The Reindeer Keeper

Recently when going through files of pictures, I found myself looking at this particular photo differently than when I took it awhile back. Of course seeing my granddaughter smiling, holding her crayons still makes me as happy as it did that Sunday afternoon. But this time it had a deeper meaning. Maybe it's because she's growing up. Maybe it's because she is talking a mile a minute and asking questions and sings and dances and loves butterflies and jewelry and dinosaurs and books and knows her colors and can count and remembers where she left everything when visiting the last time. Or maybe it's because I still remember her father sitting at that desk-coloring, playing with his G.I. Joes and Matchbox cars. She looks just like him. It's the eyes. When curiosity got the best of her that day, I helped her open the top of the desk. We found a few G.I. Joes-a few scribbles her father had done and a few papers from when he was in elementary school. They had gold star

I've noticed in many of the old photos I've seen of my grandparents-so many show them using their hands to create something. While they obviously used their hands to do the necessary-cook, garden, tend to crops and barn duties, clean, do the wash, care for children, etc., whenever there was an opportunity, their hands got busy in a different way-a way of relaxing and making things; stimulating their soul after a hard day's work or after completing one task before getting on to the next. Maybe that's why my aunts, mother, and grandmother got together once a week for what they called their 'Busy Fingers' Group. They'd take turns hosting the group. I remember times when it was at our house. They were always laughing and talking! Of course back in my grandparent's day television was a non-factor. There were no zillion channels with still nothing to watch. Texting wasn't a word. Communicating was face-to-face. And when that moment came-that break in t