Hello and welcome to the first Saturday of June here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is June 4th.
Summer vacation is underway over here at our house. We spent this past week staying up late, getting up late, and jotting notes about all the adventures we'd like to have this summer. And by "we," I mean the two youngest of our kid crew and me. Everyone else is working or has travel plans for the summer.
One thing I've already learn this week is that adventures come in many shapes and sizes. My general romantic notion tends to be throwing kids and snacks into the car and heading out to a spot pinned on a map. But adventure can look like so many other things such as asking kids with genuine curiosity, "What should we cook for lunch today?"
Errands can turn into adventures if you take the scenic route - something we did to see how much the water had risen on Lake of the Woods - or stop by friends' places equipped with playgrounds. Reading can be an adventure. We made star charts for keeping track of minutes read over the summer - a noteworthy feat for me because it's probably been 15 years since I made a chart for anything. Letting the kids design their own chart instead of mom getting fussy about whether the charts need lines or boxes was quite adventurous on my part. (Note: No lines needed according to the kids!)
Weekly treks to the library are sure to happen more often now than during the school year. Neither of the two young ones were interested in organized sports. They opted instead for swimming lessons, 4-H camps, and biking to town. Our trampoline is still in good shape after four summers and my husband rolled out a brand new ping-pong table last weekend. We even have a new swimming pool that will come out once the weather warms up and the flowering crabapple tree has finished blooming.
And then there are the unexpected adventures. The kind that could be classified as disasters if looked at from a certain point of view.
"Oh no. Oh NO! OH NO! Ohnoohnoohnoohno! MOM!"
The caliber of the screech I heard Monday morning made me think that someone was bleeding on the beige recliner or had vomited on the new chair. But everyone else in the house was calm, so my mama-instinct told me something else was amiss. The WAKWIR* stepped from the living room holding my grandmother's painting that my aunt had just given me a month ago. He'd been lounging in said new chair when he'd somehow pushed it up against the living room wall impaling the painting. It looked like someone had taken a switchblade to the canvas and cut a Pi symbol with a 5-inch top and 4-inch legs. The scene in Brave of Merida stitching the torn tapestry to save her mother from being a bear forever came to my mind.
The kid had reason to be terrified of my reaction, so I don't blame him for the apocalyptic scream. In a house of lots of kids and chaos, I've let it be known that I there is one sacred item which, if damaged, will lead to disownment, dismemberment, or both**, and that is the stained-glass clock my grandmother gifted me when I got married.
My grandmother was an artist of all sorts of mediums - singing, acting, poetry, painting, macrame - but her ultimate medium of choice was stained glass. She had made plenty of pieces over the years, but the stained glass wedding clock was the one piece that held the most sentimental value because it was the one thing she made specifically for all of her grandkids.
This clock made it all the way to Czech Republic in one piece in time for the wedding. It made it all the way back from Czech Republic in one piece. It has survived one apartment, two houses and (so far) five kids and three cats. It has even survived two knockdowns, one from my husband and one from a brother-in-law. While plenty of other household items and art pieces have gotten chipped, knicked, dinged, or downright obliterated - this clock is the one piece I own that is still, well, in one piece.
But when my son held up the damaged painting, I didn't feel angry. In fact, I laughed. Not a delirious cackle of defeat, but a good Murphy's Law chuckle thanks to the story my aunt told me about this particular painting of my grandmother's.
According to the story she was told, this wasn't even a grandma original. Apparently, when she was a young mother herself, Grandma had a painting that she rather enjoyed until one of the kids stepped through it or punctured it in some way. She decided to replace it by painting a copy of it.
I hope when my aunt reads this she will feel the same mirth that I did. And I'm pretty sure she will because I grew up next door to her and she already knows that I was the kind of kid who would have jumped through the painting. Not maliciously, but because I wanted to know what it was like to be inside the painting. My son is the type of kid who would accidentally poke through a painting. Clearly there's a strong gene pool in regards to capacity for damaging things unintentionally. I have to have some compassion.
My own mother mused that perhaps the painting's destiny has been fulfilled and I can lay it to rest. She assured me that it's gotten a lot of mileage and enjoyment in several family members' homes. "Oh, we have lots of grandma's paintings," she said. "I've got paintings in my basement!" It's worth mentioning that my mom is in downsizing mode, but, still, I appreciated her ability to see the humor in this particular family adventure.
Part of me is tempted to have a new copy painted so future children can poke future holes through the copy of the copy, thereby carrying on a family legacy of sorts. My husband suggested we tape it back together. If anyone has any painting salvaging tips, comment below!
On This Day
Historic Highlights (credits)
Happy Birthday to You!🎶
Remembering You
Kim
**This phrase is used for entertainment purposes only.
The painting is on it's way to becoming one of those old paintings in museums with a million cracks.
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