How can angels be so noisy?


She was first, Anna Babette, interestingly named for ancestors on both sides of her tree. The singsong phrase rolled out easily: "Anna Babette, Anna Babette, Ask for angel and she's what you get."

And then Howie thumped onto the scene. At age three, he sidled up to me and with a knowing grin said, "Call me Bubbie." I swore I would as soon as I could stop laughing.

They're older now at 6 and 4, which merely gives them greater mobility and imagination to construct lairs of chairs and blankets, Leggo structures that match devious plans swirling in their brilliant little brains, and to swat one another as the occasion demands. It seems, occasions are indeed demanding.

They visited us these past few days at what they call our 'Beach House' which is a full mile and many millions of dollars removed from the true Atlantic Beach in Ponte Vedra Beach, outside of JAX. Google Earth says we're seven full feet above sea level, a perfect target for a tsunami swoosh.

Their visit was a mix of pandemonium and hugs. Grins and grimaces. Treats and tricks.

It was a love fest that worked both ways and, as we waved goodbye to flailing little arms driving off to their nest, we thanked God for their parents who taught them to say their prayers and put their trust where it belongs.

Grandmas and Grandpas come and go. But these cherubs, who will pick up where we left off, have their heads on straight because their parents do, as well. Life is indeed good.