"Good things come to those who wait."
---A variation of the original quote
from British author Violet Fane.
This is what my parents said, and usually right around the holidays. Back in the day I did a lot of clock-watching at Christmas time, which certainly was on the horizon as I penned this column from our daughter and son-in-law's home in Southern New Hampshire.
To set the scene, they live less than ten miles down the road from Robert Frost's farm, jogging fond memories of a past visit with my better half. The local area is a lot like "Over the River and Through the Woods," the Thanksgiving poem by Lydia Maria Child. And Thanksgiving is just around the corner as I write, peering out the window this cold, dreary morning. But instead of waiting for turkey or Santa, I'm waiting on a grandbaby, which is no easy task and a novel one for me.
With our son-in-law Erik a cardiac surgeon, I arrived in early November at the request of our daughter Betsy. My husband Rodney delivered me to their door, flying home the following morning for work.
Having her first baby, Betsy feared Erik being in surgery when she went into labor --- a real risk for the young couple.
And then there was her commute - oh me, oh my. With her doctor being at Brigham and Women's Hospital, where Betsy is also a physician, I spent weeks driving the route --- practice runs, if you will --- some thirty miles due south on I-93 to Boston. A journey that I must say is a lot more difficult than the one my husband and I, and my parents, took in 1992 and 1964, respectively, due east from Franklinton to the Bogalusa Community Medical Center "BCMC" for deliveries by Drs. Waldrup and Singleton. But worth every minute and every mile.
And so the days came and went. It gets dark really early in November in the Northeast. And dropping into the twenties at night, it's quite chilly --- coat, mittens, and scarf required. The wind blew like a hurricane. I learned that right away, even before the first snowfall. Upon learning that I hail from the Pelican State, a lovely local lady remarked, "I suppose this weather is cold for you." Well, that would be an understatement.
I also discovered that folks aren't very forgiving on the roadway. Not only do they race by in the breakdown lane (giving them four interstate lanes all the way from Boston to New Hampshire) during rush hour, they employ hand gestures in addition to the horn. While I do not mean to profile, most have Massachusetts plates. One particularly hostile driver passed me in a vehicle sporting a personalized plate that read, "Moovit." I guess she meant it. Honestly, I did all I could to stay out of their way. After all, I had precious cargo on board.
I did a lot of praying, both on and off the road. And I spent some time at the hospital where my daughter works. It was there that I thought a lot about my dad, the late Col. (ret) Cecil Ellzey. Growing up in BCMC where he was at the helm, I am certainly no stranger to a hospital setting. But Brigham and Women's Hospital, one of our country's premier hospitals with more than 790 beds, Harvard's teaching hospital, is in a league all its own. Even after Betsy oriented me with a tour, it took days for me to get my bearings.
Dad would have loved looking around the huge hospital. Now, I can't say for sure that he never visited Brigham. Daddy traveled a great deal with the Louisiana Hospital Association, serving on their board, and also with the American Hospital Association to major cities. But it would have meant so much more now, with Betsy --- the apple of his eye --- both working and having his great-grandson at Brigham.
Back to the baby, we were on pins and needles as we awaited his arrival. To pass the time, I of course got my hair done. No surprise there. And I went on long, scenic walks in Betsy and Erik's picturesque neighborhood; their pretty home is perched at the tiptop of a hill. The terrain in Southern New Hampshire is very different from that of South Louisiana. A challenging diversion. And for repast, I turned to local favorites such as apples, featured in scrumptious apple cider and donuts of the same description. In addition, I acquired some maple syrup made here in the White Mountain State. My family will be most pleased, with biscuits drenched in it, holiday mornings. We are hardy eaters. I also managed to find a market that is bringing in baked goods from Modern Pastry, which we have patronized for four years in the North End in Boston, for Christmas. Again, the family will be tickled.
In addition, I wrapped the Christmas presents, placing them under the tree. But the greatest gift of all was yet to come. Nothing compared to the elation we felt just before midnight on Thursday evening, November 21, the week before Betsy's due date, when Lukas Karl Cecil Green --- named for his great-grandfathers --- made his debut. The wait was over!
As our son-in-law wheeled the little prince in, right around one o'clock Friday morning, we knew that Winnie the Pooh was right, "A new baby is probably, undoubtedly the grandest gift that could ever be." Lukas has changed our world.
Merry Christmas to all, from cold New England!
