We first talked on video to our grandson, one and a half, in early March when we could no longer visit. He walked to the back of his mother’s phone, looking for us.
His grandfather and I. We were his universe on Wednesdays from the time he turned one.
My girlfriends, The Three Grannies, created a Vivaldi Four Seasons app for the under-fives.
As soon as his mother was on the 470 bus, heading for work, my grandson and I started our morning ritual of playing all of the Seasons. We watched as his appreciation of Vivaldi and the Three Grannies evolved. From sitting on the lap of his grandfather who conducted, no words yet from him but he was totally captivated by sound and moving pictures. Later he could walk and talk. His footwork synced with the Seasons. Dancing on the spot he held our tablet tight with both hands in case the experience ran away.
Then a single word stumbled out one day. POP! he squealed as frogs jumped from one stepping stone to another in the pond in Vivaldi’s spring.
His mother said he liked reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar before his mid-morning sleep. POP! again when the milky moon appeared in the night sky, when the red sun rose in the horizon when Caterpillar became Butterfly. Then he drifted to sleep holding my hand in case we separated.
This is joy, woven into human DNA across cultures over zillion years. So very spontaneous.
I captured the moments. I watch them now before getting up. POP! I squealed in one voice with him this Wednesday morning.
Then I remember. Isolation. I am a whole journey of the 470 away from him. It is unbearable.