjs, brush our teeth and wash our faces. We hug and kiss Mother and Dad and I pick up our flashlight. The tent doesn't have electric lights, so we have an electric lantern that we hang from a hook in one of the wooden rods that hold up the tent.

We take our flashlight along to see by as we get ready for bed. As we move the light around it makes shadows on the tent walls. The shadows jump in all directions, stretch tall and shrink short, first on one wall, then on the other.

Roger waves his arms, jiggles his fingers and twists his body, which makes his shadow twist and shake, too. It's weird and very funny. We laugh at the shadows.

After a while, we stop, crawl into our sleeping bags and zip them up. I reach out and turn off the lantern. A faint glow comes in from under the flaps. Everything is normal, just as it's been since we arrived at Snug Harbor. I guess we fell asleep.

Suddenly, I'm wide-awake. I hear Roger sleep-breathing. That can't be what wakened me. I listen hard. There it is again. The sound is like someone shaking and rustling paper bags. Then another sound, like tin cans rattling. I'm curious.

'This needs to be looked into,' I think.

I unzip my sleeping bag, reach over and tap Roger's sleeping bag.

'Uh,' Roger says sleepily. 'Is it morning already?'

'No, silly,' I whisper. 'Keep your voice down and listen.'

We lie quietly in our sleeping bags. There it is again, soft rustling and scratching sounds and, now and then, rattling.

'What do think it is?' Roger asks, now fully awake.

'I don't know,' I reply. 'Shall we check it out?'

'Let's do it,' he answers.

Very quietly, we slip out of the sleeping bags and crawl to the tent opening. Roger opens the flaps a crack and peeks out. I get above him and look out over his head.

There's just enough moonlight to make out the trees and the nearby tents. We can see Mother and Daddy's tent in front of ours. The sounds are coming from off to one side.

I look down at Roger. His eyes are wide. So are mine, I guess. 'Are you game?' I ask him.

'OK,' Roger says.

I lift the lantern from its hook. I don't switch it on; there's enough moonlight so that we can see well enough.

Opening the tent flap just enough, we slip out, stoop far over, and tiptoe in the direction of the sounds. We're very quiet and don't even whisper.

Up ahead, among the trees, is where campers bring things they don't want, like empty tin cans and dinner leftovers that can't be saved until the next mealtime. The sounds are coming from that direction.

Soon we're among the trees and near the large plastic containers where the trash is stored. We're close enough to a container to touch it, but of course, we don't.

Roger and I hear loud rattling. We whirl in the direction from where it's coming and I switch on the lantern. Ahead of us are three trash containers, and they're overturned. Paper bags, tin cans, and bits of food cover the ground in all directions. Nosing about among the trash are dozens of small animals, picking at scraps. We make out squirrels, chipmunks, porcupines, woodchucks, and even a rooster and a chicken. They're bleating, yapping, squealing, chirping and clucking as they nibble and peck away at the leftover food.

'It's like a zoo,' Roger laughs.

'It's good that our table scraps aren't wasted,' I say.

'Yes,' Roger adds, 'but it'll sure be a mess for someone to clean up in the morning.'

The animals don't seem to mind our watching. They go right on scrounging and eating.

'Let's go back to the tent,' Roger yawns.

'I suppose we'd better,' I say, 'or we'll be too tired for tomorrow's adventure.'

'Right,' Roger yawns again, 'That's one I don't want to miss.'

Nor do I. I' m really looking forward to it.

Back in our tent, I hang the lantern back on its hook and switch it off. We crawl back into our sleeping bags. Roger yawns again as he snuggles into the softness.

I think of the little animals having a feast among the trees, and feel glad they can get at the food. I slip down so that my head isn't cold, pull up my knees and wrap my arms around myself. I feel cozy. *** 'What happened the next day?' I asked.

'Wait and see,' Roger grinned.

The Little Old Man's Strange Story

When Suzanne and Roger left after the last story they were mysterious about the next one, except that they did tell me to bring along a sandwich. The next morning, when we gathered at Three Palms, we each had a bag with sandwiches, cookies, and a container of milk.

'I took you seriously yesterday,' I said, waving my bag.

'Good that you did,' Suzanne answered as she settled down on to the sand. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I'm ready. Which of you will tell this one?'

'We're going to have to share this one.' Roger leaned back as he spoke. 'I'll start.' *** The next morning, bright and early, Suzanne and I have our breakfast and hurry to brush our teeth. We're dressed and anxious to be on our way. When Mother and Dad are ready we head