Since then it has been another item of maintenance. The universe is falling apart, after all, and my yard is evidence of that very problem. One of the problems is that the grandkids love to climb on the colored rocks. I have told them to please stay off the colored rocks. I have begged them, cajoled them, threatened them, bribed them, reminded them, tried to pin the moral responsibility for a beautiful world on them, cleaned up after them--all to no avail. They still love to climb on the rocks.
In fact, one day I was at the bottom of the little hill and one of the little lovlies was climbing around in the red rocks. I told him to please stay out of the rocks. He said, "Okay, Grandpa," and came down. "We are making progress," I thought. Then I turned around and there was little Emmett, age 3, panting as he climbed up the hill through the red rocks. He was really proud of his mountaineering ability as he reached the top. I lost my sanity and firmly grabbed his little shoulders. I held him where he could see nothing but my eyes and put on my most fierce facade. "Emmett!" firmly growled, "I told you to stay off those rocks. Who did you think I was talking to?" Emmett looked at me and started to cry. I set him down firmly but gently and said, "I love you, but stay off those rocks!"
The following report came to me a couple of days later. Gaye was laughing so hard she had difficulty telling the story. She said Emmett came up to her and in his little voice said, "I wove you Gwandma. I wove you vewy much." He looked up just to see me walking past and said firmly to Gaye, "But not him!"