I’ve been feeling very dispirited these past few months. It’s no wonder—I’ve been ruminating too much on things I can’t do anything about—news about unfathomable grief, the seemingly unending rage and this "plague" that’s keeping me away from my  grandbabies. 

This "plague" that is making it more and more difficult to be pleasant at work. Everyone, passengers and flight attendants alike, have VERY different views on how to handle the non-compliant passengers. Some passengers deplane angry at me, wanting my name to write a letter of complaint because they saw me walk right by a passenger without a mask on and did nothing about it! I'm not used to studying faces as I walk through doing a "cabin check." I look for people not buckled in, for belongings not stowed correctly, for ensuring exit rows are briefed and bins are closed. So undoubtedly, I DO miss those non-compliant passengers. Then there are passengers who mumble about the stupidity of it all. Then there are flight attendants who want to toss people off if they even hesitate to pull their mask over their nose. Removing passengers results in delays and more grumpiness. I'm just really feeling over it.

For reasons I can’t explain, writing often lifts me out of my melancholy. The problem is, I haven’t felt like writing, and haven’t written a single word in months. When I got up this morning, I determined I would not step away from my computer until I wrote at least one sentence. 

But I sat, and I sat, and I sat. 

Just me and my mouse, alone in the house. 

My mind remained blank, as my spirits sank. 

No matter how hard I tried, I could find nothing inside. 

All I could do was to sit, sit, sit; and I did not like it, not one little bit. 

Then a strange buzz made me jump, and brought me out of my slump. 

My own sad face appeared on the screen, 

But soon was replaced with a precious human being.

Oh, how I thank God for the innovation of FaceTime! Of course, the little human being was my two-year old grandson, Brooks. Hence my lame attempt to emulate Dr. Suess (with a little outright plagiarism).

I hate to brag, but I think my Brooks is the most brilliant toddler I’ve ever met. He has a vocabulary that rivals children twice his age. I’m mesmerized by him. And lucky for me, he loves to talk. I hang on to every precious word. 

He enthusiastically tells me what he’s having for lunch, about how he lost his mask while jogging with Mama, but then…they found it! I read him a few books before Caitlin suggests maybe they should tell Nana good-bye because she might have things to do. 

“No! I don’t want to say goodbye to Nana.” He proceeds to “take me” into another room to show me all the trucks and toys “the cousins” gave him. I love how he refers to them as the cousins rather than my cousins.

He tells me he’s going to put me in a basket while he plays. It’s a black basket, I can’t see anything.

“Get me out of here! I don’t like being in this basket. It’s too dark in here.” I jokingly whine.

“You’re not in the basket, Nana. You’re in your house.” He has no patience with nonsensical talk.

I hear Maisie crying. “Why is Maisie crying?” 

“Because she wants to nurse some more.” He answers matter-of-factly.

For whatever reason, he absolutely loves watching me push the button to open and close the garage door. It’s usually the first thing he asks me to do. I act like I can’t find the button.

“It’s right above the ladder,” he patiently tells me.

Caitlin and Cam shared a story about Brooks and his night time prayers. 

“What are you thankful for, Brooks?” Cam asked.

“Jesus,” he sweetly answered.

“Awww, that’s wonderful Brooks. What else are you thankful for?”

“Goliath.” (I need the laughing until you’re crying emoji here)

His mean Nana would have been tempted to say, “You mean you’re thankful that David killed Goliath and cut off his head.” Actually, I’d leave out the severed head part. When I was a little girl, I remember reading that gruesome little detail and being horrified by it.

Before this providential FaceTime call, all I could do was to sit, sit, sit, sit, and I did not like it, not one little bit. Then that call came in and lifted my spirits, and lo and behold, I was able to write a few lyrics.

Thank you, Jesus!