Grandma's Plan

     Our eight-year-old granddaughter recently spent four non-stop days with Charley and me. Here are her

interests:  reading, crafts, cooking, games, softball, surfing, tennis, dancing, music, shopping, movies, fashion, and lots of things I've left out. Since we only had four days, we tried to cram in as much as possible.

     We picked blueberries and baked muffins, shopped for school clothes, had a pedicure, saw a Smurfs movie.  She dived under four-foot waves and rode her boogie board (left her surf board at home), had a shoot-out with me in bumper boats, played tennis, went to a church fair where a magician transformed a white handkerchief into a bunny and she spent $1.10 on gifts for her sister and herself.

     Our "quiet" time was spent on the computer searching for instructions to make patterned duck tape into a purse.  The instructions were too complicated, and she'd already made the easier projects.  Family photo albums provided some amusement and time for me to wash my hair.

     My plan for grandchildren's future visits is:  I WON'T HAVE ONE!  We can sit on the deck and our amusement will pass by:  butterflies, squirrels, chipmunks, hummingbirds, robins, mockingbirds, sparrows, seagulls, hawks, possums, and maybe even a fox or a deer.  Books can provide our adventure, shared chapter by chapter, before eyelids droop at 9:00.  We can walk to the beach and along its length. We can arrange flowers we've picked from the garden, feed the birds, and cut herbs. We can make up our own recipes while the car stays in the garage.  Or we can sleep in the shade.

     This is sounding too much like a plan again!

   



   

Flamenco on the Island of Mallorca, Spain



Manolo de Cordoba, Madrid
Photo his own

     Picture Ichabod Crane from Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow: "tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves...and his whole frame most loosely hung together."  Add oily hair sticking to his ears and narrow head and Ichabod's snipe nose.

     That is the figure that spun in front of us during a flamenco show at our hotel.

     Except that this male wore black tights and a shocking pink ruffled shirt under black vest and twirled a pink neon cape.

     We shouldn't have been surprised.  The hotel was billed a "five-star" on Mallorca, but was more like a Holiday Inn.  Housekeeping had shoved twin beds together to form our king, so one of us was continually falling through the crack at night. When we used the sink, pipes gurgled in the shower and water rose from its drain.  There were four computers available for guests to use (with accompanying coin machines), but none of the four worked.  The front desk gave me refunds.

     Ichabod continued to twirl in front of us, like a whirling dervish.  He accompanied three very talented female dancers,  who changed for each number from gold spangles to red ruffles to blue fringe to yellow satin. Their feet pounded the stage in a blur. Finally Ichabod stopped twirling and toppled toward the audience, obviously dizzy.  Someone in the front row caught him.

     The music muffled my laughter.  In Ichabod's final moment of glory, he threw his head back while his arms shot straight toward the ceiling.  As the music faded, we watched his long appendages creep down his torso and over the thin hips to his thighs.  The seductive pink cape slithered with them.  Fortunately, it was only a few steps to the bar.