It’s me again.  Do I start that way every time I decide to give you an update on my granddaughter? I don’t know how else to start.  I’m not sure if anyone else is keeping an eye on her, or telling you about it.  If there are others, I want to be sure you know it’s me.  Her Grandpa.  The one she talks to at night, when she’s saying what other people would call prayers.  She doesn’t pray, at least “pray” in the way people prayed where I’m from.  My kind of praying.  Hell, I didn’t really pray either even though I believed I should.  But she lays there, and sends out energy into the world, asking for some kind of energy back.  And sometimes she sends energy to me, purposefully.  I hear her thoughts, asking me for favors.  To shift things in this world about, at least in her world.  Sometimes she isn’t asking for anything, just telling me about things.  She sends the same thoughts to her buddy Lauren, sometimes asking for different things of Lauren than she could ask of me.  Or telling Lauren different things.  Makes sense, I suppose.  You need different energy at different times. But anyway, it’s me, here to tell you what’s going on.

There’s lots to report on and little to report on all at the same time. Some of the big stuff, the real stuff, I’m not sure I can lahy out for you too well.  It’s not wholly her story to tell, and I don’t feel that openness in her heart to lay it all out there yet.  Once she’s ready to share, I can always feel that crackling of her skin and tingling of her bones and vibration right in the front of that brain of her that was always working over time ever sense she was a tiny little precocious thing who both yearned for and avoided attention all at once.  Sometimes when I’ve felt all of this energy, I’ve heard her say, “I feel it in my bones.” She feels it down in the very core of her and doesn’t hold back proclamations or information or what is in her heart.  But I don’t feel that yet here.  I’ve said it before, but I think this is why she hasn’t written herself much the past few weeks.  Some things taken up her energy – what she would call the real stuff, the important stuff, the stuff she can talk about without feeling like she’s got a mask on – her heart’s not open to yet.  It’ll come, one day.  

So for now I’ll stick to the other stuff.  First, her daughter, Gemma.  You know, Nikki worries about her every day.  She feels guilty and overwhelmed every day wanting the best for this little girl.  She feels proud at the smallest task Gemma conquers, and watchful of every hurdle or bump or obstacle that lies in front of her.  We all know she doesn’t have to feel this way.  But you go ahead and tell any mother to turn that worry and guilt and love off, and you know you’ll be silently cursed out to high heaven ’cause it ain’t happening.  And go ahead and tell a mother who gave birth to a two pound little bird so early early early in the pregnancy, and she will silently curse your ignorance and then let yet another corner of her heart break off because the guilt and worry just multiplies every time she thinks of it. But I tell you this.  I watched that little girl do gymnastics class this week. I watched that little girl tell jokes to her classmates. I watched that little girl study her neighbors who joined the family in the elevator for each family walk, then say hello.  I watched that little girl clearly let her mom and dad know “Let me do it BY MYSELF.” “I CAN DO IT MYSELF.”  And if they let her do it — whatever it was — herself, she was happy.  And if they didn’t, she wasn’t so much.  And I tell you this, it’s not so different than another four year old I loved spending time with 36 years ago. Who insisted on wearing short plaid skirts and being as independent as they came and pouting on my staircase to the basement if she got too much or too little attention or both at the same time.  Who still a few years later kept telling all those little squirts she swam with to “Leave me alone” but then yearned for them to be her friend.  Who was smart as a whip and didn’t want to be indebted to anyone for helping her along, but still wanted her mom and dad to carry her to bed.  Gemma’s skin is a little darker, her hair a little curlier. Her “R”s a little more pronounced but her voice a little higher.  But there isn’t much difference between the two and Nikki has nothing to worry about there.  But you can’t tell her that.

Meanwhile, she spent the last month or so celebrating her 40th birthday.  Some country music outdoors with some new friends that I think I would have enjoyed spending time with.  Some celebrations with that family of hers. She didn’t get the ice cream cake she asked for — many times — but she got cakes and streamers and decorations and cards and they sang Happy Birthday to her 102 times in one day, and she was happy.  She got a massage, one of her favorite things, and it brought her to tears.  The place was stark but elegant and simple.  Her calf keeps acting up on her, so she had them focus on her calf and feet first.  The woman – who seemed so strong and present and magical, in ways – touched a spot right next to the arch of her foot, and said “You are so tired.  This spot will feel better when you aren’t tired.”  And she was right – sleep hadn’t been over abundant for a few nights, few weeks.  And that very spot hurt.  Then she touched a spot just above that, a finger closer to the arch and closer to the toes, and said “This spot is painful.  It’s a spot that knows happiness and misses it.”  Well, for those of you that know Nikki, you know she is generally an optimist.  I’m not sure she’s always been a half glass full girl, but she realized quite some time ago, life was easier and more fun that way and adopted the perspective. But she knew this statement was true.  She knew she missed a happiness that she once knew very well.  Her eyes got teary, but those tears didn’t fall until later. She let them fall later, and then decided if she once knew it, she’d have it again. She’d ride out the feeling that was there, wearing on the inside of her soul and sole, and it would give her perspective when things shifted again.  Then she went on to get what she described as the best massage of her life.  And I certainly could feel her muscles relax, her heart muscle unclench, her feet loosen, her self come out a little bit.  And she spent the rest of the day in the sun, celebrating 40, and it was nice.  Then she had some dinners with friends of hers that I recognized from so long ago. They’ve been around for so long, in so many different cities, and there were so many of them, at different times.  And a couple that wrapped her up in lifelong love and warmth and humor, and I just enjoyed watching it all.  She smiled, she laughed, she was open.  She embraced this 40 thing with grace, I think.  What do I know, I was about to be a new grandpa to her older sister when I was 40.  I still had my five kids living at home.  I didn’t think much of being 40 – not much good, not much bad.  It was what it was and I didn’t celebrate it, but I wish I would have.  I see the way she digs in to things, and lets them settle inside her, it’s not a bad way to live.  

She’s trying to dig in to Los Angeles, to Southern California.  She sure loves her work.  She wished for many years that she was working with a group of people she felt connected to, and I see her have that every day in that energetic office she gets to.  She likes the people, they like her.  She sometimes says she’s not sure why her boss likes her, but I know why.  She’s even and fair and works hard and it never ceases to amaze me that she isn’t afraid to speak up.  Not sure why that surprises me, for as quiet as she could be as a little girl, she could voice her opinion just as strongly.  But she does it in a way that make people react openly to her.  Her big sister one time said she was annoyed by how diplomatic Nikki could be.  And that’s why that boss likes her, mark my words.  And he listens to her and trusts her, and that helps her settle right in and dig in to whatever work she has on her desk.  She works hard, but she talks music and running and books and life with her colleagues, and for that I’m grateful.  She spends a lot of time there.  It seems to me — and this is just my humble opinion — that she really loved where she lived in New York, and liked where she spent her days.  It doesn’t seem like a bad trade for her to love where she spends her days and like where she lives.  If I’m a betting man, I’d say she knows this.

She still feels a little transient at home.  She tried to frame some pictures and truth be told the pictures are beautiful but the frames hang crooked and look haphazard.  Not the look I think she was going for.  She doesn’t know too many neighbors, people are moving in and out every day.  She doesn’t have time to volunteer at her kids’ school like she did last year. Not consistently anyway. She doesn’t know too many people by first name and she misses knowing people who knew her when she was pushing a 8 month old down the street and pregnant with twins, and then carrying the twins in a carrier while letting her son climb like he wasn’t just 16 months on a huge jungle gym.  But I’m certain she knows that feeling will change, that roots will start to grow.  

One day, she brought a purple orchid into work to give her office a little something extra.  One of her colleagues, a true renaissance man who talks like Spacolli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High but is smart as smart can be, and is an expert skateboarder with a green thumb and who might be known on occasion to steal a perfect plant walking home from a late night at the bars, let her know the Orchid, though known to be tricky to take care of, is really pretty simple.  Don’t touch it while it’s blossoming, it needs it air and space.  Let water run over it for about 10 seconds then soak in for about 5 minutes.  Then place it in the spot it looks the best in your office — it needs some sun, some of the day, and if it is in the spot it looks best, it is probably best for it.  Then let it sit there — for two weeks, at least — before you do anything more.  Just set it up right and let it sit.  And there’s something about this protocol that makes her think caring for herself isn’t all that different at this point in time.