Back Porch Barbie: Entry #1

My gavels are on the floor.

They have become drumsticks to beat on the step stool.

It’s like that offhand remark to someone marginally recognizable: Didn’t you used to be somebody?

Yes, I used to be somebody with two gavels. One I had from my travels with nonprofits and the other was given to me when the incoming board president of my beloved Street Angels was given a new gavel and I was given the one with all the hatch marks, detritus of all the meetings and worry and accomplishment. I was proud of that gavel. I would have made it into a necklace if it weren’t so ungainly.

Anyway, I did used to be somebody.

Now, I am somebody else. I am Extreme Grandma. I am 24/7 Grandma. I am ‘Are you kidding me Grandma’.

At first, I was astonished and mortified at this. Not my plan. My plan was another sled dog, new hiking boots, coffee in a camp chair, complete and total freedom. Actual retirement. A state of being carefree. The prospect of having a four-year living with us was overwhelming and scary, like a crazy passenger in my car reaching over and pulling the steering wheel a hard right to a two-lane gravel path through the woods. It’s confusing driving in the woods. There are no signs and sometimes the little road gets washed out and you have to drive around on to the forest grass through the trees themselves. A person could get lost. Or worse.

But I’ve found my way with Back Porch Barbie. She preaches calm and serenity. She watches the birds and talks about the weather. She rests unhurried on laps. She nods at the neighbors and adjusts her earrings. She crosses her long legs. Shakes her head so her hair will catch the sun just right. She is mellow and unworried.

Back Porch Barbie is leading the way and I am following.