Storm watching

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . September 28, 2009 . 11:19AM

When I was little, I used to sit on my front porch and watch the rain with my grandfather. No one ever told me that rain or thunderstorms were something to be feared. There was even a time I saw a small funnel, the very endings of what must have been something fearful, across the dirt road from my house. This isn’t to say that my family didn’t keep me safe.

I remember one time when my cousins and I were in my grandparents basement during a storm. Clearly, it had to be after Easter, as we had each dragged a bag of candy onto the bed downstairs and we were bartering candy to one another so that “no one would starve for the duration of the storm.” Melodramatic little beasts, weren’t we?

There is something about a good storm that appealed to my grandfather. I don’t think he could explain it, however, because I have inherited it and I can’t explain it, myself. Rain, thunder and lightening are peaceful to me. They soothe me.

It could be because they remind me of him. He’ll always be the father figure in my life and he’ll always be my hero. Maybe the rain reminded him of someone.

Maybe it just had the “cool” factor that it has for my son, AJ. He likes nothing more than to stand in the rain. He’ll curl up next to me and use his cajoling voice and ask me sweetly if he can wear his rain coat and boots and stand outside. I smile just as sweetly and tell him no. Most times.

But part of me, that part that is still the child on the porch, smiles sweetly back and, now and then says, “Get them on. You’ve got 10 minutes and if you see lightening, get back in here.”

There’s just something about a thunderstorm.

Harold : When a child brings animals into the home

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 25, 2009 . 5:52AM

Yesterday, AJ came into the living room and yelled joyfully, “Mama! I found a caterpillar!!” I remember the joy of childhood in which a “willyworm” could be hours of entertainment. I would watch them cross roads, pass over sticks and climb trees and stare in fascination. I grew up on a farm and often the bugs and critters I would find would be the best sort of day-passing activities for a kid who didn’t have cable television. I didn’t grow up on Disney or Zoom. We had rabbit ears and fuzzy stations.

Most kids that grow up on farms get to work. I was lucky, or spoiled depending on your view, in that I didn’t. I had pet chickens, that eventually became dinner and caused me to avoid eating chicken for 18 years. I had a pet goat and a horse. Several dogs called me owner but none of them stayed around long. I played in a chicken coop and a barn and a pasture. I ate fresh berries off the vine and peas straight out of the pod. Hot watermelon opened by cracking it on the steps of the back porch still tastes best to me. Blackberries and mulberries bursting off their vines, full of luscious ripeness, call to me.

All because of the thought of a caterpillar. AJ’s enthusiasm was contagious. I watched the caterpillar creep up his arm and search for escape. “Harold” was aptly named because he or she looked like a Harold. AJ began making plans for a long and happy life with Harold in which Harold could live in his room and eat carrots and lettuce (what AJ assumed Harold would enjoy eating) and Harold could live in a tank just like fish. When I explained how this would affect Harold, AJ’s face fell. He took a minute to process him and slowly marched outside.

When he came back in he melodramatically explained to me, “I let Harold go because it would make him happy. He deserved it.”

Don’t we all?

Harold