Creativity

Even Grandpas can make mistakes. I would like to think that grand-kids consider grandparents amazing creatures that can do no wrong. And although I try not to disappoint, I admit that from time to time, I am not perfect.

Last weekend, our twin granddaughters were at the house. To keep them occupied, I suggested they write and illustrate a story. They took to the idea right away. Caiti immediately began to lay out the story of a deer that got caught in the rain, or something like that. She dictated to me and I wrote a sentence on each page, then printed the story out on several pages, ready for drawings.

I was pleased about how I stimulated some creativity in them. Perhaps a young writer would grow out of this exercise. Caiti finished with the first page, and with some pride in her voice, showed it to me. It was a picture of a deer, with a big number "one" crowding his face.

"Oh," I said. "Usually you put the page number at the bottom of the page."

Her voice changed to a sadder tone. "I messed up," she said.

I tried to convince her that it really was OK, but the damage was done. She knew that this was a "do-over." The problem is that she never did it over. I broke the creative momentum with my editorial comment. The project now lies dormant.

That's right--me, Bubba--trying to be an editor, even with the kids. Oh, well. Live and learn.

The next day, I finished a photo project I was working on. It was an idea I had to layer photos between glass sheets. The effect is a multi-dimensional view. In this one, I took shots of the girls making funny poses one day. I then printed the photos and layered them.

This particular picture has one girl behind the other. Cori's picture turned out smaller, so I put her behind Caiti. Something in the back of my mind told me that this might be trouble; I always try to treat each of them equally.

When I showed the end results to them, Cori immediately picked up on the inequality of the project.

"Why am I behind Caiti?" she asked.

Quickly, I responded: "Uh, it's because you're special." There--Bubba fixed it.

"Does that mean Caiti is not special?" she asked.

OK, Bubba, now what?

A Good Christmas

This Christmas was a good one for me. We we spent time with the family--two days of playing with grand-kids. And there was dominoes at night. I came in third place out of four. We ate well, too, and tried two new beers from the brewery.

It snowed and there was ice, but we got home safely. We rested. It was good.

The best part of Christmas was a phone call I made to my brother. I hadn't heard from him in close to three years. I was resentful about that, and that was wrong. The resentment goes against my Christian beliefs. (I constantly have to remind myself of those beliefs.)

Over those three years, my brother hadn't returned a couple of phone calls, even after I left messages. He never responded to any email messages, and he never sends any kind of yearly Christmas wishes. I was hardened against him, and that was wrong. I missed talking to him, because our conversations were always very interesting to me (those times long ago when we did converse). My brother's interests in movies, his eclectic tastes in music, and his outlook on life all make for stimulating conversation. I missed that.

This Christmas, I felt the need to try again, so I did. I called. The phone rang several times, making me think this would be another failed attempt. But he picked up. And the first thing he mentioned was his regrettable lack of communication. I understood that it wasn't against me. That's the way he is. And he apologized. We conversed, and we enjoyed the conversation. It was like there was no three-year gap. We talked for quite a while. It was good.

Merry Christmas.