It’s been a busy week! If taking care of my granddaughter’s Easter headaches wasn’t enough, she had to write another chapter in her autobiography assignment.
GN: Ok, Grammy, let’s have it. I gotta do year eight. Is that another ‘death’ year?
Gram: Yes, Sweetie. Officer Friendly died when you were eight. But . . . there are other things to write about too.
GN: Like what?
I’ve been able to stay one step ahead of this assignment by going through photographs and my granddaughter’s school papers that are neatly organized by grade. It seems to be taking the edge off the writing.
After the writing assignment, we had to turn our attention to her class field trip today. She and her classmates have been learning about community life and what it takes to keep things going. There is some preparatory work in classroom for a while, and then they go on a field trip. They head to a building that hosts a program that teaches them the concepts more practically. They get to run a ‘city’ for the day.
Prior to their field trip, they have to apply for three employment opportunities and go through an interview process. When interviews have been completed, they are assigned to a specific job in the community.
Goodnight asked me if we could go shopping for something to wear for the field trip. She wears a uniform to school, the Easter dress I just made wasn’t appropriate and she hasn’t needed a lot of other non-casual clothing so there isn’t a lot to spare in her closet. We found a very nice plain skirt that she liked.
Like her grandmother, she is fond of checking out a specific thrift store for something fabulous to rescue. We went there to see if we could find something for her to wear with her new skirt. I can’t help her at all, because the age difference is never more apparent than when I suggest clothing.
Goodnight found a sweater set. I was surprised, because sweater sets were in vogue when I was growing up and not very popular now, so I thought. Ah, well. She was set.
When we got home, I asked her to try on the outfit and let me see how it all looked on her. When she came bouncing down the stairs, she said, “Grammy! This sweater set is Italian. See?”
I don’t do labels. I do price tags, specific need, and the fit of a garment. That’s all. But . . . she was happy.
Gram: Honey, you look very nice.
GN: Thanks, Grammy.
Gram: I forgot to ask you what job they gave you in the community.
GN: I work in . . . . . . electricity.
I cannot wait until she gets home tells me all about her day. Madame President asked me to French braid her hair this morning before she put on her thrift store Italian sweater set. I packed a lunch of Jamaican jerk chicken sandwich (I make a very good dry jerk rub), fresh vegetables, “something to share with five friends, please” and a beverage to take to her job . . . in electricity.
However her day goes for her, it will make for more interesting conversation than . . . reporting her bus driver was. (See previous post.)