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Four Generations

The past two weeks I have been wandering various portions of southeastern Wisconsin. My main purpose in traveling to the place of my birth was to meet and hold my grandson, Simon born to my oldest daughter, Beth and her husband Matthew four weeks ago today. From the moment we stepped in the door of their colonial three blocks from the shores of Lake Michigan, even before he was laid in my awaiting arms, while he slept—his preferred regiment throughout the day, ate—sometimes not providing the two to three hours interim needed to replenish the nutritional supply or shit—supposedly breast-fed babies fecal material tends toward less than solid form with little to no odor, he never lacked for love and attention. Eye contact is not his strong suit. When they were open they gravitated toward windows and shiny objects.

Who can resist the Simonster?

Our first home-away-from-home was my cousin’s lake cottage. Several whitetail deer bounded fifty yards in front of our rental car as we drove along the farmer’s road leading to the cottage. We watched in amazement as Simon’s attention span grew from seconds to minutes as he engaged the world around him. The thirty-minute drive from the cottage to the colonial breezed by those first few days.

Then, we drove north a hundred miles to spend the first week with my in-laws. Debbie has three sisters she left behind when we moved to California seventeen years ago. Our first night away from our grandson we took part in a Wisconsin tradition. We went to Tanner’s, a friendly dining establishment in Kimberly for Friday night fish fry. While cod was available, the lightly breaded lake perch (which bears no resemblance to ocean perch) was delicious.  Other highlights of the weekend included karaoke at a local tavern, a house warming for the new home my nephew bought and a visit with my old college roommate, Mike, in Black Creek. Before we parted company he assured me the country and world’s problems could be easily resolved: “Just exterminate the Democrats.”

Simon helped heal Debbie's broken ankle.

Our return to the Milwaukee area and the joys of grand parenting was punctuated by two unlikely events. I made a third and final visit to my daughter’s chiropractor to improve my back’s health after a sudden move of luggage in a car trunk while still in California had rendered it bent over and hurting. The second event occurred when Debbie went to capture a fabulous sunrise along the beach on the eighth of our sixteen-day trip.  She caught her foot on some seaweed and tripped fracturing her ankle. An ATV was used to convey her to the ambulance once the paramedics were able to properly splint the wound. The orthopedic surgeon explained she suffered a trimalleolar fracture and he set it with a number of plates and screws. The before and after x-rays proved quite remarkable.

We moved to a friend’s home about half the distance away from Simon and his parents. Beth brought Simon for a visit the next day, and by the following day I was picking up Friday night fish fry to share in the house. By Sunday morning Debbie was laying off the painkillers and she rode out to the town near the cottage to have brunch with my cousin and his family. She gained enough mobility by Tuesday we were able to travel thirty miles across the city to have dinner with a friend of mine from my days in graduate school in Madison.  Coincidentally, his son, who just graduated from St. Norbert College, is moving to Madison to start his career.  I think it’s a sign of what’s ahead for Simon.