My child, in his work clothes and hat, is asleep next to his newborn. This photo throws me into a double quantum leap. My brain straddles the present as I peer at a mixture of time realities.

This tridimensional experience is jammed with emotions I don’t know what to do with and can’t explain. Am I in awe of my grandchild’s birth? Proud that my son is a good father? Missing his childhood? Just feeling old? Why is my time perspectives spliced together? This is my fifth grandchild.

When I visit my son’s home, I watch from the opposite side of a glass door behind a mask. Smart hubby explained that our present socially distant reality is causing this jumble of feelings that tip me between multiple time perspectives at once.

The living picture before me of my son, his wife, their baby, and a menagerie of pets through their full-length, glass, screen door is their present reality. One live snapshot that moves and talks and cries and barks and pees on the carpet and claws the furniture. I’m grateful for this glass door that gives me an unimpaired view. And, unlike a typical visit, they stand on display, giving me their direct attention. Like I’m hugging them from outside a huge bottle.

My mother had preferred watching me hold my newborns. She enjoyed her visit most that way because she could see the baby more clearly from her seat across from me. And, of course, babies are more comfortable in their parent’s embrace when learning a new face. I finally understand this as I look at my grandchild in my son’s arms. I’m not only seeing a content baby, I’m feeling quiet joy radiating from a new father. What a view! What an experience. For a split second, we’re all in the same dimension; the same space.

So, I guess I can’t admit that I miss holding our newest family member as I peer into those two time dimensions that bend together on the other side of the glass. All three realities will mesh soon enough after our health crisis is over. Then, I won’t feel like I missed my grandbaby’s newborn time on earth. I can travel again.

Deep love buries selfishness.

Proud of my family. Proud of me. 

I’m married to George Bailey, the fictional character played by James Stewart in the 1947 movie It’s A Wonderful Life. My goal this holiday season is to read the short story The Greatest Gift by Philip Van Doren Stern, published in 1943, on which this movie was based. Maybe you too identify with the Everyman character of George Bailey and his seemingly simple life.

Like the Baileys, hubby and I bought an old, drafty, handyman’s special house surrounded by family living in the same town. Instead of the depression era, hubby and I were young adults during the ‘80s recession. We also populated our home with four children and are still making original home repairs after living here for over 30 years. We’re lacking the loose newel post, though.

Hubby calls me Mary Bailey, and jokes that if he never was born, I’d be an old maid working at the public library. No children, no grandchildren, no rustic old home, no anxious husband who works too much and stresses during the holidays. Surely, no wonderful life. I don’t need George's guardian angel, Clarence Odbody, to show me hubby is probably right.

My George is also hearing challenged. And he may not build homes for a living, but he feeds the homeless during his lunch break at work. What I love the most about my George is that he too is spiritual in a down-to-earth way that’s honest and sincere.

It’s A Wonderful Life is our favorite movie to quote dialogue from, since personal situations remind us of this story more than any other. Re-watching this timeless movie reminds me we’re not the only ones who struggle in spite of working hard and trying our best without cutting corners in our moral compass. Yet, during especially difficult times, it’s human to identify with George’s consideration that his family would be better off with money from his life insurance policy than with him. So, when I saw the plaque pictured above at a fair, I bought all three in stock as gifts for George and family who also admire this classic.

We’re in good company with other real-life Baileys in America whose actions start reactions to beneficial results, and don’t know it.

Happy holidays Everyone.