When I was a little girl, I remember that there were certain things that I just couldn’t resist, like climbing up on big rocks, stepping in a puddle to see how deep it was, trying to catch any and every toad I found hiding in the garden, squeezing myself into the kitchen cupboard to hide from my brothers … climbing a tree that had temptingly low branches …

It didn’t matter if I knew I was going to get into trouble … the urge was simply more than I could resist. I can’t count the times I was told to be careful and not get my clothes dirty that I would come home with a tear, or a stain, or skinned knees. It was a forgone conclusion that I’d be far too dirty to be seen in polite company! My poor mother simply thought that I was just another one of her boys … she’d missed having a girl completely!

When I turned into an adolescent, some of those urges faded along with being small enough to hide in the kitchen cupboard … I wasn’t quite as keen on catching toads anymore, and puddles were just - messy. But oooh those trees! I still couldn’t resist climbing those trees … or clambering up onto a large, beautiful rock promontory.

By the time I had my own children, big rocks that are good to climb and trees with delightfully low branches still had appeal. I couldn’t walk past one but that I was drawn to explore its mysteries, and my limits. I was sure that I would be the only grandma who climbed trees with the grandbabies!

But somewhere along the way, that wonderful urge became weaker and weaker … until it was so faint that it was hardly a memory. As my son and I wandered through down a wooded path yesterday, and he had to help me over a fallen tree, I wondered how I had gotten from where I was - to where I am: an adult who can’t keep her feet on the ground, to an old lady who needs help to just get myself past an obstacle that’s not much higher than my knees. I don’t remember the urges and desires fading … it simply seems that I awoke one morning, and realized that they were just - gone. There was a sense of loss … as I wondered how I could have missed their passing.

Little did I know how much had yet to pass me by unnoticed …

The seasons turned, and I watched my own children jump into puddles, climb trees, hide in impossibly small places, detour to every large climbing rock we’d happen by, and collect whatever hapless little toads their little hands were fast enough to nab. It seemed as if no time at all had passed, and I found myself smiling and shaking my head as my adolescents climbed trees and hung precariously from branches. A little time again, and I laughed as I watched my adult children play with their children, as lost in their games as were the babies. I remember feeling shocked one day as I looked out of the camp’s kitchen window to see my 25 year old son perched on top of a 5 foot stump - looking like a statue on a very tall base. And I remembered my own romps …

Several years have passed, and I watch that same son bend intently over a sedentary task, and I feel my heart clench as I notice how many gray hairs he has. When did that happen? When did my little son stop climbing trees? When did he begin to gray? Has he already passed into that time when trees have lost their appeal?

Now, I no longer wonder when I stopped climbing trees and catching frogs - I find myself wondering … when did my children get old enough to no longer want to climb trees, or catch frogs? When did their hair begin to turn gray?

Time leaves its stamp upon all who set foot on the road of life. Master Chronos faithfully updates his seals on each of us, sparing no one, claiming us as his own with an increasingly heavier hand. And we know it - we expect it for ourselves. But our hearts tell us that he should relinquish his grasp on our children - the tiny babes we nursed and dandled on our knees. To mar their delicate skin with wrinkles, and frost their manes with white …

… is a cruelty worse than knowing that we will continue to forget and lose even those those things that we still enjoy. Our loss will progress, until for us, memory is no more; and it will be our children who are gazing, in their turn, upon their babes, and wondering how it could be that their golden curls of childhood are turning into ever widening strands of silver.

JMB was given a rather nice award by Lady MacLeod from over at Braveheart does the Maghreb.. It’s called the Thoughtful Blogger Award, and it was originally created by Writer’s Reviews. Here is the information behind the award:

The Thoughtful Blogger Award

For those who answer blog comments, emails, and make their visitors feel at home on their blogs. For the people who take others feelings into consideration before speaking out and who are kind and courteous. Also for all of those bloggers who spend so much of their time helping others bloggers design, improve, and fix their sites. This award is for those generous bloggers who think of others.

While I have no problem understanding why JMB got the award, I’m still amazed that she chose to pass it on to me. I haven’t been in here much in the last few months, although I’ve wanted to be. I guess JMB is one of those special people who read intentions rather than actions …

Thank you, dear heart!

Now … for people to pass it on to …

First of all … I’ve got to pass it on to Vijay. Yes, I know! I always hit Vijay when I get something like this, however this isn’t just to pull his chain, he really deserves this. He has a very friendly blog, is always helping people, and always interacts with everyone who visits him. If anyone deserves this, Vijay does.

Another person who comes to mind immediately is Chrysalis Angel. Those of you who don’t know her - are missing out. She’s one of the kindest, sweetest and most thoughtful people I know. Take a look for yourself.

Almost afraid to do this … because I never know what the heck he’s going to do once he gets the ball in his corner of the court (Llamas, anyone? *blink*) … but Dr. Rob deserves this award, too! He’s not only courteous, helpful, and friendly, he’s also better than Prozac if you need an uplift!

Cathy is another one who really deserves this. She spends herself selflessly for so many causes, and is always there for her blog friends. When she deleted her blog a while back, I panicked. I couldn’t imagine what the blogosphere would be like without her …

And finally, Dr. Anonymous … he’s not only friendly and helpful, he’s also made a home for Blogaholics Anonymous! Another thing I’ve got to say that he’s pretty good about answering personal emails … with personal questions in them. I still appreciate his answer to one I sent him a year ago this month. :o)

I could send a ton more of these out … because there are a lot of you who deserve it. I’ll hold off so that my tagees have someone they can tag, too. That’s the hardest part of getting an award … :o(

Before I quit … I’d like to give Vijay yet another award. I think I’ll call it the “Super Duper Wicked Busy Blogger Award” … and here’s why:

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Tommy Makem?”

As the man standing in front of me broke into a smile, his eyes crinkled. The smile turned into a wry grin as he stared at me a bit speculatively, and tried to not squish the contents in the two large bags of hot Weeksie’s take-out food he had just picked up at the counter.

“Well, yes, I have,” he mumbled as he nodded his head, his eyes twinkling; he edged a bit closer to the door.

The signature grin and the evasive answer were a dead giveaway! Before me stood Tommy Makem, in the flesh. I was delighted!

“Hey! Wait! If you’re really Tommy Makem, I want your autograph!”

Already not very tall, he seemed to get a bit shorter as both his shoulders and expression sagged in unison. He looked meaningfully at the bags in his arms. With a grin, one of my companions grabbed the dear man’s bags for him, as I fished out a pen and paper. We had him! Autographs all around!

We talked about it for weeks afterward.

That was the first of many occasions I had to speak to Tommy Makem, our local legend. Mr. Makem was from Armagh, Ireland, and sang some of the most wonderful Irish songs I’ve ever heard. He was often on television and stage, performing as Tommy Makem and the Clancy Brothers.

A few years after that first meeting, I had the opportunity to have an extended telephone conversation with Mr. Makem. He was warm and friendly … a lot like a good neighbor you’ve known for years. You were apt to run across him almost anywhere. The last time I saw him was a number of years ago at a local shoe store.

His website bio describes him well:

He has also been known for many years as the modern day Bard of Armagh and is regarded around the world as “The Godfather” of Irish music.

Armed with his banjo, tinwhistle, poetry, stagecraft and his magnificent baritone voice, Tommy has been mesmerizing audiences for more than four decades.

I was saddened to learn that Tommy Makem died yesterday. I hadn’t even known that he was sick. Apparently he died at his home in Dover, NH. He was 74. I’m sad to realize that I’ll never hear him sing in person again … or run across him in town as I go about my errands. He will be sadly missed.

My sincere condolences to Mr. Makem’s family and friends - and to all of his fans.