Guest Column: The rest of their lives

By Doris Northstrom/ for The Herald

As the backyard changes to a wonderland of lime green and yellow, brilliant gold and red, sprinkled with soft rain one day and sunshine slanting through fog the next, this transition of the leaves takes me back to other autumns carrying light and song.

One such day began with a phone call from my grandson.

“Hi Grandma, would you come to my senior cooking class? We’re making lunch and need guests. Mom and Dad both have to work.”

I dress in my best, wanting Brad to be proud and walk the hallways of bustling teens. “Cooking 101” should be around the next corner. Then I see him smile, my tall, 6’3” grandson, his blue eyes glistening, ready for whatever is next in life..

We enter the room where boys line tables with placemats, candles and leaves.

“Sit here, Grandma,” Brad says and introduces me to the eight pals in his group and I am aware of the brief sunshine of the world blazing full upon them. I am the only guest, as many parents work, and enjoy my status as queen for the day.

Brad and the boys excuse themselves and return with a platter of the most beautiful hero sandwiches I have ever seen. Their faces shine as they place the savory concoction before me. As we eat, I exclaim, “This is the best sandwich I have ever eaten. For sure.”

Lights dim and candles glow as we share stories and ideas and they allow me into their young world.

“This class completes our elective credits,” one boy volunteers, “and it’s better than I expected.”

The hum of voices and the boys’ enthusiasm makes me think of other days and other classrooms and the imprint we leave on one another.

My hope is that this room full of students always finds a way to stand in the sun. Someone once said that a good, sacred memory preserved from childhood is perhaps the best education of all. As I listen to their future plans, we enjoy the almond roca candy I made following my mother’s secret recipe.

I thank the group once more and walk out across the school grounds, kicking through a quilt of leaves in the spendthrift gold and glory of autumn. And I think of my hosts for the day living the last year before graduation on the way to the rest of their lives.

I pick up the brightest leaf on that October afternoon, with the sun riding high and hold the world in my hand. And I realize how warmed I am by all I touch along life’s way.

Doris Northstrom can be reached at dorisnorthstrom@aol.com.