Tomorrow morning at the time when baby hummingbirds are first opening their teeny eyes and revving up for a day of vibration, I too will be up.
Tomorrow morning in the darkness, I will quietly take my suitcase and my trusty coffee mug, slip out to the garage, start my car and drive down our long single-lane country road at the time when skunks are still out conducting their smelly business.
Tomorrow morning, I will leave the comfortable routine of making coffee and drinking it leisurely, of showering, of writing, of listening to Dinah’s melodic snoring, and of all the other daily habitual activities one at my stage of life might enjoy.
Tomorrow morning, I will drive across the San Mateo Bridge all the way to San Francisco, way up by Sutro Tower, as the sun is just beginning to warm my back bumper , and I will park my car with the wheels turned out, so as not to roll down the very steep street.
In the window–waiting eagerly for me– will be the other grandparents whose faces will show the type of extreme gratefulness only expressed by prisoners let out of their cells by a jolly sheriff with a large iron key.
Their taxi will be waiting to whisk them to the airport and back to Oregon.
The exchange will be made.
Tomorrow morning and for the next 4 days, I will be looking after a 13 month old child in a home with steep stairs and one bathroom, two safety gates, a video monitor, a sleep machine, 102 diapers, and a refrigerator full of formula–and I hope a bottle of Chardonnay.
I am up to the task.
I am Gramma Cheri.