Age is Relative

Our good friend, Shirley, was having a wonderful visit with family.

She and her granddaughters had played games.

Shopped.

Explored.

Read stories.

Conquered the slide at the park.

Ate.

And, occasionally, relaxed.

It was during this last that certain . . . revelations . . . were ummm . . . revealed.

Grandma and granddaughters were sitting quietly, cuddling.

The youngest was exploring Grandma’s hand. She compared sizes. Traced the veins and lines. Noted any spots. Then the little fingers worked their way up Grandma’s arm.

The flesh was traced and pushed one way and then the other.

Finally, the little girl had worked her way up to Grandma’s elbow. There, she paused. Finally, the small fingers gripped the skin covering that joint; pulled it out, stretched it.

Jiggled it.

“Gee, Grandma,” the little girl said. “You’re sure a lot older than when I first knew you!”

Feeling young and care-free?

Like the world is your oyster and nothing and no one can take it from you?

Go and visit your grandkids.

They’ll bring back reality.

Sigh.