When the Old Become Young

One of the most wonderful people that I have ever been privileged to know is reaching a milestone this weekend. She will turn 90 years young. Yes, young. My beloved Grandma is young. At least in my eyes. It hasn't always been this way. You see, when I was five, she was old. She was in her sixties, after all. To me, that was old. (Sorry Grandma - no offense intended.) She had some wrinkles and her name was Grandma. In my books, you had to be old if you had those qualities. (Thank goodness no one calls me grandma. I've already got the wrinkles covered. I guess I'm bordering on old.) But old wasn't bad. Old was glorious, in its own way. It offered such wonderful opportunities like having tea parties with grandchildren, teaching those same grandchildren checkers and crokinole, playing hide and seek with grandchildren, bringing home many "new" toys and books from the thrift store for the grandchildren, having lots of Tinker Toys in the playroom for the grandchildren, and the list could go on. Yes, it was glorious. From my perspective. I was the grandchild.

As time has gone on, though, Grandmas has slowly gotten younger. She may get down on the floor to play less than she used to, and she might not have as much energy to play, but we seem to have narrowed the gap of our years. And I certainly am not getting old, so she must be getting young. Moments together are just as precious as when I was five, but in a different way. I'm not learning how to play checkers anymore (she could probably still beat me!), but I'm picking up on recipe tips, bits of wisdom, funny moments, and, if I ask the right questions, life lessons. Ninety years will give you a lot of stories to tell. And the stories, simple or complex, can always be a teachable moment if you're looking for it.

So, cheers to 90 - old or young. I raise my mug (of strong, black coffee!) to you, Grandma. You are a treasure to me.